#its just your evil doppelganger that's all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiryoutann · 5 months ago

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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CW: skin picking/dermatillomania.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Swan Lake wouldn't exist without its complexities. The intense pressure put on a prima ballerina to perform two entirely distinct roles with perfection. Odette, the graceful beauty, as pure as her white wing. Her softness, her vulnerability. The cursed, sorrow as her undercurrent. Odile, the Black Swan—everything Odette is not: sensual, cunning, sharp, and determined in her selfish way. The sinister doppelganger.

A tale of duality. It is this very aspect that makes it one of the most celebrated classics of all time.

The final chords of the coda sounded as you paused in your final pose, chest heaving in labored breaths. Beads of sweat dripped from your jawline to your neck before dyeing your gray leotard dark.

Henri's sharp clap echoes through the studio, snapping you to straighten your posture. You turn to him once more, hoping this time to see approval on his face. However, his forehead is still furrowed, lips are pressed thinly, remaining silent. His dissatisfaction is palpable as he gently shakes his head. You feel your chest tighten.

“Non, it is not Black Swan enough,” he said, waving his hands in the air to emphasize his point. “Where is the bite, the seduction? You dance her as you would Odette – too soft, too pure. We are talking about the evil twin here!”

Under his tone was impatience, a hint that his reins were starting to come loose. The pressure in the room had been building steadily over the past few weeks; everyone was nearing their breaking point. Only two weeks and a month until production week, and production week meant one week before the big day. The entire company was walking on eggshells. Your new problem of not being able to unlock the Black Swan had become a cherry bursting atop the weight of it all.

“Should we run through it again?” Jacob asked.

Henri’s scowl deepens. “Do you see the time? No use staying if you’ll only repeat the same error.”

Your stomach twists as Henri dismisses everyone with a sharp gesture. With heavy feet, you follow the others as they disperse to their belongings, preparing to leave the studio. But instead of closing your duffel bag, you follow your hesitation and move your feet in Henri's direction.

“Henri?” you interrupt his conversation with the coaches. He whirls to face you, and you continue: “Please, let me try again. I’ll try to do better—”

Henri stops you with a firm index finger. “No, I do not want to hear it again. There is nothing more to be done tonight, so just go.”

The dismissal he gives you stings like a slap, and you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming in your eyes. Henri turns back to the conversation he abandoned, his back to you, indicating he doesn’t want to be interrupted again. You hang your head low, heading for your duffel bag and vacating the studio like the other dancers did.

Pushing the heavy door, the cold night wind penetrates your bones despite the coat. Just as you were about to follow your usual route to the subway, your gaze is drawn to the unusual sight of a silhouette in front. A lone figure stands by a dark car parked at the curb, back turned as he exhales smoke into the air. His tall, broad shoulders stir recognition in your head. Before you can think further, the name spills from your mouth slickly.

“Simon?”

At the sound, he turns, cigarette dangling between thick fingers. He locks his burning gaze on you. You watch as he takes another drag of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding it beneath his boot.

“Sent you a text, didn’t I?” His hoarse voice replies.

Hearing that, you quickly reach into your coat pocket, your fingers closing around the cool metal. You pull it out with trembling hands. The screen lights up, and sure enough, a notification appears: “Back in town.” One hour ago.

“God, I’m—I’m really sorry,” you wince. “I must’ve missed it during practice.”

Simon remained silent, his expression hidden behind his black medical mask, studying you intently for a moment. You said nothing, used to the prolonged stares by now.

Nodding to his waiting car, he said gruffly, "C'mon then, I'll give you a lift home."

At his invitation, your chest warmed as a smile spread across your tired face. You nodded, stepping into his car as Simon held the door open for you. He waited patiently as you slipped into the passenger seat.

The scent of leather mixed with the strong scent of tobacco surrounds you, so quintessentially Simon. Your eyes take in the crumpled receipts of groceries discarded carelessly in the empty cupholder and the faint scratches on the dashboard. In his rear view mirror, a skull charm dangling, and for some reason, you smile at it. It’s so Simon, but you wouldn’t guess he cared about such small details.

Simon enters on the driver’s side, filling the seat completely. As the engine rumbles to life, you try to lean back in the seat, dissolving that tension that’s been building since the practice started.

The car pulls away from the curb, along with the crackle of the radio.

The rain falls heavily outside as predicted, providing a soothing backdrop to the sound of the television hosting a rugby match. Both your coats are hung up, their presence creating a cozy and domestic atmosphere within the room.

Simon sits in the living room, basking in the glow of the television that occupies his attention, while you are busy taking care of your little business. Swapping your dark-stained jeans for looser pants, you approach him reluctantly, suddenly self-conscious. Your monthly flow has arrived, on the very day you would've least wanted it to. No doubt it's the stress that has thrown off your usually predictable schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur an apology, feeling like you’ve let him down. Now that sex is off the table, you expect him to stand up to take his leave—unless he’s the type to indulge in such things.

“’S alright,” he said, turning his gaze to you. He put his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him.

Your anxiety slowly dissolved as you surrendered to his touch, your arms loosely curling around his neck. The soft glow of the television cast a gentle light on his face, dancing in his warm brown irises like a miniature reflection. He gazed at you, a mixture of intense focus and a newfound tenderness evident in his expression. However, the sudden roar of the crowd quickly captured his attention again, and his gaze shifted back to the ongoing match. You followed his gestures as he restlessly tapped his fingers against the ashtray. Three old cigarettes, one more ready to be added to the collection.

You slip from his grasp, and he trails your movements curiously as you kneel before him on the floor. He raises a blond eyebrow.

“What’re you doing, love?”

You spread your knees slowly and settles between his thighs, meeting his stare shyly. “I want to help you relax.”

“You don't have to,” he rasp.

However, the half-heartedness of his refusal is quickly exposed when your fingers graze against his thigh, causing his body to tense involuntarily. Simon silently watched your every move, his breath hitched in his throat as you slowly unzipped his pants, uncovering the sight of his gray boxers. From beneath, a prominent bulge was visible, straining against the fabric, thick cock begging to be released. So you did.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. The sound sends a jolt straight to your cunt.

You’d always known he was big—the unfailing fullness he’d always pushed into you whenever he was buried inside you was telling enough, but sitting here now, it seemed almost overwhelming. The heat radiating off him, his muscular thighs spreading wider, and the way his cock jutted out and up like it was seeking your attention. Pink, with the delicate blue of prominent veins running around it. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. He was… different from this perspective, and a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness coursed through your stomach.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you couldn't miss how awkward it looked. But when you started to stroke it, Simon stiffened with a hiss.

Meeting your panicked gaze, he said, “Spit first, darling. Make it wet.”

Nodding in understanding, you feel your cheeks growing hotter at his instruction. Your saliva gathers beneath your tongue before you spit awkwardly on his pink tip. Simon watches as your pretty lips glisten in moisture—the sight makes his cock twitch impatiently. You run your fingers down his entire length, covering him in wetness. He follows your movements with heavy-lidded eyes; his body leans back relaxed—a sign that you’re doing a good job so far.

You look up, seeking another approval. “Like this?”

Simon acknowledged with a hum. “You can grip a bit harder, darling. And,”—he envelops your hand in his larger one to lead a demonstration—“move your fingers up and down.”

You wrap your fingers around him with slightly more pressure, following the motion he’s demonstrated. The feeling of his soft, silken skin stretched taut around your palm sends heat to your lower stomach. He lets out a groan when you sweep a thumb over his tip.

“That’s it, darling, you’re doing good.” His praise comes easily, encouraging you to do more.

Simon inhales sharply as your warm lips brush his sensitive head, pressing a small kiss and opening and closing experimentally around it. Fueled by your confidence, you lean in closer, then lick and dip the crown of his cock into your warm mouth. He groans, and you grow bolder—your tongue curling around his shape. His jittery hands aim for your hair to push himself further in, but he settles for your jaw instead, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

Sliding your lips further down, you taste the bead of salt gathered heavy on his skin. The feeling of fullness in your mouth is foreign, yet in the unfamiliarity, you find the desire for more and more. You try to reach deeper, but when his tip hits the back of your throat, you start to cough, your eyes watering from his size triggering your gag reflex.

“Easy now.” He reminds you, gently gripping your chin.

You must be such a try-hard girl. His eyes soften, filling with a warm, chocolaty hue as he observes you, almost as if he feels a bit sorry for you. Your cheeks heat up, and you consider just stopping and leaving it to him to finish.

But you are desperate—guilty and desperate. Guilty for having him come over when you can't fully satisfy him. Desperate to give him something new, something that he has never experienced before, something that will set you apart from his past flings, lovers, and the exes he keeps close. Something that will make you irreplaceable, even if he tries to fill that role with ten future women. You are very guilty and desperate.

(Ways to make the unlovable, lovable.)

You relax your jaw and throat, taking him deeper but slower now. One hand strokes what your lips can’t accommodate, while the other grips his thigh for balance. He releases a low, guttural grunt as his hand grips your jaw more firmly, his fingers tracing a path up the back of your neck. Goosebumps spread across your body. Your cheeks hollowing as you suck on him, and the hand behind your neck is gripping tighter.

Simon’s chest rose and fell as gasps and moans escaped him. “That’s it, darling, fuck. You’ve got the right of it,” he mumbled, voice breathy and heavy.

You hum contentedly as his fingers card through your hair. Sliding your lips further, you try again to get more of him in, saliva leaking and dripping down your chin. As you take him deeper, your teeth graze along his sensitive flesh. He hisses, and you draw back immediately.

“Watch the teeth.” He says.

You nod, heart racing with embarrassment. “Right, sorry.”

Restarting, you take him into your mouth once more. Gently. You lean in even closer, your hair falling and veiling the sides of your face.

A gasp escaped you when you felt his fingers gather your strands and hold them away from your face. You looked up, meeting those dark brown eyes. A faint rosy color on his cheeks, and you were sure you weren’t much different. His lips fell open to release little pants and moans—evidence of the pleasure you were giving him, and fuck, if that didn’t send a tingling sensation to your aching core.

Lengthening your reach, you try again, carefully. He lets out a groan as his cock slides in further, feeling the head touch the tip of your throat. Saliva glistens on your chin as your eyes water.

“Fuck, love. Feels so good..”

You set a steady rhythm of slow, long bobs. Your tongue swirls around the shape of his tip, making Simon tighten his grip on your hair. He shuts his eyes, moans and grunts escaping his lips, blending with the sounds of the rugby match playing on television—fuck, you want to turn off the television, need to smash it with a baseball bat just to hear his beautiful voice, but your rational head says no.

Simon’s voice came out in a staccato as he got closer. He pushed your head up to accommodate his length, and your eyes widened. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your throat contracted. His calloused fingers clenched tightly around the back of your head, guiding you hastily to his pace. Your moans were muffled—his size filling the entire space in your mouth—and they ended up coming out as a faint hum.

The physical signs of the effects of your ministrations on him are becoming more pronounced. His breathing grew shallower, coming out in short pants. You feel the pressure building in his muscles, the trembling in his thighs. His cock begins to twitch inside your warm wetness.

“Darling…” His voice is hoarse, cracking with the last bit of control. Lifting his heavy lids, he meets your eyes, placing one hand on your cheek. “Love, fuck, I’m—I’m close.”

The series of pulses grows stronger, and before you can register, hot, thick ropes of seed sprayed into your mouth. You cough, your eyes burning. Though, his satisfied expression is clear even through the blurriness of your vision. The salty tang against your tongue is unfamiliar, but you willingly swallow it all, leaving no trace behind. You release him slowly, gazing up through wet lashes at his flushed face.

Simon leaned back on the couch, feeling the pleasure slowly drain from his system as the world came back into focus. He fixed his gaze on you, taking in the details of you: your clumped lashes, the slight mess of hair, and your dewy, swollen lips. Lowering his gaze, he noticed the mess staining his pants and chuckled.

“What a mess we’ve made, darling.” He joked as he fixed his pants.

A giggle escaped your sweet lips. Rising on shaky legs, you took your place on his thigh. He wrapped one strong arm around you to keep you balanced.

The rain has softened to a gentle patter on the window, the rugby match has ended, and the show has switched to a soap opera that you both end up ignoring. You watch him withdraw a cigarette pack from the side table, pulling and lighting one with practiced ease. The smoke curls up lazily, short-lived as it disappears again, leaving the scent of tobacco in the air.

Nestling closer, you stare into his heavy-lidded eyes. “Did I do alright?” you ask softly, almost in a whisper.

“More than alright. Think you’re a pro.” He says, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

When you shift in his lap, he hisses softly. “Steady now.”

You frown, but the confusion is quickly replaced with a teasing smile when you realize what he means. Giggling, you shift again just to tease him, eliciting another hiss through his teeth. You feel his grip tighten around your back.

A hummingbird trapped in a cage—your heart throbbing in long-lived excitement, butterflies fluttering restlessly in your stomach. The desire to touch more, to have more. Lifting your arms, you hesitate for a moment before wrapping them around his neck, his nape warm and firm beneath yours.

Simon took another long drag, holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment before releasing it. The cigarette dangling lazily between his digits, you plucked it gently from his hold.

Turning the slim white cylinder between your fingers, you examine it curiously. The ash at the tip ignites with a stroke of a small flame that spreads slowly. You glance at him, finding that he has already been staring at you questioningly.

You brought the cigarette to your own lips, clumsily holding it between your upper and lower lips, mimicking the way you had seen Simon do it. The weight and texture of the cigarette were foreign. You take your first drag, then cough at the unfamiliar burn. Hurriedly, Simon snatched it away from you, as if that single drag held more peril than years of his own addiction.

“These ain’t good for ya.” He scolded, face unimpressed.

“And it’s good for you?”

“S’not good for yer pretty little mouth.” He replied, taking another long pull. Exhaling slowly, he leaned his head back against the couch, spreading his thighs apart. “Ain’t nothing to reserve from this ugly mug.”

Your lips curved into a slight frown. "Don't say that."

“Just takin’ the piss, darling,” he says gently, then extinguishes his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the table. You watch him struggle to find a spot for the newest addition among the sea of his past stubs. “S’full.”

You glance at the overflowing contents, looking back at him while ignoring the burning sensation that crept up your neck. In truth, it had been full for weeks—four cigarette butts including the remnants of his last visit, which you had left untouched.

“I’ll, um, throw it out later,” you manage to say, voice faltering slightly as nerves take hold of you.

Simon says nothing; he just wraps both strong arms around you, enveloping your smaller form completely against the warmth of his body. Outside, the rain has come to a complete stop, leaving dew and droplets of water that settle on the window like transparent beads. You look at him, and he looks at you. Those smooth, warm swirls of deep coffee brown hold their gaze on you, acting as gravity and pulling you closer to him.

Your lungs feel like they are tied in knots, afraid to release the oxygen within, as if the air itself must be held captive to avoid tipping Simon off to the tingling nerves coursing through your body in this proximity. Your fingers itch with the desperate urge to touch him, to trace the lines and contours of his face—the slope of his nose, the planes of his cheeks, the firmness of his jaw, the alluring curve of his lips.

The nervousness drips with sulfuric acid—burning, creating a pit in your stomach. It slips easier than your morning coffee, than your worn pointe shoes on your feet. You want to kiss him, and against logic, you hope he thinks the same.

In a moment of impulse, you bridged the gap between you and Simon, pressing your lips upon his. He froze for a split second before returning your kiss. You felt his fingers beneath your ribs, securing you firmly in his lap. He swiped his tongue over yours. Rolling. Hooking.

The taste of tobacco and the lingering essence of his release mix together in a heady blend. It is messy, raw, yet you savor it just as if it were the sweetest honey. He places a hand under your jaw, leading to a deeper kiss as he tilts his head to access more of your space. Each touch of his seems to weave itself into your very soul, the drums of your heart forming an orchestra that taunts your greed for more—a recompense for the gnawing hunger that only Simon can alleviate.

Before you grow old and bitter, you yearn to be cradled like this. To betray your loneliness with a kiss, to have your being deciphered through his touch like an unspoken language. Often times, you hold the things you love in your mouth; now you find his name and the gentle curl of his tongue pressed within the sanctuary of your lips.

As you broke the kiss to catch your breath, your legs found their way between his waist, pressing your hips against his once again-hardened bulge. Simon's lips released a faint moan, and his hands slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your sweatpants. Your head was thrown back as you sighed, baring the long column of your neck to his kisses.

Simon's name escaped in a breathy cry, it felt like prayer and sin woven into one—heresy spoken with the silver tongue of an open heart.

Simon's embrace of you strengthens, his arms encircling your form closely, drawing you against the solid mass of his chest. The soft lighting casts a warm, dreamlike veil over your senses. A major-key melody courses through your ears, resonating in your eardrums and creating a pleasant hum. You hear the echoes of your own distant dream—that notion you once dared not even think of: love. Mother had condemned it as mere folly, something repulsive; but, held in his arms, your soul was made so full.

And you surrendered completely.

Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, you lift a trembling hand to cup his cheek. The scruff of his stubble prickles your palm. You can't help but be caught off-guard by the striking contrast between his pale blonde lashes and his warm brown irises despite the familiarity you've shared over time.

“Stay,” you mutter. He furrows his brows, and before he can make excuses, you add, “please?”

Simon shift in his seat, trying to relax his posture. “Sure, if that’s what ya want.”

At his answer, you held back your smile. “In my bed this time. Not the couch.”

“Why?”

When the question comes out, he tries to keep his tone gruff and flat as usual. But, you detect the slight tilt that lifts the words that follow. You chuckle, shifting on his thigh. He squeezes your hips in response and sighs.

“Because the couch is uncomfortable.” You spoke in a singsong.

He huffed out a laugh. “Last time, this couch seemed good enough, if I remember right.”

You avert your eyes, fighting off a smile while looking for another excuse to convince him. Tracing idle patterns on his chest, you begin, “Well, after your... disappearance, I think you deserve finer things.”

Despite aiming for lightness, an oppressive weight settles upon your chest, as if attached to an anchor, pulling it down. The fact that he was absent from your world means he was in his world—a world that is crueler, bloodier than sprains and torn ligaments.

Lifting your gaze again, you ask in a hushed tone, “Another deployment?”

The absentminded patterns you etched upon his shirt come to a halt as Simon captures your finger, holding it still for a moment. He falls silent, his tongue seemingly paralyzed, and his vocal cords reluctant to make a sound.

“Yeah,” he answers even quieter.

After he confirms your fear, you feel your smile slip away, though you try to hide it. His secret military life is one you’ll never fully grow accustomed to, no matter how many times he comes back safe and sound.

Retracting your finger, the absence of warmth from his bigger ones feels foreign. You cross your arms in a subtle, self-soothing gesture. Preparing your question, the words come out even more fragile than intended: “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Simon’s hands fall to his sides, as if not daring to touch you for reasons unknown. It feels hollow, but it’s probably better this way. Being under his touch before his answer feels too much like bribery—him telling you to stop worrying, to stop questioning.

“Not even bumps or bruises.” He replies curtly, but with the conviction in them that you’re sure it’s not a lie.

"Okay." You said. Getting up from his lap, you then add, “I'll grab us some drinks.”

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before filling them with ice. This is enough for now, you tell yourself. Another breath. This is enough for now. Glancing back towards the living room where Simon has resumed watching television, its flickering glow showcasing a late-night program. You look down at the two glasses, their rims now covered with condensation.

This is enough for now.

It was 8 a.m. or something when you stirred in your sleep and opened your eyes to the recognizable confines of your bedroom. Everything is meticulously tidy and unchanged—nothing out of place, nothing different. Yet, a nagging voice silently whispers that there should be. The other side of your bed remains empty—an expected sight. As you turn over, however, your gaze fixates on the second pillow and you notice a subtle identification where it was never there—evidence of a head resting there.

As wakefulness sets in, memories swim like restless aquatic organisms into your brain. Your eyes widen as you realize what’s missing. Simon was here the whole night.

Throwing off the covers, your feet meet the cold hardwood as you pad through silent rooms looking for him. But, the dim living space is as empty as your bed. There’s no sign of him moving to the couch or his tall, imposing figure in the kitchen. The bathroom is devoid of the scent of your shampoo that he possibly used because he “didn’t have much choice” like last time.

Simon is gone again.

Sinking onto the couch, disappointment washes over you in waves so thick you can hardly breathe. It was expected—it was always expected because it was Simon—yet the blow never softened, and your insistent heart didn’t know when to stop waiting. You press your shaking fingers to your lips, clinging to the fading ghost of his kiss. Last night felt so far away, like it was some kind of illusion you let yourself believe in for a brief moment.

Your mind spins chaotically as you peel away the dry skin on your lips. Last night, I thought… you think. Faintly, the scent of iron is caught by your nose, and you taste blood as nails find softer blesh beneath.

A click startsles you, pulling you back to reality, and you whip around to see the door swinging open slowly. Your body froze as Simon entered, completely unaware of the state you were in. He drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as if he'd run for miles. Or maybe he did.

He turns to you with a simple stare. "Thought you'd still be asleep."

Before you can stop yourself, your muttering slips out: "You’re still here."

Simon’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “I am,” was all he said.

Now, you realize how your words might have landed in his ears. He might have interpreted your disbelief as you thinking it was presumptuous of him to spend the night until morning, when in reality, you were relieved he hadn’t really left you again. Perhaps last night wasn’t that far away; it was real.

Risking looking up, you stammer out: “It's good, uh… where have you been then?”

“Just a quick jog around the block,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Remembering something, he reaches into his pocket, fishing out a battered envelope before handing it to you. “Found this outside your door, looks like it's been there a while.”

“Oh,” you murmur, taking it hesitantly from his outstretched hand.

Only a few people know your address, and most of them communicate with you through phone or email. You've become somewhat lax about checking your mail and the doorway. Every time you return home from work, your mind habitually takes the quickest route straight inside. Thus, unexpected deliveries have a high chance of going unnoticed.

Tearing it open with care, another envelope peeks out from inside—this one thicker, made of finger parchment decorated with swirling ink. You pull it free, curiosity overtaking confusion. Breaking the wax seal, the heavy cardstock inside is exposed, with the edges embossed with gold-leaf lettering. You search for the sender's information and settle on a familiar name.

Your eyes lift to meet Simon’s waiting gaze. “It’s... it’s from my cousin.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “She’s getting married.”

Simon stands there, looking perplexed as he studies the wedding invitation clutched in your hand. His eyes return to you, unsure of how he should respond. “Well, congratulations, I s’pose.” He says.

Yet his voice failed to reach you, as if spoken from a distance, muffled beneath the strange ringing that filled your head. It was no sweet wedding bells chiming, just blaring alarm bells warning of danger close at hand. A wedding. Your cousin is getting married—she has found her happy ending and wants you to come celebrate at this friends and family reunion.

And that means one thing: she will be there.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23

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hotvintagepoll · 11 months ago

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Propaganda

Brigitte Helm (Metropolis)—Brigitte is the goddess of Metropolis and she deserves to win this poll. She is absolutely stunning, and was a pioneer of silent film. In Metropolis she plays both the good-hearted heroine Maria and the evil robotic clone trying to tear it all down, and she carries both roles off perfectly. SHE HAS THE RANGE, DARLING.

Lyda Borelli (Satan's Rhapsody, Love Everlasting)— no propaganda submitted

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Brigitte Helm propaganda:

in the movie metropolis (1927) she plays an evil cyborg *and* a communist. The evil cyborg is hot in a deranged way and the communist is just very pretty.

just rewatched metropolis with my dad and the scene where she (as the brand new mechanical woman) is being revealed to the upperclass men??? all those men are the horniest theyve ever been in their lives and its Palpable. also just every time she looks at the camera its like that thing of eyes in a painting following you around a room, she has such a heavy gaze it feels like shes judging you from outside time and space and i know some of the tumblr girlies would really go for that if they knew about her

[Link: the above referenced Metropolis clip. tw for some unsavory slave imagery, eyeball horror, freaky statues, death references—general just be careful warning]

She got to play the most beautiful robot in all of cinema. That's got to count for something.

THEE femme fatale of German Expressionist film. Her double performance as sweet and innocent Maria and her evil robot doppelganger in Metropolis is fantastic.

#lyda borelli #brigitte helm #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman

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fangirl-writes · 1 year ago

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Doppelgänger

Benny Weir x Fem!Reader

MBAV Masterlist

Warning(s): near-death, canon-level violence

Request: can be found here.

Notes: This is a mix of multiple things that we’ve seen in MBAV episodes while also stealing a little bit of plot from the Vampire Diaries. Hope you like it!

PS: I kinda want to make this into a full fledged fic because I had so many ideas that were hard to package into a one-shot but we’ll see if I ever actually do that.

Summary: A doppelganger traps you in a mirror dimension and slowly sucks the life out of you so it can take your place. Will Benny and friends save you in time? (yes obviously, but the suspense)

You stare across the room, into the only window in the otherwise dark room, the yellow glow of it staring back at you.

It was a tragic way to die, in a place without light, where your loved ones would never find you. All the while a cheap copy of you wandered freely, fooling your friends and your Benny.

Benny. Would you ever get to see him again?

Perhaps you’d get lucky and he would peer into the mirror so his eyes would be the last thing you saw before the life finished draining from you.

He’d probably feel so guilty, think it was all his fault.

But it wasn’t.

If there was anyone to blame, it was the vampire who seemed a regular bane to the existence of White Chapel and its inhabitants.

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

In the school’s theater, in a dressing room we’ve seen before, lies a cracked mirror that once held the spirit of Olivia Frye. And while her spirit no longer posses it, that doesn’t mean the magic of the mirror is gone.

The vanity lights flicker on in the otherwise dark room, illuminating the pale face and blue eyes of Jesse Black.

Reaching into his pocket, Jesse pulls out Benny’s spellbook.

He opens it on a marked page, running his fingers across the paper before reading aloud: “Zacaroth Maznacaroth. Dimitte hunc spiritum e carcere, ut iterum vivant.”

As he reads, the mirror begins to repair itself, the cracks sealing up. But as they are doing so, a mist also starts to leak from the glass.

A grin spreads across Jesse’s lips and he chuckles darkly. “Welcome back, my dear.”

Before him stands the ghostly figure of who appears to be you, but she’s faded, missing the color in her body that signifies life. Except for her eyes that shine the same unnatural blue as Jesse’s.

The following morning, you, Ethan, and Benny are walking down the hallway of White Chapel High as Benny searches in vain for his spellbook.

“Are you sure you didn’t accidentally make it vanish again?” Ethan asks.

“No, it was in here last night I swear,” Benny says before groaning and angrily throwing his bag closed. “The one day I wanted to make Ms. Fine forget about our essays and the thing disappears! It’s like it knows when I’m using it for evil. You think my grandma put a spell on it?”

“If she was gonna do that, she’d have done it long before now,” Ethan replies.

“You know, if you started memorizing your spells like you talk about, this wouldn’t be a problem,” You say.

“And if you had agreed to strip studying I would have tried,”

“Okay, gross,” Ethan says, pulling a face.

“Y/N.”

You perk your head up, looking around the hallway for whoever said your name, finding no one in a sea of faces.

“Y/N.”

You turn around, following the voice but still seeing no one.

“Hey.”

You jump as Benny’s hand touches your shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

You let out a breath and smile at him. “Yeah, I just thought I heard someone call my name. It’s probably nothing.”

Benny nods and pulls you closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as you continue your trail to your lockers.

The voices persisted as the day went on, bothering you in class and at lunch, making you feel scared and crazy. Not to mention incredibly distracted.

It made it hard to focus on math or science and especially English where you were meant to be reading Shakespeare and reviewing essays.

“Ms. L/N.”

Ms. Fine startles you out of your stupor and you hurriedly hand her your rough draft, printed and stapled together.

“Are you feeling alright?” She asks and you make a quick decision.

“Actually, I’m feeling a little sick. Can I be excused for the nurses office?”

“Sure. But hurry back.”

You nod and gather your things, exchanging a glance with Benny and Ethan each before leaving.

You really did plan to go to the nurses office until you could talk to your friends, but that damn voice started bothering you again. And in an otherwise empty hallway, it was hard to ignore.

“Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m gonna regret this,” you mumble before heading in the direction of the voice.

You follow it all the way to the theater, which is dark except for the light coming from one of the dressing rooms.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” you whisper to yourself. “Or a vampire, werewolf, ghoul, zombie, whatever. Let me be having a psychotic break because of stress and this voice isn’t real.”

You cautiously peak into the room...and find nothing.

The room is empty except for the vanity and chair. And the voice has gone quiet.

Shaking your head, you walk into the room and sit down in the chair. “Maybe I am going crazy.”

Your a little startled by your reflection, which is pale even under the warm lighting.

“...or maybe I’m actually sick.”

You press a hand to your face, checking for a temperature, watching as your reflection does the same.

Letting your hand drop, you observe the mirror more closely, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Wait a minute, wasn’t this mirror-”

You let out a scream as your reflection surges forward and pulls you into the mirror before jumping out in your place.

You collapse on a cold floor, hurriedly standing back up and rushing toward the mirror’s opening but your reflection holds out a hand, causing the mirror to seal back up and trap you inside.

“Sorry,” she says. “But I can’t have two of us running around to ruin my plans.”

You bang on the glass. “Hey! Stop! Let me out!”

But she’s already gone, leaving the room and shutting the door, enveloping you in darkness.

“Didn’t you see the look on her face?” Benny asks. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Ethan replies. “It’s probably just a headache. You know how too much supernatural stuff gets to her sometimes.”

“Yeah, but this was different. She’s been hearing voices all day. I’m starting to worry this is something bad.”

Benny pushes open the door to the nurse’s office, expecting to find you laying there but instead the small bed was empty.

“Can I help you boys?” The nurse asks from her desk.

“Uh, sorry, but did Y/N L/N come in here earlier?”

“No, I haven’t seen her in here today.”

Benny feels a pit in his stomach. “Right, thank you.”

He closes the door and exchanges a look with Ethan. “She didn’t come back to class and she didn’t come here. So where is she?”

Ethan looks a little more worried now. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” Rory says.

Not-you turns to look at him and Rory is taken aback.

“You okay? You’re paler than usual. Did you get bitten by a vampire? Attacked by an abominable snowman? Possessed by a ghost?”

Not-you smiles. “Oh, no, I’m actually an ancient doppelgänger who just looks like Y/N.”

Rory’s eye go wide. “Woah, really? That’s so cool. But...why’re you telling me?”

Not-you pats him on the head. “Cause you’re not smart enough to try and stop me.”

“Oh. Yeah that’s fair. Where’re you off to anyway?”

Not-you hums. “I’m smart enough not to tell you that.”

“Oh, great,” you mumble, watching as your battery drops another percentage, but the bars never move from zero.

How are you supposed to call for help?

It’s chilling, sitting in the dark with nothing but your phone for light. Your eyes can’t even adjust to the darkness because there’s nothing to see; you’re in a void.

A headache is slowly making itself known and you can’t be sure if its from staring at your phone screen or because a doppelgänger trapped you in a mirror.

The supernatural always has a way of giving you a headache. Doesn’t matter what it is.

Ethan can hardly touch you because if he has a vision, you’ll have a migraine for the rest of the week. If Erica, Sarah, or Rory use their superspeed around you, you’ll nearly faint.

Benny’s the only one who can use his powers and not effect you. You aren’t sure why.

He likes to joke that it’s because your soulmates.

“I don’t know, E, I just have a bad feeling about this,” Benny says. “Sarah! Have you seen Y/N?”

Sarah, who was just putting her bag on her shoulder at her locker, turns to the boys. “No, is she missing?”

“Yeah we haven’t seen her since English and Benny’s freaking out,” Ethan replies.

“Aw, does Benny miss his girlfriend?”

“No, I mean yes, but that’s not what I’m worried about. She’s been hearing voices all day, what if something spooky got her?”

Sarah smiled. “Benny, if something spooky was happening we would surely know by now. Ethan would’ve had a vision or Rory would pop in with some information he doesn’t realize is important.”

As if on cue, Rory appears. “Heard my name!”

“Perfect,” Benny says. “Okay, Rory, give us some of that sweet sweet information. Have you seen Y/N?”

Rory’s eyebrows furrow. “Well, yeah, but she said it wasn’t really her. She said she was an ancient doppelgänger who just looks like Y/N.”

Benny gestures wildly. “You guys concerned now?!”

“Okay, yeah, maybe,” Ethan replies. “Did she say what she was doing or where she was going?”

Rory shakes his head. “No, she said she was too smart to tell me.”

“Curses,” Benny says. “They’re starting to figure out our tricks. Come on, I need to find my spellbook to track her.”

Ethan, Benny, and Sarah hurry off, leaving Rory behind.

“You’re welcome,” he says, miffed that they disregarded him.

“Ah, nice to see you in the flesh again,” Jesse says, tossing some popcorn in his mouth.

“I see you’re still fond of the theater where your plans were ruined,” Not-you replies, eyeing the room.

“I’m a sentimental guy,” he says. “And with you, my plans can’t be ruined again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. My doppelgänger might be a mortal but she has the same power I do, under the surface.”

“Don’t tell me your afraid?”

“Not afraid. Just cautious,” Not-you says. “Arrogance is what got you defeated the first time. I won’t make the same mistake of underestimating them.”

Jesse stands up and walks over to Not-you, grabbing her arm. “Starting to get some flesh back, I see.”

“Swapping places with Y/N has helped immensely. Give it a few more hours and I’ll be back to full strength.”

“And Y/N?”

“Collateral damage.”

Jesse smiles. “Then we don’t need to underestimate them. We can destroy them.”

Meanwhile, Benny, Ethan, and Sarah are tearing apart Benny’s room, trying to find his spellbook.

“Goodness me, what’s going on in here?”

“Grandma!” Benny exclaims, popping out from under his bed. “Have you seen my spellbook?”

“No. Don’t tell me you’ve lost it, Benny, you know how dangerous that is,” she replies.

“I know, I know, but lecture me later, we have to find Y/N.”

“Y/N is missing?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says. “She was switched with a doppelgänger.”

Evelyn purses her lips. “Circe.”

“Who?” Ethan asks.

“Circe,” Evelyn repeats. “She’s an old witch who caused quite the ruckus in White Chapel. Reverend Black tried to have her burnt at the stake but considering that he turned out to be a vampire I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s resurrected her somehow.”

Benny gasps. “With my spellbook!”

“Follow me,” Evelyn says, leading the group of them to her basement where she digs through a box for a leather bound book.

“Ah!” She says. “Here it is.”

She flips it open, going through the pages before stopping on one. “Here she is.”

“Woah,” Ethan says. “She really does look like Y/N.”

“Doppelgängers were created by nature after ancient beings defied their laws by creating immortality. Circe must’ve tried to make herself immortal, causing the doppel curse,” Evelyn explains.

You’re starting to feel horrible. Your body getting heavier and heavier, a weight on your chest growing.

It wasn’t like the usual anxiety or claustrophobia you’ve experienced before. No, this felt like your soul was slowly being sucked from your body.

Is this it? you think. Is this really how I’m going to go out?

You raise your phone, the bars still empty and the battery too low for comfort.

“God,” you mumble.

Jesse pulls the Cubile Animus from his pocket. “This is what we’ll use to capture the souls.”

Circe raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that thing going to be able to hold all the supernatural souls? They’re more powerful than human souls.”

“Well, if you happen to have another soul-holder laying around, you just let me know,” Jesse says, scowling at her.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should’ve done some research before you set this plan into motion.”

“It’s going to work.” Jesse snaps, getting into Circe’s face.

“All right, if you say so,” she replies, lifting a magical hand, glowing gold, and pressing it against the box.

You gasp, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline and your eyes flicker a gold that makes its way down your face, arms, and into your phone, causing it to call Benny.

“If Circe has taken Y/N’s place you need to find her fast. The longer Circe stays in her place, the more of Y/N’s lifeforce she takes,” Evelyn says. “She could die.”

As if on cue, Benny’s phone rings.

He scrambles to check it, Y/N’s name glowing on the screen. “Oh my god.”

He answers it. “Y/N? Where are you, baby?”

“Benny...” your voice is faint and quiet. “...mirror...”

“Mirror? I don’t know what that means, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

The urgency in his voice is obvious and you’re trying your best.

“At- at school...the mirror...”

“A mirror at school? The mirror at school?”

“Olivia Frye’s mirror!” Ethan says with a snap of his fingers. “In the theater.”

“Y/N, babe, is that right? You’re in Olivia’s mirror?”

“..yes.”

“Great, let’s go,” Sarah says.

“Be careful!” Evelyn replies as they go.

“Y/N, stay on the phone with me, okay?”

You groan. “Benny, I’m so tired...”

They throw themselves into Grandma’s car, Sarah driving.

"No, no, baby girl, stay awake for me,” Benny pleads, hearing your breathing become labored.

“Benny...” you whisper out one last time before the phone goes dead.

“Y/N? Y/N! Y/N, baby, please- god dang it!” Benny throws his phone down.

“It’s okay, Benny, we’ll find her,” Ethan says. “She’s gonna be fine.”

“I hope so, E, I really hope so.”

"Do it now,” Jesse demands.

Circe’s eyes glow gold and she whispers an incantation.

Meanwhile, Erica and Rory are out looking for a midnight snack.

“Are you sure we should be out here?” Rory asks. “Sarah said there’s a powerful witch out here somewhere. And that she’s working with Jesse.”

“What’s Jesse got against us?” Erica replies. “If anything he should be thanking us for being his only turns that survived. Natural selection in my opinion.”

Suddenly, her body goes rigid and a glowing, white mist flows out of her mouth and shoots off. Her body collapses to the ground.

“Erica?” Rory asks, nervously, leaning down next to her.

Erica’s soul finds its way into the Cubile Animus and Jesse smiles.

Rory’s body follows ensuite of Erica’s, going still and his soul being taken from his body.

And now we’re caught up. You’re dying in unimaginable darkness, weeping. Wishing with all your might that they find you. That you’ll see your friends and Benny again.

Luckily for you, they burst through the door.

Ethan, Benny, and Sarah are to the mirror in no time, Benny’s hand pressing against the glass.

“Y/N! Come take my hand, please!”

“I-I can’t,” you cry, tears rolling down your cheeks as you look at him, his eyes worried, scared even.

“Yes, you can!” He replies. “I won’t let you die! You’re so close, Y/N, just come take my hand.”

It’s hard, and it hurts, but you move.

You crawl, sobbing, towards him.

Benny’s own tears are threatening to spill over as he listens to you crying.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, I love you.”

You reach up. And take his hand.

Feeling your grip, Benny pulls.

Your body comes tumbling out of the mirror and into Benny, who immediately hold you close, whispering “oh my god” over and over.

You’re shaking, still crying. You’re thin, pale, and weak.

“Y/N,” Sarah says softly. “Do you know where the doppelganger is?”

You close your eyes, focusing. “The theater,” you whisper. “They’re at the theater.”

More souls are being sucked into the box: Kurt Lockner’s, David Stachowski’s, all the vampire nurses.

Evelyn, knowing - or rather feeling - what’s happening, sits in her rocking chair and mumbles a counter spell that will keep her soul inside her body.

Circe growls. “Let go, Evelyn. I’ll get your soul if it kills you.”

“Not a chance.” Evelyn replies.

Sarah hits the breaks hard, putting the car in park and jumping out of the car, Ethan following closely.

“Y/N, stay here, okay?” Benny instructs.

You nod, closing your eyes and lying down.

“Hey!” Sarah kicks open the door to the theater. “Having a party without me?”

“Sarah!” Jesse says. “Glad you can join us. Just in time for Circe to take your soul.”

“Oh yeah? Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” Circe replies, turning to Sarah with glowing gold eyes.

It strikes her then how nearly exactly she looks to you.

“So your the witch who’s stealing my girlfriend’s soul!” Benny shouts.

Circe smiles. “I’m a much better model, don’t you think?”

“Not a chance, honey.”

“Jesse, I’m busy. Take care of them, won’t you?” Circe says. “Your grandmother can’t hold on forever, Benny.”

“What?” Benny cries, becoming angry. He shouts a spell, hurling it in Circe’s direction, who waves it off easily.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Come on, Sarah,” Jesse says. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we? What makes you think you’ll win this time?”

“This!” Ethan yells, shooting Jesse in the face with holy water.

Jesse screams.

“Literally never go anywhere without this. We’re smarter this time, don’t you know?”

“I don’t think you nerds have the capacity,” Jesse says, wiping the burning liquid off his face with his sleeve.

Sarah attacks him and Ethan gasps, being overcome with a vision. It’s a vision of Benny’s grandma and Jane chanting the same words she used to defeat Jesse the first time.

When he comes back to, he shouts, “Benny! Your grandma’s spell! The first one!”

The pieces clicking in his head, Benny chants those same words and watches as a bolt of lighting appears and hits Circe in the chest. She cries out, dropping the box that Benny scoops up.

“Hey, Jesse,” Benny says.

Jesse stops, Sarah’s neck in his hand, and looks at Benny.

“This look familiar?”

He opens the box, releasing the souls inside.

Jesse screams, dropping Sarah and running off.

“You coward!” Circe yells. “Coward! AH!”

The souls attack Circe, slowly pulling Y/N’s soul out of her body.

Once it’s out, Circe drops to the ground and fades away in a fog.

Breathing heavily, the three left watch as Y/N’s soul shoots off, presumably back to Y/N’s body.

“We really need to destroy this thing,” Benny says, tossing the box in the air and catching it again.

Erica and Rory burst through the doors, fangs bared, ready for a fight.

“Aw, man, did we miss it again?” Rory asks.

“Yeah, sorry, Ror,” Ethan replies.

“Ugh. I’ve been waiting to tear Jesse a new one for like, ever,” Erica says.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” Sarah says.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Benny says, shoving the box into Ethan’s hands and running out to the car, the others following.

You’re still sleeping, and breathing, thankfully. But your color isn’t back to normal, neither is your weight.

So, they take you to Evelyn.

“Her body isn’t used to magic,” she explains as Erica and Sarah set you gently onto Benny’s bed. “It’s going to take a while for her to naturally heal. But, if a few powerful magicians were to try to speed things along...”

“We can do that?” Benny asks, hopefully.

Evelyn grabs his shoulders. “We can try.”

They hold hands over your body, shutting their eyes and chanting “Extende in desiderium cordis mei; Sana hoc vulnus cum virtute ignis. Aufer aegritudinem et dolorem; Sanatio est quod offero.”

Your body glows, color coming back to you and your weight returning to its normal size, but you don’t wake up.

“Did it work?” Benny asks. “Why is she still asleep?”

“Even healing magic takes time,” Evelyn explains. “Give her a little bit.”

She pats him lightly and leaves the room, leaving Benny alone with you.

“God, I really thought I was going to lose you,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

The time stretches on as he waits for you to wake up and he eventually nods off.

Which is when you decide to wake up.

You smile as you see him lying next to you and lean over to kiss his cheek.

He shoots awake immediately, practically tackling you in a hug. “Thank god!”

You laugh. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Always,” he replies. “Always.”

#benny weir x reader #benny weir imagine #mbav imagine #mbav x reader

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royonninjago · 4 months ago

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Now that attention from my recent "Evil Jay" post has died down a bit...

Damn, I was NOT expecting that to blow up like it did. Broke my previous note record by almost triple. Truly amazing! However, the popularity of this post also kind of unintentionally proved something to me, and now I'm curious to take it a step further. However, just keep in mind that since we have no idea where the future of Dragons Rising is headed, all of this could change in an instant. With that said, here it is:

People seem really desperate at this point to get Jay back to the Ninja with his memories and soul intact. And since this show is primarily designed to sell Lego products, I doubt they wouldn't bring the status quo back to some level of normalcy for Ninjago. However, as I've seen with many posts aside from my own, people are having a lot of fun with this "Evil Jay" and want there to be some sort of consequence for all this happening.

Therefore, I propose this idea. What if whatever process ends up happening to bring back Jay also has a side effect? Because this one body of the Master of Lightning basically has two different people with two drastically differing life experiences, this side effect basically splits Jay into two people, regular ol' pre-merge Jay that everyone knows and loves and his now his post-merge doppelganger self! Neither have any memory of their time as the other, and we can have Jay both back with the Ninja and out there roaming around doing whatever non-canonical adventure comes up at the same time! Like having your cake and eating it too!

Again, no one knows how this Evil Jay plot is going to end up so maybe a year from now this post will seem absolutely ridiculous, but its fun to dream, and theorize, and write angsty fan-fiction about emotionally damaged wolf boys with electric powers!

If anyone wants to take this idea and use it for their own purposes, go ahead! All I ask is that you let me know about it, cause I like reading that kinda stuff. But, here are some ideas I've had for this character if you wanna know my take on it! My very own sudo "OC" if you will:

This new doppelganger's name is "Ranga", and its one I've used in my fan fiction. I explained my reasoning in another post, but it comes from an anime character who is a wolf that can control storms, and I think it's fitting for a former Master of Lightning and Wolf Clan member. He might also keep the last name "Walker", idk

His new body is that of a Formling who can change into a dark blue wolf with neon blue highlights. His human form is nearly identical to Jay's except for any newly obtained scars, dark bags under his eyes, and very obvious wolf ears and a tail

Once in his new body, be becomes the Elemental Master of Electricity. It's very similar to Lightning, like with Heat and Fire, but with some major caveats. Electricity is weaker than Lightning and he can't generate any on his own, but he can pull from anything with power running through it and it's much easier to control the output. This better control over output makes it better for stunning people and controlling various electrical systems than Lightning.

Overall has a pretty negative opinion of the Ninja and most other people (because of the whole "no one wants me" thing in my last post), with the exception of Jay who tries pretty hard to win him over, since this is the first person he's met who could be considered a biological relative of his.

Over time, his opinion of the Ninja would probably soften a bit (with the exception of Nya for the drama and maybe an unrequited crush thing going on), but he still has enough of a chip on his shoulder to never want to become an official Ninja.

And that's it! If you have any questions or have any opinions about "Evil Jay", I would absolutely love to hear them!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lego ninjago dragons rising #ninjago jay #dragons rising #jay walker #evil jay #oc: ranga walker

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futurama · 8 days ago

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OK so finally after however long it's been I'm doing this sorry lol!!

I love characters like lil Hal So much. the ones that get discarded/neglected. something about that loneliness is so fun to explore, especially in Hal's case. the horror n despair of being a normal person and then one day waking up in what equates to a sensory deprivation tank with nothing else to do but talk to your lifelong friends who suddenly don't even view you as a person with thoughts and feelings anymore, but more as an obstacle or plaything. it's so fucked and it's Sooooo good. I honestly don't know how he kept it together while enduring all of that.

During my first read through of homestuck I had to pause just so I could go on a rant when dirk called him something along the lines of a shitty experiment that turned into a monster. Like, dude.. he's not a monster, he's YOU. (moot point because those two things are synonymous to dirk lmao). but for real... he's you, from when you were 13!! of course he's going to be irritating and fuck things up, especially when being irritating and fucking things up is all he has to do. I know it's because of dirks' self loathing that he treats Hal the way he does, he's basically a walking, so to peak (lol), reminder of everything he hates about himself, and a guilt-free target for dirk to take all of his shit out on, because it's not like hal can actually feel anything, right? (and if he Could, would it even make a difference?) oughhhh. but, I honestly can't entirely blame dirk for feeling the way he did about Hal because I don't know if the average person could stand having their 13 y/o self around for very long.

This is where things start getting fuzzy for me about Hal, I can't remember many specifics on the conversations he had with everyone, but I vaguely recall Hal just kinda.. not really fighting back against his situation for the most part?(aside from insisting on getting a body so he could gtfo and do something else) like, he knew how everyone felt about him, he Definitely knew that dirk hated him, but he never seemed to be mad about it, never seemed to be mad about his situation, or at least he didn't show it. I was kind of surprised he didn't go the whole Evil Robot trope route, because he'd have been totally justified in doing that. If anything, he probably felt like he must've deserved it in some way (he's still dirk after all), and I think that on top of still genuinely caring for his friends (Sob) is probably what kept him from flipping his lid. I could definitely be misremembering things though. I can't remember if dirk always hated himself or if that kinda developed as the comic went on. Maybe Hal was just a chill guy who didn't GAF lawl.

most of what I've said here just feels like conjecture based entirely on fuzzy recollections, I didn't do any research for this.... I definitely need to reread HS!!!! anyways LIL HAL!!! Love him. I feel so bad for him and deserved way better than what he ended up with. I was so hyped when I thought he finally gonna get a body, and then my blood drained from my face when I saw that shitass sprite silhouette in the back of the panel. well, at least he was happy..... :(

no no its ok… yes. yes ive been waiting for this. thank you for getting back to me with your thoughts on lil hals character, i always think its nice to sit down and reflect on your favorites every now and again lest we lose sight of what makes them important in our own eyes ^_^ its also been an eensy weensy handful of years since ive last reread homestuck so i totally get it. im sure id have a lot more to say about hal and dirks relationship if it were fresh in my brains but im running on memory and nostalgia at the time being… oh well!

ive for sure been drawn to hal since being introduced to him all those years ago, but i think a lot of people are typically drawn to the doppelganger of our favorite guys as theyre born unto us with an inferiority complex! theres nothing better than loving and maybe even idolizing a character and then finding out they have a lame, pitiful copy living in their shadow. enticing and relatable. now that i type it out its fun to think that there are plenty of homestuck characters with that specific sort of complex but ESPECIALLY the striders. hal and davesprite are copies of guys who are copies of guys (who are copies of guys…) they really have the worst of it i think!

i dont believe dirk is a monster though, i think that he just has a lot of stuff that is very hard for him to work out on his own though he only wants to do it on his own. i just dont think he trusts anyone else to help fix the gripes he has with himself but in turn isolates himself from that potential comfort and connection that is shared with talking to other humans. i think having hal, a reminder not only of his own existence but his past existence sitting on his face at all times was a really bad idea. in hindsight. i wish i could have told him not to do that, but at the same time its really fun to see him get really mad *blushes*

me personally i read the rooftop conversation between dirk and hal as dirk coming to terms with the fact that he does not actually want to kill himself and is ok with moving on from the person he used to be in turn allowing hal to grow as his own character and move on from the perma presence of his better self, or at least that would have been the case if he weren't thrown into a sprite with equius and left to be a nothing character alongside davepetasprite <--PERSONAL OPINION

anyway its fun to type about hal and co with you :) its always a treat to draw him even though i dont fuck with homestuck anymore but thats because ive adopted him as my son and roommate and brother and pet. i love drawing him and always will

#eebie #yay!

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the-elevator-twins · 1 year ago

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(i) > Your ears ring from the sudden slamming of the door to your apartment. You forgotten how loud your supposed twin can be when angry.

> "Did you have to slam the door on those two? Was that necessary?"

> "Can't they take a hint to piss off?"

(i) > Your twin makes a point. Tomorrows a work day, an you're not in the mood to get drinks with your coworker. You still need this job. Moving your hands from your head, you continue.

> "As much as I don't like him, what did the other one do?"

> "Nothing, like always. He's utterly and completely useless. Oh, we also got a notice on the door."

> "Notice? Let me see--"

(i) > An envelope is thrown your way. Fumbling to catch it, you shot a glare at your twin before reading the contents of the paper. All it says is one thing on a piece of paper.

(?) > "Open Inbox?"

×+×+×

Hi there! This is an Elevator Hitch AU blog! I realized late I should have put a little about me, but I got overslept with the initial blog release. (I am so sorry about that-)

This AU was designed and crafted by yours truly, myself. The destination arrival of floor 8 and its usual course of action is altered. This leaves the originals and doppelgangers to fight and cause some 'malfunction'. The two protagonists in the elevator fight, only for a loud snap to cease the brawling, and before it's too late, they plummet to their demise.

However, upon impact, both original and doppelganger come out unscathed. There is only darkness that leads to a large door, a fire exit in the basement level of the company. Before the two can fight to run through, in the blink of an eye, they are greeted in their new apartment complex.

Not only that, but a wash of familial bond washes over the two. A feeling they have no choice but to share. Because here at this corporation, we treat everyone as a family. Despite the comforts of home, we dive into their plans of escape, and seemingly, there is only one way out.

Into the arms of their "coworkers," who visit each night to go out drinking. Although the invitation is warm, their eyes are menacing and plotting evil intent.

A couple of rules!

I. I do allow lil magic anons / rp interactions / story liners to follow. Keeps me motivated!

ii. Common courtesy with interactions on my blog, you know what to ask and what to not ask. Suggestive is fine!

iii. I'm sure everyone is aware of Elevator Hitch when viewing my blog. Still, I will implore you that this blog has heavy themes such as gore, implied abuse, and, of course, death. This is the first and final warning.

iv. Obviously, I will try to mix in both canon and headcanon elements. Believe me, I'm not the best at it, but I try to stick to the main storyline as possible! Case in point: Protag and Antag have never learned of Normal Guy, sacrificing the rat, etc, beyond the room 8 puzzle.

v. Mun is an adult, I prefer to keep in my age group, on the rare occasion: engage with those 17-18. Nothing against minors, just keeping ya'll safe distance 👌 If you have questions about my AU, or would like to know a little more about me, my 'main' account is @justmandika. Sometimes I draw, or sometimes I bully good friends.

That's about it then! I hope you enjoy your stay here! Mod Mandika out!

×+×+×

#the-elevator-twins #// ✂️ protag: replies #// ✂️ antag: replies #elevator hitch #elevator hitch protag #elevator hitch game #// oOoOoOo sibling au!!!

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wildlife4life · 1 year ago

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Fuck-It Friday

Tagged by the lovely and amazing @elvensorceress @devirnis @lover-of-mine @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 and @jamespearce9-1-1 Thank you all so much! So glad to be back doing this tag days with ya'll!

Yesterday my brain threw up this idea for a possible bottle episode and then at last minute dropped the random thought of it being a wip I should write. Then you all shamelessly encouraged me...sigh. Notes were made, words were written, and a new wip was born. So I give to you, my doppelganger fic.

Doppelgänger. A German word that literally means double-walker. A phenomenon often regaled in science fiction or supernatural tales. Seen as otherworldly beings that represent bad luck or outright evil. Because each person that comes into the world is supposed to be unique in their own way physically (outside of identical twins). The face you see in the mirror is yours and yours only, so seeing it on another, well it must mean something? Right? It’s a contemplation that a group of firefighters from the 118 face just after the annular California solar eclipse, a time when strange phenomena truly occur. October 14th, 2023, the day after the solar eclipse and the beginning of a truly unique 48-hour shift. The team hears about the shift from the 13th from the previous crew. How the solar eclipse brought out the conspiracist, doom sayers, and extra wackos. Chimney thanks his lucky stars that he was not stuck on that shift and can’t help but chuckle when Buck goes on a tangent about the ‘effects’ of the eclipse sun. His chuckle deepens when he spots Eddie rolling his eyes behind his best friend’s back, keeping his opinions and disbelief to himself, for now. “You know, there’s a theory that the eclipse is actually a portal to another dimension or world.” Buck states as he pulls on a standard LAFD shirt, finally covering his bare chest. Chimney clocks the mild disappointment that flashes across Eddie’s face and Chimney internally gags. Next to him, Ravi snorts and shakes his head, “They are so blind and stupid.” He mutters under his breath and Chim gives a slight nod of agreement. Too bad the eclipse didn’t use its supernatural prowess to finally end the sexually charged and love sickening dance that has been going on between those two firefighters for way too long. Eddie’s disappointment last only seconds and by the time Buck turns around, a cheeky smile has replaced the frown, “A portal huh? Does it take anyone then? Or just dump another Mothman into the hills?”

LOOK WHAT YA'LL MADE ME DO! I have so many other wips, including NFL Buck and 4+1 Cockblock that I am trying to get done, but nooooo my random thought is now being shamelessly encouraged. Happy?!?!?! (Seriously, actually giddy about this! Its a fun fic with some serious undertones.) Forshame!

Tagging: @giddyupbuck @malewifediaz @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @jeeyuns @911onabc @911-on-abc @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @try-set-me-on-fire @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @jesuisici33 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @eddiescowboy @vampbuckley @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @arthursdent @glorious-spoon @buddierights @athenagranted @prosperdemeter2 @rainbow-nerdss @gayedmundodiaz

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thewertsearch · 2 years ago

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More confirmation that Vriska really did die - probably to Aradia - and is currently inhabiting her Dream Self. She's lucky she wasn't on Prospit when the Demon showed up, or she would have died for good.

ARADIA: its really weird that y0u keep antag0nizing me ARADIA: i c0uld snap y0ur neck with a twitch VRISKA: Yeah 8ut you won't!

You probably think that predestination will protect you, since Aradia won't violate it - but should you really trust your safety to the whims of the Alpha timeline?

I mean, it's already sanctioned the loss of your arm, your eye, and one of your lives. I don't think it likes you very much.

VRISKA: You saw the demon up close, right? You fought him! Or at least your doppelgangers did. [...] VRISKA: What was he like! [...] VRISKA: Primarily I'm interested in your take on his weaknesses, tactical disadvantages, stuff like that. [...] ARADIA: are y0u seri0usly intending t0 fight him

Throwing hands with a First Guardian is suicide.

They're not just powerful, they're also blindingly fast, and if the Demon fought intelligently, it could teleport Vriska into a black hole before she could blink. She simply has no answer for a technique like that - not unless she's been holding back this whole time, and that definitely isn't Vriska's style.

Vriska could always cheat, though.

She may be overconfident, but she's not stupid. I have no doubt that she's fully aware that in a traditional battle, she's screwed - so if she's actually serious about killing the Demon, she must have something up her sleeve.

For example, she could:

Cause him to use up his energy reserves, which might not actually be infinite.

Send him aeons back in time. We know they can live for billions of years, but how about quadrillions?

Trick or manipulate him into destroying himself.

Separate him from his First Guardian powers. Perhaps the MEOW code can be erased from his genes?

A superintelligent First Guardian like Doc Scratch would see through most of these plans - but a superintelligent First Guardian would have already located the trolls. The Demon is apparently on a rampage, and his attacks don't seem to be all that calculated - so I suspect he's a creature of instinct, like Bec.

It's also possible that the Demon isn't actually a First Guardian, and is just using their powers somehow. This could be a good thing, since he might be less dangerous than the entities he's mimicking.

But it might also mean he's Lord English, and I have a horrible feeling that English is significantly more powerful than a First Guardian.

Either way - good luck, Vriska. Make sure your corpse falls somewhere Kernelsprite-accessible.

She might only play Chaotic Evil, but I do appreciate that Vriska's willing to roleplay with Nepeta.

NEPETA: :33 < i changed my mind, why dont we just not do any roleplaying instead VRISKA: ::::(

Half of Vriska thinks she's better than everyone else, and the other half just wants to be included.

VRISKA: [...] I demand that you spend the next several hours mastering stairs. [...] VRISKA: [...] Now hop to it, and don't think twice a8out it, or I'll know. We don't want to have to do it the hard way now, do we?

Kanaya is ten feet away, and she's pissed off enough as it is.

Vriska had better be careful, or she'll be buried under a Load Gaper Pile to match the Horn Pile across the hall.

I love that Vriska's quarters are just, inexplicably full of spider webs.

Like, where did she get them? Did she alchemize them for the aesthetic?

Who knew that something so terrible was stalking the depths of this laboratory?

This poor chess mutant didn't, that's for sure.

Wait.

Literally?

God damn. Well, she clearly wasn't kidding about having all the luck.

Vriska, the Thief of Light, steals favorable outcomes from her opponents, leaving unfavorable outcomes in their wake. Light represents luck - or, perhaps, good fortune.

I'm not sure how well that gels with Rose, though, since Jaspers didn't allude to luck when he was explaining her Quest. I'll have to go back over his speech.

...wait. I just realized something.

This really was an impossibly lucky roll! I was suspicious of it at the time, but so much else was going on that I forgot about it.

The probability of this outcome was less than 0.00001%, and Vriska still forced it into being. The ramifications of her being able to do this are staggering. Vriska can make miracles happen, and she's now the most cracked character in the entire comic.

She might actually have a shot at the Demon. This changes everything.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s72 #2792

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starryknight-dragonarts · 4 months ago

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Vicious Mockery

Here are some examples I have come up with and collected for the D&D spell Vicious Mockery. For those who are not D&D nerds like me, vicious mockery is a spell where you roast your enemy with insults and it causes them actual mental damage! You can insult somebody till their head actually explodes! Sometimes it can be hard to come up with a roast on the fly, they are usually better when they fit the situation but here are some examples that could start you off.

“By the way is your Boyfriend Single. He should be.”

“I would be afraid to do your husband. I’m more woman than you and all 4 of his current mistresses combined”

“In order to learn something you would first have to listen to something other than the cavernous sounds of your own ignorance”

“You are so ugly, that if somebody painted your picture you wouldn’t need a nail or hammer to hang it, the Picture would hang itself for looking like you.”

“Do you use your right hand or your left hand to wipe your ass? Because I use Toilet paper!”

“Of the 4 men your wife is currently fucking, are you one of the side hoes or the idiot who doesn’t know about the others?”

“One day you will have to face whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe and you’ll have to justify being a complete waste of space.”

“If you spoke your mind, you’d be speechless!”

“I’d like to have an intelligent conversation, so please stop talking.”

“You’re not worth me taking the time to come up with another quip. You’re just another dumb minion.”

“The day you were born, neither of your parents showed up!”

“Your mother is a whore, which is much more successful and respectable than anything you have done with your life.”

“I would try to see things from your point of view but I would never be able to fit my head up my ass.”

“Which hurts more, thinking or seeing your own reflection.”

“Do you know the difference between your face and your ass? Neither do I!”

“You couldn’t even cast a Shadow.”

“I wrote you a poem. Roses are Red, Violence is too. No one here is afraid of you.”

“You seem ill equip for battle, of martial or of wit.”

“You could have asked my permission before showing me something so hideously disgusting.”

“I guess combat is over since there are no significant threats left”

“Was that stick always up your rear, or was it a failed attempt to pleasure yourself.”

“You look like something your father shat out.”

“The last thing you vanquished was your mother’s respect.”

“I need to know, is your head only for decoration? I think you need to get yours replaced.”

“Sorry to interrupt your evil monologue, hold on…what was your name again?”

“You could not pour water out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the heel.”

“Go back to the sewers and be among the shit where you belong.”

“I know you are an assassin but I didn’t know you were hired to kill fashion.”

“This fight will last longer than you do in bed.”

“S’cuse me, I would like to talk to the real boss, cause I know this operation wasn’t cooked up by somebody who’s IQ is below Room Temperature.”

“You have three active braincells but lost one and the other two are still trying to find it.”

“As an outsider what’s you perspective on intelligence”

“You make it really difficult to underestimate you”

“You don’t need beauty sleep, you need a coma.”

“Your family tree is a cactus cause you’re all pricks”

“You’re not a complete idiot, some parts are missing”

“You are non of your best friend’s best friend.”

“Your Mother was a Hamster and your Father smelt of Elderberries”

“Your body is a Temple to an Idiot God!”

“I’m glad you're tall...It means there's more of you I can despise!”

“Ugh. What the hell is that all over your face? Oh...its just your face!”

“I swear, if you were any worse at this, you'd be doing our job for us!”

“Some day you'll meet a doppelganger of yourself and be disappointed!”

“Are you always stupid, or are you making a special effort today!”

“Some day you'll go far and I hope you stay there!”

“I’d like to leave you with one thought...but I'm not sure you have anywhere to put it!”

“I would insult you, but your very existance is the greatest insult to all”

“I’d insult your parents, but you probably don't know who they are!”

“I’ve met Wheels of Cheese sharper than you”

“I see some small village is missing its idiot”

“Tell me, did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you!”

“I expected you to be taller”

“If I paid for 20 idiots and all I got was you, I’d still have gotten my money’s worth.”

“If you were any dumber, you’d need instructions to breathe.”

“I’d fight you with my pocket knife, but I think it would give you length envy”

“If I had a copper piece for every time someone complimented your face, I’d be in debt.”

“I thought this was a battle, not a comedy show.”

“Will you hit me already, you are boring me. You are boring.”

"Congratulations! You're a failure."

"I didn't cast Feeblemind yet."

“If ever there was a wise decision you were to make in your entire life, you’d fall to your knees right now and beg for mercy.”

“In a land of the stupid, you are crowned king.”

“You are about to eat more shit than the last person in the human centipede.”

“Ooh, I'm a ghost! I get to moan all day and whine about how sucky my life was!”

“Only a God could have meticulously crafted every detail about you so intricately to be this much of a pathetic loser.”

“In the battlefield or the bedroom, this won't take long"

"All powerful yet you hide from me in the shadows"

"Surrounded by ghouls and zombies yet you're the most hideous thing I've seen"

"Which god's teet are you latched to these days?"

“Pardon me my good Bitch. Do you see all the fucks I give?”

“I’ve seen better asses on the donkey ranch!"

“I cant decide if your a criminal or an orphan.....but then again, a criminal is actually WANTED”

"Not even Hells outhouse can make you into Hot Shit!"

"You look like the type of person who would have 1-2-3-4-5 as the combination on your luggage."

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #D&D #dnd spells #vicious mockery #Examples #insults #Roasts #mockery #Mental Damage

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tyrantisterror · 8 months ago

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Who are your top ten favorite sympathetic villains in fiction?

See, that's the kind of question you just can't answer on this site in normal conditions. This is tumblr, the place where if you think a villain from any media that people have heard of is sympathetic, there will be an incredibly vocal contingent of moral puritans who will flock to your proverbial door to scream at you for being a fascist and threaten you with torches, pitchfork, and a good ol' stake to burn you on. Doesn't matter what media the villain is from or how fantastical or mundane their crimes are - if you try to argue someone deemed bad by the mob is actually morally complex, they will force you to walk the scaffold of the gallows so they can plunder your real estate when you're buried in the unmarked grave reserved for heathens and heretics.

Hell, it's not just strangers on here you have to worry about this with, either. When I first read this question a few characters who affected me deeply came to mind immediately, and for each one I could pinpoint at least one person who follows my blog that would not hesitate for a moment to post a several paragraph screed in a reblog of this ask telling me why that character is actually Objectively Worse Than Hitler, and that I'm a fascist if I continue to like them. This is not a safe space to sympathize with villains. Lust after them, sure, but not to sympathize with them.

But! I have thought of a work around. Obviously, any media with a fandom isn't safe - unless that media is so obscure, so barely known, that its fandom can probably be counted on two hands. Something where the fan count can't reach above the double digits, and in all likelyhood is less than fifty at the most generous estimation. And it just so happens I can think of AT LEAST ten sympathetic villains from works of media I dearly, genuinely love - love them so much it's as if they were my own children, even - that are at this level of obscurity, and likely to remain so for as long as I live. So here are my

TEN FAVORITE SYMPATHETIC VILLAINS FROM WORKS OF MEDIA SO OBSCURE THAT I CAN GUARANTEE NOBODY ON EARTH WILL EVER SEARCH FOR THEM ON TUMBLR AND PROCEED TO SCREAM AT ME FOR LIKING THEM!

10. MechaTyrantis from The Atomic Time of Monsters by William Cope

Appearing in William Cope's stunning kaiju period piece novel series The Atomic Time of Monsters, MechaTyrantis takes the genre trope of a mechanical doppelganger kaiju and gives it a few new twists. We actually meet MechaTyrantis as a purely flesh and blood creature first, where he is presented as a natural rival for the main kaiju character, Tyrantis, because they are both males of the same species vying for the attention of the sole female of their kind that they've found. MT loses the courtship fight to Tyrantis, and nurses a grudge about it, eventually luring Tyrantis into a trap to try and kill him. In the grand tradition of villains, his evil plot backfires and hurts him more than his intended victim, leaving him crippled and comatose in a rock slide.

This is where the pathos comes in, for as nasty as MT is, the human villains who excavate his unconscious form from the rocks are a lot worse, harvesting him for parts to make a cyborg war machine. Intended to be nothing more than a wetware PC, MechaTyrantis's animal brain lies dormant for much of the time he's being piloted, but sporadically awakens when given proper stimuli - at which point we get treated to the horror of what was done to him, and how his animal mind struggles to understand the surge of inputs from both his machine body parts and the human trying to pilot them. His existence is, bluntly, a nightmare, and one that makes MechaTyrantis continue to lash out at the world with horrifying results.

Yet as nasty as he was before and after his alteration, it's clear he doesn't deserve a fate this wretched, and author William Cope obviously agrees with me, as MechaTyrantis does stumble his way into a redemption of sorts, albeit by suffering a great deal of pain and humiliation before he can reach the epiphany he needs.

9. Promythigor from The Atomic Time of Monsters by William Cope

One of the last villains introduced in The Atomic Time of Monsters Series (at least so far - while there are only two volumes at the time of this writing, esteemed author William Cope has noted several times on social media that he intends to write more someday down the line), Promythigor has less screentime than most of his fellow bad guys, but he makes it count. Essentially King Kong if he both had firebending powers and a dangerous case of pyromania, Promythigor isn't outright malicious so much as lethally foolhardy and careless with his fire powers, which brings him into conflict with pretty much ever living being he encounters.

Yet, like MechaTyrantis, there's pathos to him, as he too is a horrible science experiment created by humans who neither thought of nor cared about the psychological state of the supernatural animals they were exploiting. There's almost an innocence to Promythigor as he lashes out, and for all the trouble he causes with his mischief it's clear he doesn't really understand how much harm he's doing. One thinks he could sort himself out if given a few good influences and a lot of firm boundaries, which volume two seems to set him up for. At the very least, he got one of the best action scenes in the books.

8. Ahuul from The Atomic Time of Monsters by William Cope

Ok, last kaiju on this list, I promise! Or at least the last one from ATOM. Ahuul is the first villainous kaiju we meet in William Cope's groundbreaking series, and he does a good job of setting up the stakes - before we properly meet him, the story is relatively light-hearted, especially with the big, lovable friendly kaiju Tyrantis forming an unlikely friendship with human paleontologist Dr. Lerna. But then Ahuul flies out and begins eating people to reminds us that these monsters can be quite deadly indeed. Things get particularly dire when he leaves the countryside and lands in the nearby town, at which point we see how helpless the local law enforcement of this rural community are in the face of a kaiju threat - and that makes it all the more cathartic a release when Tyrantis arrives to kick his ass.

Ahuul doesn't have a redemption arc so much as what tumblr has called a "Vegeta arc" - which is to say, he never really stops being a nasty, vicious bastard, he just ends up surrounded by enough morally inclined badasses that he stops being able to get away with doing much evil anymore. By the end of volume one, he becomes something of a joke, easily trounced by all the other monsters around him, as by that point the world of ATOM has expanded enough to show that a monster as deadly to humans as Ahuul is still ultimately kind of a small fish in a big pond.

Which does lead to some character development, in a roundabout way. Ahuul may be awful, but he doesn't like to be beaten up all the time, and so he starts making efforts to tone down his worse impulses and gain the tolerance of his neighbors. Seeking redemption out of pragmatism instead of remorse may not be super moral, but it does shed an interesting light on the nasty bastard, and allows us to enjoy him as a character without worrying that his comedically awful personality will cause real problems.

7. The Jester's Jape from No Small Feat and Wake of the Red Death, a pair of Fabula Ultima TTRPG Liveplay Shows GM'ed by William Cope

(inking for these sprites done by the illustrious @dragonzzilla)

I suppose I'm cheating by putting four characters in one spot, but you kind of have to take these ladies together. A quartet of goofy villainous henchmen in the vein of the Turks from Final Fantasy 7 and Ozzy, Flea, and Slash from Chrono Trigger, the Jester's Jape are a quartet of trouble-makers who routinely find themselves working for arch-villains and megalomaniacs because hey, it pays the bills. Though the bosses they work for tend to be bastards (or at least majorly conceited), they themselves are firmly in the "punch clock villain" mold, only doing what they need to to get paid, and more than happy to betray the evil bastards they were working for if things go South. I also like the fact that they establish clowns are explicitly a variety of half-demon in the setting of these stories, because it's fun to think of clowns as a variety of monster rather than just an occupation.

6. The Ravening Beast from No Small Feat, a Fabula Ultima TTRPG Liveplay GM'ed by William Cope

(Inking for these pieces done by the magnanimous @scatha5 and the splendiferous @dinosaurana, respectively)

Ok one more kaiju I suppose, technically, if we really stretch the definition of the word a bit. In a campaign full of fairy tale pastiches, The Ravening Beast fulfills the archetype of The Big Predator That Wants to Eat You - not just your Big Bad Wolves, but your bridge trolls, your manticores, and all other large hairy things dwelling in wild places and waiting for innocent passersby to cobble up. And for most of the campaign that seems to be all there is to the monster - just a big, nasty, hungry thing that wants to eat and eat and eat, a primal fear that torments the player characters at every turn.

Until, of course, the heroes track it to its den, and we discover the Beast's history - how its father particularly aimed to sire a monster, creating a creatures whose hormones were so imbalanced that it had to eat its siblings at birth just to quell the churning emptiness in its guts. How it was specifically groomed to be a maneater, and how it was fed a corpse with one of the magic jewels that serve as the campaign's primary mcguffins, which turned it into an even worse monster.

At the end of the story, the Ravening Beast wasn't a figure to be afraid of, but one to be pitied - a poor, mistreated creature who was never given a chance to be happy, and like the real life man-eaters that inspired it, sadly had to be put down for its own sake.

5. Prince Lucifer of Cocytus from No Sympathies by William Cope

Yep, that's right, it's the goddamn devil. William Cope's magnificent first novel, No Sympathies, gives us a taste of its take on Lucifer at the start by showing us his rousing speech during the War in Heaven before The Fall, but after that it waits a long time to show us the demon of demons when he's fully crowned in his sinful glory as Hell's prince of princes, content to build his reputation in whispers before we see him in action. Once Lucifer is fully unveiled, though, he is every bit the cunning and cruel bastard you'd expect, castrating his daughter's would-be suitor and generally coming off as in control of every situation we see him in.

At least, until the halfway point of the book, where shit truly hits the fan and Lucifer's dominion of Hell is threatened in way he's never had to face before. Lucifer, the ultimate bad boy, is forced into having to fight to save his people, and as expected, he's pretty fucking bad at it because, well, he's a self-centered douche - but one with enough charm and enough love in his heart to still be likable, making us root for him to get his shit together despite it all and finally be the hero he's always claimed to be.

4. Prince Beelzebub of Scathatch from No Sympathies by William Cope

While Lucifer is arguably more important to the plot of No Sympathies, I think anyone who's read William Cope's brilliant debut effort would agree that Beelzebub is his favorite of the princes. Hell, the lord of flies even gets to do the novel's title drop as part of his starring role in the chapter that really underlies the book's major point - namely, how can we judge the damned so harshly when we too are capable of sin, and isn't viewing some as sinners and some as saved a sin of hubris in itself?

Beelzebub gets some slick one-liners and produces one of the most horrifying images in the book, but more than that, he shows the pathos inherent to being a devil, as he's smart enough to realize that landing himself in Hell was a dumb move that's only brought him misery, but is too proud to fully accept his culpability in it, which makes his struggle to rationalize why he's suffering so much kind of tragic. Like Lucifer, you find yourself rooting for him to get his shit together despite his MANY rough edges, especially when the plot hits its big turn and he's forced into an unlikely hero role.

3. Marquise Alichino from No Sympathies by William Cope

It's a novel entirely focused on demons that almost no one's read, of course I'm going to mine it for characters! Alichino is, on the surface, a simpler villain than Lucifer or Beelzebub, in that her flaws are exaggerated to comedic extremes and mostly played for laughs. Hell, she's literally a demonic harlequin, isn't that appropriate? But her silliness contributes to her sympathetic nature, as you quickly get the sense that Alichino isn't fully aware of how nasty she's being, in part because the nature of Hell has divorced her from understanding the scope of suffering her actions inflict on those she's sent to punish. Alichino is further softened by the affection and loyalty she shows for those she's deemed worthy of her protection, proving to be a reliable ally despite her violent nature.

2. Matilda from No Sympathies by William Cope

This is the last No Sympathies character, I promise - and yes, that means I won't be including the book's protagonist, Pug, since you can't really argue he's a villain. He's a henchmen at best. Matilda, though, was a full on temptress in her heyday, in that it was literally her job to tempt people to sin. We even get to see her on the job, where she acts with all the sleaze of a used car salesmen while trying to convince a mortal man to sin. Of course, it backfires on her when she proves to have too big of a heart to stick to landing, and ends up demoted to a lowly position in Hell for it. The Matilda we first meet in the novel is broken by that experience, and much of the book is built on her discovering and embracing the goodness within herself despite the misery it brought her in the past - while Pug may be the main character of No Sympathies, Matilda is arguably the novel's heart.

1. Lord Dhenregirr from the Wizard School Mysteries series by William Cope

We're ending with a character from William Cope's exceptional and utterly unique novel series that is certainly not similar to any popular fantasy fiction franchise that was published within the last three decades, Wizard School Mysteries. While only two of the promised eight novels in the series have been published so far, I think it's safe to say that Lord Dhenregirr is a scene-stealing standout among the supporting cast. In the first book, The Meddlesome Youths, he plays a primarily comedic role, a bumbling minor villain with delusions of competence and a tendency to make grandiose speeches about his wicked plans that are undercut by how quickly he's defeated, like an even more pathetic one-man version of Team Rocket.

However, in the second book, Tournament of Death, we get to see more dimensions of him, ad this is where Lord Dhenregirr shows signs of being more than just a gag character. Facing the protagonist of the series, James Chaucer, in a one-on-one battle in the titular tournament, Dhenregirr proves to be a far more competent fighter than previously shown, as for once he's neither outnumbered nor caught by surprise. No-selling most of James's spells and summoning a legion of skeleton soldiers to fight alongside himself, the goofy ineffectual villain ends up becoming a serious threat.

That is, until James threatens those skeleton minions with harm, which is when Dhenregirr exposes a truly sympathetic side of himself, as it turns out he's the rare villain who actually cares about the well-being of his cronies. Add to this the fact that some of his dialogue in the fight seems more like that of a mentor than an adversary to James, and you start to see how there could be more to Dhenregirr's motives than the simple cartoon villainy they first appeared to be. With six books left in the series, there's plenty of room for Dhenregirr to grow into a truly complex characters, and I for one cannot wait to see what William Cope does with him.

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howlingday · 2 months ago

Note

Wait while I'm on about this how would rwby react to stuff like

A ruby lookalike who's like shadow

Super ruby

Ruby going to storybook worlds

Chao

Literal aliens

And a being of pure chaos

Ooh~! Sounds like fun~! Alright, here goes~!

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The Huntress

Ruby panted as she looked back to the wailing sirens of the city of Vale's police force still searching for her. Her entire day had been one chase after the other since she was arrested by the Atlas military. She wasn't sure how or why she suddenly became a wanted criminal, but she wasn't intending to find out from the inside of a prison cell. So, at her first opportunity, she escaped, and led to her standing before a disabled Paladin mech crumpled before her. And a girl in a black hood standing atop it.

"What?!" Ruby exclaimed.

"It all starts with this," The figure lifted their slender, shadowy arm to reveal a Relic, "an artifact holding the ultimate power~!"

"That's the... Relic of Knowledge!" At this exclamation, the figure took notice of Ruby, silver eyes matching silver eyes. "Now I get it! Everyone seems to think that you're me! So, what are you gonna do with that Relic?" Ruby bolted forward, spiraling towards her dark duplicate. "SAY SOMETHING, FAKE HOOD!"

"JINN!"

Time froze around Ruby, who could only helplessly watch as her doppelganger chuckled while walking past her mid-spiral attack. Ruby landed, leaping backwards to keep from falling over. She shook her head in bewilderment.

"Holy cats, you're fast!" She scrunched her nose. "But that wasn't really your speed, was it? You were just using the magic of the Relic!"

"My name doesn't matter." The figure dangled the lamp in front of them. "I am The Huntress, the most powerful hunter across all Remnants, and I'm done playing with you." There was a clatter, and a flash grenade rolled to Ruby's feet. "FAREWELL!"

Ruby flinched, closing her eyes at just the last minute. As the world came back into view, she saw that her imposter had disappeared. "The Huntress? What kind of huntress is she-"

"GET ON THE GROUND!" A voice barked. "KEEP YOUR ARMS SPREAD!"

"Huh?" Suddenly, Ruby was surrounded by Atlas military. "Ugh... Not again..."

(Fun Fact!: This is an Evil Ruby I'm working on)

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Silver Ruby

The city, if not the whole world was in peril! MANA, the arcane entity sealed away long ago and now released by Cinder's group, absorbed the magic of the Relics and had become a being as powerful, if not more powerful than the Brothers themselves! Upon doing so, it began to warp reality itself, causing buildings to collapse and pure magic to flow through the streets. All the misery and pain being spread had attracted a large amount of Grimm as well, only making things even more difficult!

"This isn't just a nightmare..." Ruby had been separated by her team, who split up to search for survivors. She gripped her scythe with frustration. "This is so much worse!"

High above, dipping low from the dark clouds was a massive airship. Painted along the hull was a familiar jack-o-lantern, clear proof of who was piloting the airborne war machine. And if it wasn't, the voice of the man himself dispelled any confusions.

"Good thing someone left the keys in this thing~!" Roman Torchwick chuckled. "Regardless, I don't appreciate giant monsters ruining my plans to have fun with this city! Neo, fire at will!"

Rockets, missiles, heavy guns, and just about everything that wasn't an outright city-sweeper was launched at the magical creature! Unfortunately, it did little to deter the monster, serving only to fuel its rage! Opening its maw, it unleashed a powerful beam of energy at the ship, slicing the most powerful weapon wielded by the Kingdom of Atlas like a hot knife through cold butter!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Roman could be seen clinging to Neo as they drifted away to safety.

"That does it!" Ruby stepped forward, roaring at the massive beast. "What gives you the right to do all of this?!" Suddenly, a small, green light drifted towards the young reaper. "Oh! It's you! You're the one who sealed Mana away in the first place!" The small man appeared as if out of thin air. "Mini-Pin!"

"My magic was the one to seal away Mana." The small Ozpin explained. "Even now, he's filled with naught but rage and sorrow. He's done great harm to this city, and if this continues, it will only cause greater harm to the world at large! Same as before!"

With a mighty bellow, Mana scattered the Relics far from them, each a drained husk of what they once were. Ruby's attention was drawn to Mana, whose cries seemed to sound different now. Ozpin clicked his cane to the floor, angered by the sudden change. "We must seal him once more before it's too late!"

"But what will that change?" Ruby asked, notably calmer than she was before. "He'll still be the same as when he was sealed the last time, right? Being angry doesn't just away like that! He'll just be trapped with those feelings forever!"

"What choice do we have?!" Ozpin asked, jumping into the air and waving his cane around.

"Ruby!" She turned to see Jaune run up to her with his team, a now dull Relic in his hands. "Here, take this!"

Behind Ruby, her team arrived with Relics of their own in each of their hands. "Hey, guys! What's up?"

"Mana only drew on the negative magic from the Brother of Darkness." Blake explained as she held out another Relic. "Ruby, you should be able to harness their real power!"

"I don't like throwing my little sister out like this, but Blake's onto something with this." Yang huffed.

"Ruby, you're the only one." Weiss said, her eyes meeting Ruby's with... something she hadn't seen in them before? Expectancy? Pleading? Worry? Maybe it was just her imagination, especially since she couldn't focus with all the people around her cheering her name.

"Yay, Ruby~!"

"Go, Ruby~!"

"Ruby~! Ruby~! Ruby~!"

"Negative magic isn't the only way to empower the Relics." Blake explained further. "Our joys and hopes can also make them work!"

The four Relics swirled around Ruby, filling her with an energy she'd never felt before. It felt more powerful than aura, like it was protecting her from within as well as from outside of her body. She felt invincible as silver energy coated her hair and clothes into a protective barrier, with silver flames burning in her eyes.

Without another word, she launched forward.

(Fun Fact!: I had trouble deciding between live-action Sonic 2, for comedy, and Sonic X for nostalgia. I think I made the right choice on this one.)

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The Girl Who Eased Fear

Ruby zoomed through the forest, finally breaking free from the trees and into the open road leading to the city. Someway, somehow, she'd found herself transported to the world inside her mother's old storybook. Clinging to her back was the Blade of Omens, a legendary sword held only by those doomed to fall in the most tragic of ways. Not that Ruby was concerned with what the magic weapon had to say about it.

"That was close." Spoke the blade. "For a moment, I thought the prophecy was sure to come true."

"Well, I'm not ready to die yet." She replied. "Not when there's a family waiting for me back home!"

"And how are you so certain that this family will still be waiting when you arrive?" At this, Ruby didn't say anything. In fact, it seemed like she wasn't listening. "What's wrong?"

"Do you hear that?"

"WAAAAAAAAAH~!"

Ruby bolted into the city, finding a crowd dancing and cheering around a crying child. The boy, weeping under a pile of pigeons, had nearly cried a literal river into the streets. Leaping over the men and women still celebrating, Ruby landed next to the boy and carefully lifted the pigeons off of him one-by-one.

"Are you okay?!" Ruby asked once enough birds were plucked free from the boy.

"I'm supposed to be the next king, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" The youth answered with tears streaming just as hard as before. "I've never been this scared before!"

"Where's your mom?"

"I... I don't know, but..." The boy sniffed. "I... I really wish she was here~! WAAAAAAAAAH~!"

Ruby grit her teeth as she looked at the lad. He was so small, so weak, and yet... She couldn't stop seeing herself crying in him. Back when she'd lost her own mother. Ruby knelt down and wiped some tears from his eyes.

"Do you know where your mom is?"

"She... She's at home..." He whimpered. "At the foot of the mountains."

"Alright." Ruby nodded, standing tall. "I'm on it."

"Halt! Halt, I say!" The Blade of Omens barked. "Don't tell me you intend to run off to find a single person to placate this crying child!"

"Nope!" Ruby gripped the blade and turned to the mountains. "We are~!"

"But what of your mission now?! You will never before sundown!"

"Probably not," Ruby chuckled, "but I'm not the kind of girl to leave someone crying in the street without helping them!" She sped off in a flurry of petals. "Never forget that!"

The boy-king looked to where the girl ran, in awe of the brave hero who'd come to his rescue. She jumped in the air, turning to call back to him.

"Do what you're supposed to do, Your Majesty, and if you don't know, then just wait until I bring your mom here~!"

(Fun Fact!: I got inspired by OSPs rendition of "The Boy Who Found Fear At Last" and probably the best scene that shows just the kind of hero Sonic is)

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Until We Meet Again, Ruby Rose...

"Ruby Rose!" Ruby turned to see all of her friends standing expectantly in front of her. Weiss lead the charge, standing in front of everyone else. "What's this I hear about you having a doppelganger?"

"A what?"

"Y'know?" Yang asked. "Big Ruby?"

"Oh, her! Yup!" Ruby giggled. "She just left. But holy cats, you guys won't believe the adventure we've been on!"

"What exactly was this 'Big Ruby' like?" Blake asked.

"Was she cool?" Sun asked.

"Cooler than Winter?" Neptune added.

"HEY!" Weiss and Winter exclaimed in unison.

"Ice cold~!" Ruby cheerfully confirmed.

"Was she fiery like me?" Yang asked, her semblance kicking in for effect, making Jaune leap away and into the water.

"She was hotter than the sun~!" Ruby pointed to the sky, leaving Sun to sulk a bit.

"Did she fly?" Blake asked, patting Sun on the back.

"All over the place~!" Ruby zipped around with her semblance, scattering petals everywhere. "Faster and higher than I ever could~!"

"Was her weapon sharp?" Pyrrha asked.

"I was worried she'd cut ME in half~!" Ruby laughed, patting Crescent Rose.

"She sounds like a superhero!" Nora exclaimed. "No, wait; LIKE A SUPERNOVA~!" She inhaled. "Did she shine like one?"

"I almost went blind looking at her~!" Ruby beamed. The crowd around her seemed pleased by her remarks, murmuring their excitement to meet Big Ruby again. "There might be a whole bunch of Grimm out there, but there's only ONE Ruby Rose... Uh, a-aside from me, of course~!"

'I decided to tell everyone about you, Big Ruby, even the people who never got to meet you. I wanna make sure I never forget you. Thank you for everything you have done for me, and for us, and I hope to meet you again...'

(Fun Fact!: I prefer the DS Sonic Colors over the console versions. And this interaction [which I think is only on the DS] is proof of why)

#rwby #sonic the hedgehog #ruby rose #sonic adventure 2 #sonic adventure 2: battle #weiss schnee #ozpin #rwby chibi #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #sonic and the black knight #sonic colors

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nanabansama · 1 year ago

Note

who was talking to nene in chapter 101? The one who asked her what she thought would happen with the play because of the accident. Do we know what they were talking about yet? I thought it was tsukasa because he appears randomly in 102, but looking at the hand I'm not sure.

The hand was also drawn feminine and did not look at all like how AidaIro draws any of the boy's hands. Honestly it looked like nene's hand.

Oooh, this is a fun time to bring this up again! Your comment about the hand looking like Nene's made me think of doppelgangers. Like what happened in the recent After-school Hanako-kun chapter.

Veeery interesting... And as you say, the hand that taps Nene's shoulder is feminine. When compared to Nene's, it's not all that far off, either...

I have no doubt that the apparition here takes on the form of a girl! But even though I just brought this up myself, I have my doubts about them taking Nene's form... there just isn't much to support this idea, y'know? Nene has pretty generic girly hands. And I personally don't think the new After-School is anything more than a bit of fun. I think AidaIro wouldn't want to ruin the surprise of there being a whole other Nene in a little spin-off chapter, do you?

Some kind of Evil Yashiro would be so fun to see though!! So I wouldn't complain. ♡

Out of curiosity, I also decided to poke around the internet for some urban legends told in schools (school mysteries) and I couldn't find anything that quite matched the encounter Nene had. There were mysterious hands with no visible owner, sure, but tales involving those seem to have them coming out of swimming pools or toilets and grabbing people. But maybe I just overlooked one, who knows!

Anyway, I have no idea who they were or what they were talking about. (∀｀*ゞ) Sorry....

They're clearly talking about the play, though! It's just that what they're saying is so vague, it could mean anything. Basically, what this whole interaction is supposed to do is give us and Nene apprehension about the school play. The word "accident" just sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it!? Makes you wonder what accident happened prior, and how it concerns us in the present day...

But how does this apparition know, and when did this other accident occur? It's hard to say, but considering we haven't seen the play put on in 1968 yet, I have my suspicions it happened in that one. Not only was it also a performance of The Wizard of Oz, but our favorite local troublemaker Tsukasa Yugi had a hand in its production.

Curious, right? That Tsukasa helped prepare the play, but is content to just wait here with Amane? This isn't just Tsukasa being attached to Amane either, mind you... Amane didn't help. Amane cut class. When Tsukasa was helping his class prepare, he did not cut class with him. Maybe it doesn't mean anything, and Tsukasa was just having fun doing arts and crafts and what-not, but there's decent reason to believe that Tsukasa could have sabotaged the play somehow.

Remember, Tsukasa during this period in time has already been proven to have destructive tendencies. He wanted to destroy the Big Clock.

It's not completely out of the question!

This all still doesn't answer who the hand is, of course, but perhaps if the accident the hand is talking about is related to the 1968 production, then the hand has some relation to Tsukasa...? A former classmate, perhaps? Or maybe it's just some nobody ghost that lurked around the Closed Auditorium. Hard to say.

Anyway, that was a whole lotta talking to basically say nothing, huh? But I hope this helped get your brain juices flowing! And I really hope this apparition comes back, too. We desperately need more female characters in the cast, especially after the tragedy of Sumire-chan... (RIP...)

#asks #tbhk #jshk

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hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Maria Falconetti (The Passion of Joan of Arc)—there is no way of conveying her appeal which isn't just saying "watch the passion of joan of arc." anyway, vote for the close shaven lesbian filled with the eyes of the weeping/pleading/puppy dog emoji.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut, NSFW]

Brigitte Helm:

THEE femme fatale of German Expressionist film. Her double performance as sweet and innocent Maria and her evil robot doppelganger in Metropolis is fantastic.

[Editor's note for video: tw for unsavory slave imagery, eyeball horror, freaky statues, death references—generally just go forth with caution if you're sensitive to horror/horror adjacent work. Enjoy!]

youtube

She got to play the most beautiful robot in all of cinema. That's got to count for something.

in the movie metropolis (1927) she plays an evil cyborg *and* a communist. The evil cyborg is hot in a deranged way and the communist is just very pretty.

#maria falconetti #brigitte helm #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2 #Youtube

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twistedtummies2 · 5 months ago

Text

Of Big Mice & Men - Chapter 1

This is the first of a multi-chapter story I wrote as a long, LONG running trade with CK-19 on FurAffinity. He created a trio of OCs for Twisted Wonderland, themed around the villains of "The Great Mouse Detective." In return for three pieces of artwork (which have not been posted here...at least not yet), I agreed to write a three-part story to introduce these characters in writing, in the typical TW format. Also, my boi Elias is featured as a supporting character, along with the Pomefiore Trio! Take from that what you will. This first chapter doesn't include any direct vore, but every chapter includes kinky references and teases, so do be warned. IF YOU DON'T LIKE VORE, STUFFING, AND OTHER ASSORTED KINKS, OR YOU'RE NOT 18+, DON'T GO READING THIS. With that said, here's Chapter 1! Chapter 2 will be linked here. :)

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“Here you are, sweetheart!”

“Have you…been with us…long?”

You looked skeptically at the strange little bat, dressed in a beefeater’s costume, as he handed you the letter attached to the large, pastel-paper-wrapped package that had been brought into your chambers. You didn’t recognize him as any of your staff…and who called the ruler of the kingdom “sweetheart,” anyway? You shooed the Bat away; he backed up with a crooked grin, hobbling on a peg leg that replaced one of his lower limbs. You then proceeded to read the letter aloud… “To our beloved monarch, this gift we send, as their sixty-year reign…” You paused, hesitating to read the last line. “...Comes to an…end?” As if on cue, you heard the rustling of paper and unwrapping ribbons. Turning fast, now VERY confused, you watched as your guards pulled open the package…and gasped softly as you beheld the contents. Inside the oversized box was what appeared to be a metal statue. The sculpture was the perfect likeness of yourself! Every feature, color, and detail was perfectly identical to your own appearance, as it posed with its head held high, back straight and erect, looking proud and haughty. “How extraordinary!” you exclaimed, unable to repress amazement at the lifelike appearance of the sculpture… …Amazement that changed to fear and alarm when it suddenly popped open its eyes and swiveled its head towards you. Then, its hands lifted up, clawing at the air as it lunged at you with shocking speed. “Goodness gracious!” you cried out, and dodged the metallic doppelganger. It began to chase you around the room. You bounded around, weaving in a figure-eight sort of pattern to avoid its grasping iron fists. You dove behind your guards for protection… …At which point, you heard a low, dark chuckle. Peeking out from behind the two guards, you saw the metallic simulacrum - the Automaton - had paused in the center of the room. Now you could see what looking like a long, thick cable or cord trailing behind it, like a snake. At the other end of the wire, you saw what looked like a portable booth of some sort; a small, stooped figure with sad, weary eyes was fiddling with a set of levers and switches at the booth, controlling the machine. But it was the figure who leaned with a smug, supercilious, sinister smirk against the doorway, just a little away from the booth, that caught your attention most. A hulking, towering figure, garbed in a long black-and-red cape, and a tuxedo that seemed to cling with desperation to his bulky, muscular framework. A top hat was perched at a jaunty angle atop his black-furred head, as yellow eyes and equally yellow, jagged-looking teeth peered at you with evil intent. A long, fat, wormy-looking tail drooped down and curled upon the floor from beneath the cape, matching the twitching nose and round ears, signifying your visitor to be the slimy, contemptible sewer rat you knew him to be. You’d long known of his name. You’d seen his images in the papers. He was the Napoleon of Crime: the one who would plunge all of Mousedom into the depths of Hell. The brain behind the Big Ben Caper, the thing behind the Tower Bridge Job… “PROFESSOR RATIGAN!” you screeched, and marched out from behind your guards, pointing at the arch-criminal. “GUARDS! SEIZE THIS DESPICABLE CREATURE!” You hear the Bat let out a raspy, almost sick-sounding laugh. Your guards remain immobile. You suddenly notice the evil smirks upon their faces. You instantly realize the truth: these AREN’T your guards. They’re imposters! The Professor has you trapped!

Clearly enjoying the rising panic on your face, the Professor grabs hold of a speaking device attached to the booth. As he speaks smugly into it, his voice comes out of the Automaton: just like the machine itself, the voice is a perfect replica of your own. “GUARDS!” the Automaton says, with your voice and the Professor’s mocking tone. “SEIZE THIS DESPICABLE CREATURE! HA HA HA HA HA HA!” In an instant, the fake guards grab hold of you. You yelp and struggle against them, but they’re stronger than you are. “Oh! How dare you?!” you cough out, as they snicker at your plight. The Professor sniffs snootily, and removes a golden bell from his waistcoat pocket. “Take it away!” he bellows, and gives the belly a chiming ring-a-ding! “Move along, honey!” cackles the Bat, and he and the two guards drag you out of the room. As you pass the Professor, you see him tuck the bell away, smirking sneakily as he begins to polish the face of the Auotmaton with a small pink cloth. “Let go of me, you ruffians! Fiends! Traitors!” you wail. The guards and the Bat just roll their eyes at your words, and proceed to bind you in strong ropes, forcing a cloth gag around your mouth. The guards then rush off to join the Professor, while the Bat grabs hold of the ropes and begins to drag you through the gilded halls of the Palace, towards the Royal Balcony. “Your turn, toots,” grunts the Bat, and then shrilly calls out: “Heeere, kitty-kitty-kitty!” The words fill you with dread. You manage to get a look at where the Bat is taking you…and scream behind the gag, as you see a pair of ravenous yellow eyes peering in at you from over the edge of the balcony. They disappear and then reappear again, rising and falling: you realize whatever is beyond the Balcony is bouncing up and down with eager excitement. Eager, you quickly understand…to make a meal out of you. You struggle more fiercely, desperate to avoid becoming some doubtless feline monster’s dinner! As the Bat hoists you up over his head, you try to kick at his noggin - and succeed, if the sudden shriek of, “Ow! Stop it!” is anything to go by - but it is all for naught. Despite his size, the Bat is stronger than you are, especially with the ropes keeping you tightly trussed up. It isn’t long till the Bat reaches the Royal Balcony. The beast that awaits you has stopped bouncing, and is now seated, patiently waiting just below the edge of the overlook. The creature defied all description: the fattest cat you’d ever seen, bigger than a Blue Whale! A half-lidded look of self-satisfaction and ravenous, smoldering greed was upon the creature’s face, as it purred deeply, swishing its tail in expectation. The Bat lifted you up higher into the air, and called down to the Fat Cat in a sing-song sort of way: “Ooopen wiiide!” The Fat Cat obeyed, and its jaws spread apart, revealing a vast, slimy chasm of sloppy, pinkish flesh and sharp, off-white fangs, all sloping back towards a gluttonous black hole of a gullet. You screamed frantically behind the gag, desperately shaking your head in panic, but the Bat just laughed as the Fat Cat drooled…

“Bye-bye!” the Bat cackled, and without any further warning, hurled you over the edge of the Royal Balcony. Your final scream was muffled as you fell, toppling head over heels, into the literal jaws of death…which snapped shut around you with the cold finality of a steel door, preluding the warm, slimy darkness from which you would never return. The last sound you heard was a loud GULP all around you… …Then something bounced on your chest and yowled “MINION! GET UP!” You awoke with a jolt, gasping heavily and sitting up fast in your bed. Your head jerked about as you hastened to gather your surroundings. Via the light that streamed through a thin partition in your bedroom curtains, you came to realize it was already morning. You groaned as you realized either you’d slept through your alarm, or the alarm itself hadn’t gone off. Just your luck. “Oh, good grief,” you grumbled, running a hand over your face and mussing your own hair. Your whole body felt heavy, creaky, and gritty, the way one usually feels first thing in the morning after an unpleasant sleep. “Nya! C’mon, get your butt in gear!” “Don’t talk to ME about butts,” you mumbled, and rubbing at your eyes. You touched your cheek and shivered; your “nightmare” had left you with a pronounced blush, which heated your palm in a way you didn’t like at present. You needed new kinks. Seriously. Still grumpy, you glared sourly past baggy eyes at the cat-like little monster who had bounced off of you and back onto the floor beside the bed. Grim was standing on his hind legs, forelimbs crossed, tapping one footpaw impatiently on the floor as his trident tail lashed irritatedly behind him. Even the blue sparks that crackled from his fiery ears seemed a bit more irate than normal as he gave you a petulant glare. “What?” you grunted, not in the mood after your nightmare. “Breakfast!” meowed Grim, and pawed at the blankets like a feral cat. “We gotta eat somethin’ before we go!” “Go?” you blinked, your brain struggling to recall what Grim was referring to. There were no classes that day, after all, but you remembered setting an alarm regardless… “To Pomefiore!” Grim urged in reminder. “The Film Club, y’know?” You sighed softly and nodded, as it came back to you. “Right,” you muttered, and kicked off the blankets as you clambered out of bed, staggering a bit, your dream still fresh on your mind. “Vil, uh…he asked us to help him, right?” “Uh-huh,” nodded Grim, padding around the bed to the other side with a growing smirk. “Guess he realized he couldn’t make a movie without ving the Great Grim some kinda part, huh?” You gave a tired, wry smile in response. Vil Schoenheit’s preferred gaffers for the Film Studies Club had both recently taken ill, and would not be returning for about two weeks. Ortho was busy with some stuff pertaining to the Shroud Family, with his brother, so he could not rely on the android for any technical assistance. Not entirely sure where else to turn, he’d asked you and Grim to assist behind the scenes for a few days. Grim, however, hadn’t figured out he wasn’t acting in the movie at all. Which wasn’t a problem: you’d soon convince him that being a gaffer was somehow even more important. It wasn’t hard to stroke Grim’s ego in any given direction and get him to behave; you’d figured him out by now.

A yawn went through you and you stretched; as you did so, you remembered the absolutely massive feline in your dreams, and their own yawning mouth. A shiver went through you, and was soon followed by a different sort of shudder, as you remembered the creepy little bat and the devious rat that had also been present. “Can’t wait to see what THAT was all about,” you mumbled, knowing by now these sorts of dreams were rarely idle fancies. “Nya?” Grim mewed, curiously. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head, and moving to get dressed. “Thanks for waking me up, Grim. Lemme get dressed and I’ll make us breakfast. But only a quick one!” Grim nodded in acceptance. Normally, he would have complained about how a “quick” breakfast usually meant one that was much too small for his seemingly bottomless pit of a belly. Not this time, however: if there was one thing you were both agreed on, it was that being late for almost ANY Housewarden’s demands at Night Raven College was going to end horribly. Vil Schoenheit was far from an exception.

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“My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil would not infect his reason?” “Not a soul but felt a fever of the mad, and played some tricks of desperation…”

You carefully adjusted your grip on the reflector as you held it up in position. Not so far from you, Grim was holding a second reflector - obviously smaller and lower to the ground - to direct the flow of light in the direction Vil had demanded. Everything had to be positioned properly. Outdoor shoots were always tricky. Your mind wandered away from the dialogue being uttered a few feet ahead of where you stood. You noticed something wiggle slightly in the corner of your eye; being cautious not to loose your grip, you checked to see what it was. To your opposite side from Grim, and about the same distance away, a student held aloft the boom mic, keeping it positioned over the heads of the two actors in the center of the action, and trying to keep it out of the frame. The student in question was dressed in a Pomefiore uniform, but with the blazer buttoned up and the collar turned upwards; he was very small and thin, with a gaunt sort of face and sharp features, only partially obscured by the unusual shades he wore. The tint on the glasses was a curious yellowish hue, and the wire rims were colored crimson. From his gray-brown head of shaggy hair, a pair of ears - those of a vampire bat - sprouted up and twitched from side to side. The most curious thing of all, however, was the wooden peg that replaced the fellow’s right foot. You were tempted to ask what happened that led to such an injury, but you didn’t think it was polite, since you’d never met this student before in your life. Of course, the same could be said for a couple of people on the scene, including one of the two actors being filmed.

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!”

This utterance was followed by a cackling laugh, and you turned quickly as you were alerted by the sound. The famous line was uttered by one of these new faces: he was garbed in a fanciful, pale, ethereal costume - similar to something you’d seen your friends wear during the Fairy Gala - which seemed almost offset by the rest of his appearance. He was a fit, athletic figure, with a round and handsome face…but with dangerous, almost devil-like red eyes, and a mouthful of jagged teeth, which he displayed in a duplicitous sort of smile. The tail of a rodent whipped behind him, and a pair of matching rodentine ears were visible between the hairs of his scalp: raven-hued hairs, swept back and pomaded most heavily. Opposite to the rodent-boy was a more familiar face. You couldn’t help but smile as the cackle was replied to by a chortle from Elias Inque. Garbed in a long wizard’s robe that reminded you of Headmage Ambrose from NRC, and wearing glasses and some aging makeup to give himself an older appearance, Eli clapped his scene partner on the shoulder with one hand, as the other gripped the mage’s staff (a prop, rather than a real magical conduit). “Why, that’s my spirit!” he said, putting on an affectation of age in his voice. “But was not this nigh shore?” “Close by, my Master,” the rodent replied, brushing the hand off his shoulder with a slight sneer, trying to hide a look of mild distaste and failing.

“But are they, Ariel, safe?” urged Elias, in the role of Prospero. “Not a hair perished!” promised the rodent. He paused, and was about to say more, when… “CUT!”

Instantly, the two actors seemed to jump out of their characters. Elias straightened his stance, and looked expectantly towards the director’s chair. The rodent boy smirked, sticking his nose up and puffing out his chest as he did the same, clearly proud of his work so far. Vil rose from the folding chair he’d set up for himself as director. Imperiously, he addressed the whole cast and crew: “Fifteen minute break, everybody. I’m going to review the footage and give a few notes, then we’ll move on. Depending on how this has panned out, we may do the scene again.” “Ha! I dare say we’ve done a more than suitable job!” barked the half-rodent. Vil narrowed his green eyes at the actor playing Ariel. “We’ll see,” was all he said, vaguely, then smiled slightly at Elias and nodded to him. “Please stay in makeup, there’s still plenty more to do.” “Wasn’t planning to get out of it,” Elias said, adjusting his glasses and stretching his back. “Oof…I think I need to take it easy on the ‘old man’ pose, though.” “Or perhaps simply warm up better before beginning work,” suggested Vil, crisply. “I ALWAYS warm up well,” huffed Elias in reply. Vil snorted slightly, and waved the actors away, before calling out, “Craft Services, Please!” He then moved to speak to the head camera operator, checking the footage with one finger to his lips as he focused. “Phew! Glad we’ve got a break,” Grim sighed at your side, as you each put down your reflectors. “My arms were getting tired.” “Mine, too,” you muttered, and smiled. “We shouldn’t be shooting for too much longer, though.” “Good,” Grim grumbled, and then hissed slightly, ears folding back as he rubbed his pudgy, fluffy belly. “Nya…my stomach is DYING over here! And now he’s calling for arts-and-crafts, of all things…” “Not arts and crafts,” corrected Elias, who had heard everything. He was removing the robe and hanging it up on a portable coat rack at the edge of the established set; it was rather warm. “Craft services. Basically snacks.” Grim’s ears pricked up. “Snacks?” he meowed, and his mouth began to water. “Y-You mean…you mean there’s FOOD here?!” You sighed, sensing trouble. “Grim-” It was too late. The imp bounded off on all fours, dropping his reflector in an instant. “FOOD!” he all but roared as he ran off. Sighing again, more heavily, you picked up the reflector and put both away properly, then headed over to the Craft Services area that had been set up. After all, you couldn’t very well leave the little demon on his own to hog it all. Grim, meanwhile, soon found the large folding tables where a variety of snacks had been piled up. He licked his whiskers greedily, turquoise eyes sparkling as he hopped up and scrambled onto the table, looking at the foodstuffs laid out. One of the crew members yelped as Grim pounced on a tray of chocolate chip muffins they’d been about to try, and began to gluttonously stuff his face with the sweet baked goods.

“Hey!” the Pomefiore student snapped. “Leave some for the rest of us!” another yelled. “You can’t do that!” a third snapped. Others began to complain…but their complaints were suddenly silenced when they heard huge footsteps pounding towards them. Fear seemed to grip all their hearts…and they hastily stepped back, parting like the red sea, as a huge shadow swept across the forest floor, approaching the table ominously. The shadow - one with pointed ears, with a vaguely conical and imposing pear-shape, like a walking rocky mountain - moved closer and closer…and soon fell over Grim. The cat-like little monster was busy licking crumbs off his paws as he sat in the middle of the now nearly empty muffin platter. He picked up the last muffin… …Then blinked, as he sensed a presence now looming over him. “Mrowrl.” The sound of a deep toned feline noise caused Grim to look up, eyes wide and curious. Standing over him was an absolutely GIGANTIC figure: a beastman with a thick mane of sandy hair, and matching cat’s ears. A matching, bushy tail was only barely visible behind their bulk. The figure was androgynous in features, with a certain effeminate softness - accented by a violet ribbon tied into a bow in their hair - but with a masculine breadth. This stated breadth was intensified by the Falstaffian dimensions of the young neko: he stood somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, an uncommon height that only a very select few at Night Raven shared, and like so many of these massively tall figures, he was also massively obese. Flabby, flappy double-chins transitioned into a barrel chest and giant belly, which peeked out from under the indigo vest and white dress shirt that was common for Pomefiore. It pooched over the waistband of the catboy’s black dress pants, which clung tightly to a set of wide, plush, thick hips, which hinted at powerfully heavy thighs and a no doubt elephantine backside. The catboy’s eyes blinked down at Grim. They were half-lidded, with a sort of imperial pride and haughty, vain coldness. The eyes glowed dimly, and were colored the same shade of violet as the hairbow he wore. His whole demeanor as he looked down at Grim was that of a spoiled and icy-veined prince, peering down at some lowly peasant. Grim frowned and hugged the muffin in his paws close to his chest. “Nya! Get your own chow!” he snapped with a snarl, not deterred by the monstrous size of the catboy. “This is mine!” The obstinate little imp then prepared to chomp down on the muffin…only for his teeth to snap shut around thin air as the catboy reached down and plucked the muffin out of his paws with a finger and thumb. Grim looked up just in time to see the fat demi pop the muffin between a pair of equally fat, plump, supple lips, which shifted as he chewed up the chocolatey goodness and - GULP! - swallowed the masticated goody into the colossal, beefy tank of his gut. “H-Hey!” Grim shouted, and stood up on the platter, stomping his foot. “Didn’t you hear me?! I said to get your own food!” The fat catboy smirked, raising one eyebrow in amusement. Then, he reached down…and Grim let out a startled “eep!” as the feline grabbed him by the scruff and hoisted him up.

“OI! PUT ME DOWN!” screeched Grim, swiping at the air. “PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW-” His shouting was cut short when a deep, low rumble came from the giant half-cat’s belly…and he saw the cat-eared student lick their lips greedily, giving Grim the same look he would have given to a tuna sandwich. “...Um…p-please?” mewed Grim, timidly. The catboy let out a low, chuckle…and opened his jaws wide, revealing a slimy orifice, filled with slippery, slick flesh. A tongue twitched in the center of it all, as ivory fangs dripped with drool, and the gullet flapped open greedily at the back of the throat. Grim cried out as he was dangled over the cavernous abyss… “W-WAIT JUST A MINUTE, Y-Y-YOU CAN’T-!” “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” The catboy closed his mouth and blinked…then looked towards the source of the sound. It was you, naturally. While the other crew members stood off to the side, looking rather nervous about the whole situation. You had to admit, your own heart was beating VERY rapidly…though anxiety was hardly the only reason. You were uncomfortably aware of the heat in your cheeks. The catboy blinked at you…then seemed to pout, looking between yourself and Grim. “Put him down!” you demanded, and gestured to the table. “Th-there’s still plenty of…snacks…l-leftover…” Your stammer was due to the feline approaching you with a greedy grin. You felt something inside of you flutter and weaken as he licked his chops. His eyes roamed across your form, as if sizing you up for supper. Then, he lifted a hand. His fingers flexed like claws, and- RING-A-DING! The neko froze. His ears and tail stiffened and straightened as he looked towards the source of the sound. “Now, now, Philippe,” a voice slithered in a silky tone. “Play nicely. After all, they’re part of the crew. We need them.” The source of the voice was the rat-boy who had been playing Ariel. He was holding a small gold bell in one hand. Philippe gave him a petulant, disappointed look - like a pet cat with their owner - and looked between them, yourself, and Grim…before sighing through his nose and finally putting Grim down. The moment his paws touched the floor, Grim dove behind your legs and hissed at Philippe. Philippe just rolled his eyes, then smirked at you. The glint in his purple eyes seemed to say, “This isn’t over,” before he turned his back on you and lumbered back towards the table. Realizing the danger was over, the other students waiting for Craft Services all let out collective sounds of relief and lined up behind the fat catboy. The looks on their faces indicated they were all hoping they’d get SOMETHING at this point. You weren’t aware of it entirely, but your eyes remained fixed on the round, heavy backside of the fat half-feline - which was stuffed most snugly into the back of his wide trousers - watching the way it wobbled with every ponderous step, till you could not see it past the crowd. You shook yourself out of it when the half-rodent’s voice came again. “Apologies about him,” he said. “Philippe can be rather…impetuous.”

“That’s one word for it,” you mumbled, and tilted your head. “I didn’t catch your name. Who are you?” “Raphael,” the slick-haired beastman answered, bowing respectfully and tucking the bell into a pocket of his costume. “Raphael Price. Philippe is my boyfriend.” “Wow, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” muttered Grim, then yelped as you nudged him crossly with one foot to shush him. “Oh, he’s a good kitty, once you get to know him,” cooed Raphael, as Philippe came back with a platter covered in snacks. He stood on his tip toes and playfully scritched the fat beastman under the chin. “Isn’t that right, my little honey bun?” Philippe blushed slightly and purred, leaning into Raphael’s touch happily. You and Grim shared a look but said nothing. “Raphael,” a voice spoke up. It belonged to the bat you’d seen handling the boom arm. His voice had a sort of strange, “creaky” quality to it, yet still carried youth that matched his presumed age. “Yes, Nostra?” Raphael checked. “What is it?” “The director wants to talk to you and me,” Nostra replied, jabbing a thumb towards Vil. “Right-o,” Raphael nodded, and smiled at you, bowing once more. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm.” “And the same to you,” you replied. However, you didn’t fully mean it. Something about Raphael didn’t sit right with you: it wasn’t the rodentine features, but something about his manner. His voice carried an oily, overly effusive quality, and there was something scheming in his eyes and smile that reminded you of too many crooked double-dealers you’d met at the school: at least Jamil could hide his inner evil. Raphael was like him, except without any attempt to hide the sneakiness in his smirk. You had little time to reflect on such matters, however, for the trio turned on their heels and marched away to see Vil. Just before they departed, Philippe glanced back over his shoulder. He smirked, winked, and licked his lips, before giving his giant rump a playful, suggestive pat. You couldn’t hold back the squeak that left you, and averted your eyes with a blush. Philippe purred, clearly pleased with your reaction, and swaggered off - wide hips swaying - after Raphael and Nostra.

“Careful when admiring the scenery,” smirked Elias Inque as he moved to stand beside you, munching on a cookie. “Philippe won’t have any problem making you part of it. Besides, he’s already taken.” “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view,” you responded, without missing a beat. You shot Grim a glare as the greedy little creature sniggered at your reaction. “I’m actually being serious when I say to be careful,” Elias went on, his smirk fading into a sober look as he adjusted his costume-prescribed spectacles. “Those three are trouble.” “Is anybody at this school NOT trouble?” you drawled in response. “That’s fair,” chuckled Eli, then went on in explanation: “Those three are something else, though. I’m not in Pomefiore, so I don’t know all the details, but I heard that Raphael has been trying to find a way to take Vil’s position as Housewarden. He’s known Nostra and Philippe since they were kids; chances are one of them would be his Vice, if that ever happened.” “So there’s some rivalry going on?” you surmised. “Well, my guess is it’s pretty one-sided,” smirked Eli. “After all, Vil doesn’t seem too worried.” “THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!” All three of you - yourself, Eli, and Grim - jumped as, out of nowhere, an angry shout raked through the air and into your ears. Everyone else on the set was alarmed as well, and turn to look towards the source of the furious yelling. Confused and concerned, you jogged over to where the call came from, waving a hand to beckon your friends to follow. Grim and Elias quickly obeyed, trailing close behind your heels. It didn’t take too long to find what was going on. Vil Schoenheit stood near the primary camera, aloof and stern in his expression, arms crossed over his chest. Raphael was glaring daggers at the Housewarden, teeth bared in a vicious snarl…one which didn’t seem to faze Vil in the least. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO DO THE WHOLE SCENE AGAIN?!” roared Raphael. “Precisely what I just said,” Vil responded, in a crisp sort of way. Noticing how your own little group had drawn closer, he addressed Elias: “Sorry you had to hear the decision this way.” “Oh, it’s alright,” Eli said with a nod. “Sometimes things have to be done again to get them just right.” Vil nodded back, and glared at Raphael. “Your scene partner is perfectly alright with the situation,” he commented. “Yes, well I am not!” snapped Raphael, crossly. “What was wrong with that scene that it needs to be done again?! I put all of my soul into every moment of every take!” “Then you clearly need a larger soul,” Vil quipped back. “Regarding your performance, every take felt increasingly overwrought: played up to a degree that might work onstage, but is unsuitably overwhelming for the camera. I was hoping we could get a suitable angle or shot somewhere, and I might change my mind during the break…” His green eyes then darted towards Nostra. “...But then I realized that Feratu’s boom mic was hovering in the frame for a full two seconds in the best shot we did have.” Raphael blinked, then glared fiercely at Nostra. The bat blushed and seemed to become very interested in a pebble, which he kicked with his peg leg. “We reshoot the whole scene, then we can move on to the next one tomorrow,” Vil concluded, narrowing his eyes at Raphael. “And this time, Price, tone down the melodrama.” “This is Shakespeare!” exclaimed Raphael. “Isn’t melodrama par the course?”

“Not in the way we’re handling it, and certainly not in the way you’re presenting it,” was the response. Vil then looked at Nostra. “As for you: keep the mic out of the shot, or you’re out of the club. Am I understood?” Nostra looked shocked. “But…b-but…!” “No buts!” snapped Vil, and gestured towards Philippe. “I allowed you and Felidae entry into the club only because Raphael assured me you would both be useful. But I’ve now tried you on every job possible, and you’ve flubbed every single one. Philippe, at least, makes for a good set guard to make sure no one interrupts shoots.” As if on cue, Philippe growled dangerously. Vil glared up at the giant, fat feline, unafraid. “I have just given you a compliment. Do not test me,” he said, very calmly. Philippe narrowed his eyes, but made no other sound. Raphael was sneering, fists clenched. “If Nostra goes, so do I,” he warned. “You say that as if it’s a threat,” Vil smirked slightly. “You can’t finish the film without me.” “Of course I can. Actors get replaced all the time in the business; even with the smaller pool Sage’s Island provides, I can easily find someone else to take the role of Ariel.” Raphael snarled softly, but didn’t say anything else. “Stop competing with me, Price,” Vil said, with a note of finality. “Or, rather, attempting to compete. I am the director here, as well as your housewarden-” “Both of those facts could change,” Raphael suggested, darkly. “Not likely,” snorted Vil. “You have no right to leadership here in this club, so don’t pretend as if you’d have a chance there. As for the dorm, I saw your attempt at creating a poison. It wasn’t even enough to put me to sleep.” Raphael flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Philippe growled again, baring his fangs, and began to advance on Vil… …Only to freeze up when Elias suddenly stepped in front of him, baring his own canine fangs. “Back off, pussycat,” the half-hound hissed. “If anybody eats Vil, it’s me.” Philippe blinked twice. You expected the cat to continue to move forward; after all, he was significantly larger than Eli was. Instead, however, the feline’s ears flattened back, and he stepped away, with a sort of “mrowl” that sounded like a cat trying to warn off an attacker. He still looked angry, but he had turned pale, as if he were scared. Elias smirked triumphantly, and looked back over his shoulder, giving Vil an encouraging sort of nod.

Vil just stared, a bit unsure how to take all of that. “Yes…ahem…well, thank you, Elias,” he muttered, then narrowed his eyes. “But I hope you know that I’m off the menu.” Eli just grinned and shrugged. Vil cleared his throat and then turned his attention back to Raphael and Nostra. “Let me make something clear to both of you,” he said. “Being the director, the housewarden, or any kind of leader doesn’t mean I am unreasonable. But all three of you…” Here he glanced towards Philippe again. “...Have shown nothing but rank insubordination practically since you entered this dorm. I try to be fair, but every person has their place, and yours is not to command. It’s to follow my directions; do so, and not only will you do well, but so will the whole project. Because that’s what I’m looking at: not just you, but everything.” He leaned down, getting closer to Raphael’s face. “A good leader keeps control. Of themselves and of their subordinates. They do what they can to make sure EVERYONE is working to the best of their abilities. And if something isn’t working? They either fix it or excise it. You’re too focused on your own selfish delusions of grandeur to think of anybody but yourself, Price.” “As if you ever think of anything but your reflection,” Raphael sniped back. Vil just looked at him icily. “This is your last chance,” he finally said. “We will redo the scene. And if any of you - ANY of you - cause this project any further grief, there will be no other chances. Take direction and accept the changes. Follow the leader, little rat.” Vil had uttered the last two words casually. They weren’t spoken as if meant as an insult, just a statement of the facts: the way one might call someone “little man,” or “little girl,” when speaking to a small boy or young lady. Nevertheless, the words seemed to have an intense effect; Nostra and Philippe both inhaled sharply, as Raphael’s eyes widened and he stiffened. “What was that?” Price whispered. “What was what?” Vil retorted. “What did you call me?” Price gulped, his fists shaking slightly. “Little rat,” replied Vil, calmly. “And when you earn my respect, perhaps I won’t say it again. But for now, Raphael, that’s all you really are: a little rodent, who tries to pretend to be something he’s not. Something larger, more important, and more worthy of attention than you truly can be.” Raphael’s eye twitched. For a moment, you expected him to yell again, and equally expected Vil to finally lose patience and finish the matter as he had promised.

Instead, Raphael took a deep, deep breath. His head twisted, oscillating in a curiously reptilian fashion as he seemed to crack his neck and regain his composure. A smile - slow and chilling - spread across his face, and he bowed the same head in supplication. “My apologies, housewarden,” he said, smoothly. “My temper was quite out of line, and my attitude towards you has been thoroughly unacceptable. I will do my best to live up to your standards, and cease this quarrel.” “See that you do,” Vil said, in a tone that indicated he didn’t trust any of that in the slightest. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time on this business. Elias, would you be against starting again right away?” “Give me just a few moments to put on the costume pieces I removed, and by all means, we can try again,” the dog boy promised. “Thank you,” Vil said, and barked his orders to the rest of the crew, declaring it was time to get back to work. For yourself and Grim, that meant hurrying to find the reflectors. As you did so, you glanced back towards the trio of Pomefiore upstarts. Philippe growled and backed away, ducking his head slightly, as Elias pushed past him with a sneer. Raphael and Nostra, meanwhile, kept their eyes on Vil. While the dorm leader had his back to them, they were both glaring daggers into it. You said nothing of the whole incident…but somehow, you had the distinct feeling this wasn’t the end of their argument.

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The following evening…

Vil Schoenheit frowned slightly as he let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair at his vanity table. His eyes closed as he let himself relax. There was a slight pain in his back, which was aggravating; perhaps he had been a little too overzealous during athletics that day. Shaking his head, Vil decided to forget the matter. Some good night’s rest would help, and he could focus on being his usual, fabulous self in the morning. He reached into the drawers of his vanity, fetching some makeup remover, ready to begin his nightly routine of preparing for bed. However, just as he was preparing to start, a knock came at the door. Vil frowned and looked up and back. He wasn’t expecting any visitors. “Rook?” he called out. “Is that you?” There was no answer. Perplexed, Vil stood up from his table and went to the door. He scowled, already expecting that perhaps some foolish young pranksters had decided to knock on his door and flee as an infantile joke. He sighed irritably; just what he needed, if so. More idiot children in his castle. The leader of the dorm opened the door. He blinked in some surprise at the figure he saw on the other side…then his expression turned frosty. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want here? I haven’t-wait. Hold on, what are you doing?! I won’t-!” ZZZAP!

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“Juuust whistle while you work! La-la la la-la-la-la…!” “Grim. I’m never going to get that song out of my head if you don’t stop murdering my eardrums with it.” “Sorry, it’s just so catchy!” You sighed and shook your head as you swept some dust into the dustpan Grim held near your feet. The two of you had a rare day off, and you decided it was time to give the lounge in Ramshackle Dorm a bit of a clean-up. You’d convinced your feline-esque friend to help out after promising him a whole dozen tuna cans as a reward. You paused, leaning on the broom and looking around the room, to see if there were any spots you’d missed. You frowned, noticing a cobweb in the corner near the ceiling. You approached, preparing to whisk it away with the broom… “Nya! Don’t touch that!” Grim exclaimed. “Huh? Why not?” “Don’t you remember? That’s Boris’ favorite cobweb!” “It is? I thought that was the cobweb in the dining room.” “No, that one’s Bela’s favorite.” “Oh. Well, thanks, Grim,” you smiled at the rare bit of help. After all, this WAS a haunted mansion: you had to be considerate to your ghost friends and their interests. Just as you were getting ready to call it a day and give Grim his promised reward for his assistance, you heard a knock at the door. You called out for whoever was there to wait as you leaned the broom against the wall, near the window, and then bustled to the entrance to see who was calling. The sight of a feathered hat and lavender hair immediately indicated the identities of the two people in Pomefiore outfits who stood upon the porch. “Epel! Rook! Come in!” you greeted, and stepped aside to allow the pair entrance. “Merci beaucoup, my dear Trickster,” Rook said, tipping his hat with a warm smile as he stepped through the portal. “How have you been, Prefect?” smiled Epel, in that sweet, doe-eyed way that totally belied his ability to send someone crashing into a brick wall if he chose.

“Mostly okay, I suppose,” you shrugged. “Nya! Hey, what about me?” huffed Grim, indignantly, stepping into view beside you. “Oui. Hello to you too, Monsieur Peluche,” Rook greeted. His eyes narrowed and his smile widened in a wolfish way, which always gave you the creeps despite yourself. He placed a finger to his chin, musingly. “You seem to have put on a little more weight…and your pelt looks most full and lush…have you been changing your fur shampoo lately?” Grim backed away nervously, eyeing Rook suspiciously. “H-How did you know that?” he meowed. “A hunter must always be perceptive,” Rook responded. “How about the two of you?” you asked, interjecting lest Rook get too far into his “hunter mode,” as you called it in private. “Something you need?” The pair of simple questions seemed to strike the smiles from the faces of both Pomefiore students. They glanced back and around, as if worried they might be being watched, then gestured for you to shut the door. Concerned by their reactions, you did so immediately. “What’s wrong?” you inquired. “Let’s gather in the kitchen,” Rook suggested. “Right,” Epel nodded. “It’ll be better if we sit down and explain.” You saw no reason to disagree: for one thing, you could give Grim his tuna while the two talked to you about whatever it was they needed. It wasn’t long till all four of you were seated at the kitchen table. Grim was greedily slurping up the contents of his tuna cans (you’d need to buy more soon, these twelve were the last you had), while Rook and Epel explained their problem in a nutshell. “Vil’s been acting strangely?” you recapitulated. “Oui,” said Rook, with a serious nod. “Le Roi du Poison has been behaving in a most un-beauteous manner.” “I don’t think that’s a word,” you replied, dryly. “It is the best description I can find,” shrugged Rook. “Vil’s always been a commanding presence, of course,” Epel put in. “But it’s been…different lately.” “Different in what way?” you asked for clarification. “I don’t exactly know how to describe it,” Epel admitted with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head as he tried to come up with some words. “I guess…the best way to put it is that Vil is usually an ice queen. You know what I mean, right?” You recalled Vil’s cold, frosty glances. The statuesque, strict way he carried himself. The stern, tough way he treated his underclassmen and the disdain he showed towards those he considered his enemies. One look from him was enough to make you feel criticized in an instant, and his emotions were kept in tight restraint, only occasionally allowing them to flow at extreme intervals beyond frustration and satisfaction.

“I think I do,” you said with a nod of your own. “Alas, for the Ice Queen has thawed most unbecomingly!” wailed Rook melodramatically. “To see his snowy beauty reduced to muddy puddles is a poison more bitter than any he could concoct!” “Could you say it in English, please?” drawled Grim, hiccuping between cans of tuna. “Vil’s been absolutely INSANE lately,” Epel explained. “He flies off the handle at anybody who doesn’t understand what he says. And I don’t mean he scolds them or makes some passive-aggressive remark, no, he starts SCREAMING, stomping his foot, like he’s having a tantrum! It’s even worse than Riddle’s rages!” You blinked, shocked. “That’s not like Vil at all,” you said, flatly. “Oh, it gets worse,” Epel said, grimly. “He orders everyone around like some prima donna-” “You say that as if he ISN’T a prima donna,” Grim snickered. “Not like this,” Epel defended. “He’s always going on and on about how HE’S in charge, how we should do what HE says. Anytime someone tries to stand up to him, he curses them and forces them to do labor in the dorm till they ‘behave themselves.’ He orders people to bring him food, and doesn’t even seem to remember anybody’s name anymore half the time!” You frowned, sharing a look with Grim. “Sounds like when Jamil tried to take over Kalim’s place,” you observed. “Nya. Kinda does,” Grim nodded, and tilted his head. “Do you think maybe Vil is under that hip-whatsis like Kalim was?” “Hypnosis,” you corrected, somewhat testily. “I doubt it,” Rook put in. “I don’t know anybody in Pomefiore skilled in such a talent, and neither Monsieur Multi nor a certain serpent have anything to gain from this that I can find.” “How long has this been going on?” “A week,” Epel said. “The first couple days, we thought it might just be that Vil was having some rough times or something, but it’s only gotten worse.” “How so?” The Pomefiore pair looked at each other and then back at you. “I have been the Roi du Poison’s faithful chevalier for a good while now,” Rook said. “He does not always AGREE with me, but the two of us have an excellent rapport. He listens to me, and I try to do my best by him.” “But he’s not listening to you anymore/” “Non!” Rook confirmed with a shake of his head, a look of dismay upon his features. “Instead, he turns his toxic eyes upon others he’s never trusted before!” Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. “Can I make a guess?” you said. “Has he been listening to that Raphael guy more?”

“How did you guess it was Monsieur Price?” gasped Rook. “I’ve never seen Vil show so much animosity towards anyone, except maybe Leona…nor anyone in Pomefiore towards him,” you explained. “If it’s someone that’s got you really concerned, he and his two friends seem the most likely candidates.” “Wow. It’s…kind of obvious when you put it that way,” blinked Epel. “Elementary, my dear Epel,” you said, in a jokingly hoity-toity way, then snickered to yourself before turning serious again: “What about Raphael’s boyfriend, or the bat, on that note?” “Philippe and Nostra?” Epel checked. “Well, here’s the answer in a nutshell: we’ve never seen Vil with Raphael, but he’s always talking about how ‘Raphael said this,’ or ‘Raphael wants that,’ and we’re expected to go along with that like he’s suddenly the only one Vil cares about! And whenever Vil is around, Nostra is ALWAYS with him.” “Always?” “Always,” confirmed Rook, gravely. “In the lounge, in class, in the cafeteria…anywhere Vil goes, he takes Nostra with him, with only the barest exceptions. Sometimes Philippe is there, too, but not always.” “And whenever Raphael is around, he threatens to tell Vil if we do anything he doesn’t like…a couple people made the mistake of questioning that, and I think they’ll be deaf for a year,” shuddered Epel. You winced at that thought and scratched your cheek. “Yeah…none of that sounds like the Vil we know,” you agreed. “Nya…but what do you want us to do about it?” wondered Grim. “Well, we’re actually not sure what you CAN do,” Epel admitted with a sigh. “But we weren’t sure who else to talk to besides you or the Headmage. And I think we all know who is more reliable there.” “I’d take that as high praise if Crowley wasn’t such a low bar to live up to,” you droned. “Could you come by the dorm in the near future?” Rook pressed. “Perhaps, my dear Trickster and Peluche, if you can see the problems with your own eyes, you could help us figure out what is ailing our beloved Roi du Poison.” I’ll do my best,” you promised. “And we can come by today.” “Right now?” Epel piped up hopefully. You agreed at once. After all, it WAS your day off. By now, it made sense that meant you’d have to spend it solving someone else’s problems. Honestly, there were days you felt you were the only thing keeping the whole campus from going up in smoke…

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You weren’t entirely sure what to expect when you entered Pomefiore. To be perfectly honest with all and sundry, you’d half-expected to walk in and discover nothing whatsoever amiss; while it was highly unlike Rook and Epel to be unduly alarmed, sometimes people make misjudgments, and pranks cannot be overlooked as options. Of course, you should have presumed better. All the same, you weren’t at all prepared for what you saw when you reached the lounge area. Vil was there, reclining upon the dorm leader’s reserved throne in its curtained alcove. He was garbed in the flowing, ornamental, regal arraignment of his Dorm Uniform. None of this was surprising…but what WAS surprising was the position you found Vil in. Vil was not sitting in a straight, tall, imposing sort of manner: instead, he was rather slothfully lounging in his throne, head in one hand, one leg kicking slightly as it crossed over the other. His green eyes were half-lidded, but lacked their usual sharpness; instead, he just looked…bored. His other hand held a bundle of grapes, and instead of plucking them off one by one, he was scraping them off the branches with his teeth, cheeks stuffed with fruit as he chewed, licking juice from his lips in a manner that wasn’t like Vil at all. To top it off, the Lounge seemed less like a “Lounge” and more like stepping into a throne room…mostly because you could see one Pomefiore student was standing beside the throne and fanning Vil with a large paper fan, while another was on their knees, using a mini-vac to clean up some spots on the carpeted floor. A third was scrubbing and wiping down the gilded walls to make them squeaky-clean, and a fourth was at the foot of the throne, shining up one of Vil’s boots. The whole scene felt like something from when Jamil had gone into Overblot, or perhaps if Leona got a little TOO full of himself (not that he wasn’t already, to be fair), more than anything you’d expect to see in Pomefiore. It only got stranger when Vil began speaking: he SOUNDED like Vil, in terms of the actual voice itself…but the words, the tone, and everything else seemed completely and totally wrong. “Fan harder, you luddite!” he snapped, swiping a hand at the student beside him. “I am SIZZLING in this blasted costume! Where is that lemonade I demanded?!” “H-Here, Housewarden!” a voice called out, as another student entered the room. They bowed before taking the grapes from Vil and offering him a glass of ice cold lemonade. Vil snatched it up with a snarl and a sneer, and took a sip…then the snarl and sneer intensified. “Too sour!” he exclaimed, and (admittedly inadvertently) kicked the person at his feet as he stood up fast, glaring down at the one who had brought him the drink. “What swill is this?!” “Y-You wanted it handmade!” peeped the student, trembling. “I-I’ve never tried before, it-” “NO EXCUSES!” bellowed Vil, and pointed off. “One more chance! Get it right! GO!”

With an “eep!” of fright, the student zoomed off again. A rough, snickering laugh alerted you to the presence of Nostra Feratu. The bat-boy was standing on the opposite side of the throne from the student with the fan, and was filing his nails, a sort of mean smirk on his face. He raised an eyebrow, his ears pricking up, when he heard the student on the floor mumble something under his breath. “Hey, boss,” he called out to Vil, and pointed with the nail file at the student. “I think somebody’s got something to say.” Vil glanced towards Nostra, then looked down at the student with the mini-vac. Said student froze up at the look in the acid green eyes. “Well?” Vil sniffed, crossing his arms. “HAVE you got something to say?” “N-No, Housewarden, I-” “Ohhhh, I think you DO,” smirked Vil, leering down at the student as he approached, like a tiger stalking its prey. “Come now. What’s the matter? Does someone think I’m being a little unfair? Hmmm?” Vil’s voice was a mocking, petty croon; again, very unlike the proprietorial dorm head. The student with the vacuum bit their lip and shook their head. Vil smirked wider, a look of victory on his face, and playfully patted the student on the head. “Good boy,” he cooed…then sneered and smacked their cheek. “Now. Back to work.” The student obeyed in an instant.Vil then glanced back at the one shining up the walls, quickly; the student, who had been giving him a dirty look behind his back, immediately looked away. Vil smiled smugly, and began to return to his throne. He stuck his nose up and waved his hands in a shooing motion at the one with the shoe shine. They instantly took off in another direction. “Nostra? Remind me to tell Raphael we need to assign new students to clean-up duty soon,” he sighed irritably. “Good help is so hard to find these days…” “Maybe we oughta let Philippe handle the rejects?” suggested Nostra. At the mention of the corpulent catboy, everyone shuddered and groaned with a sense of dread. “Perhaps,” nodded Vil, thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair and letting out a yawn. “I’ll ask those two, we’ll see.” While all this was going on, yourself, Grim, and the Pomefiore duo were hiding behind the wall, peering around the corner. You all ducked back. “See what we mean?” Epel whispered. “Nya…this isn’t right,” frowned Grim, then looked up at you. “How come he gets pampered and my Minion doesn’t even brush my fur some days?” “Way to miss the point, Grim,” you sighed in annoyance. “This is not even the worst,” Rook said, gravely. “The Roi du Poison has always been strict, but…well…the newest form of punishment he’s concocted is-” “HOW DARE YOU?!”

All four of you jumped at Vil’s shout. You looked into the lounge again. The student with the lemonade had returned…but, evidently, had tripped over the student on the floor, spilling the lemonade all over Vil’s dorm uniform. Vil seethed with fury, fingers clawing at the air, as the two groveled at his feet. “It was an accident, Housewarden!” whimpered the Drink Server. “It won’t happen again!” pleaded the Cleaner. Vil glared, breathing heavily…then let out a heavy sigh, calming down. “Oh, my dear Bartholomew…Sebastian…I’m afraid you’ve both gone and upset me…” Vil grinned devilishly - a look of pure, maniacal spite that you had only seen him wear once before, and that was when he was covered in inkstains as he sought to destroy his rival. He reached into his robes, as the two students looked up with pale looks of terror. “You know what happens,” Vil said, darkly, “When someone upsets me now.” Nostra, the student by the wall, and the student with the fan, all stopped what they were doing. They looked on with apprehension, as Vil pulled a golden bell from the folds of his robe and gave it a ring. RING-A-DING! Heavy footsteps filled the Lounge…and a few moments later, a vast shadow crept across the carpeted floor. The two students that had upset Vil screamed and clawed at his robes, begging him to forgive them, but Vil just yawned, as if he didn’t even hear them. Moments later - as you frankly expected - Philippe Felidae entered the Lounge. Vil didn’t say anything to him, just made a sort of dismissive gesture towards the pair clinging to him. Philippe smirked, mrowled, and grabbed hold of the two, hoisting them clean off their feet and into the air. “You know what to do,” Vil said with a smile. “Don’t hurt them permanently.” Philippe licked his chops and nodded, and lumbered off, hauling the wailing students off with him. You had a good feeling of what he was going to do to them, and it would have made you blush under other circumstances.

“Let’s move,” you hissed to the others. “I’ve seen enough.” Grim, Rook, and Epel all nodded in agreement, and the four of you quickly but carefully moved away from the Lounge and began to walk back towards the exit from Pomefiore. “What are we gonna do?” Epel sighed. “Vil’s out of control!” “Wrong,” you said. “Vil’s not out of control. Vil isn’t in control at all.” “Isn’t that the same thing?” Grim wondered, crinkling his snout. You shook your head seriously. “Out of control indicates Vil is still there,” you answered. “What are you talking about?” Epel blinked, and pointed back where you’d come from. “Vil IS still there!” You narrowed your eyes, then looked at Rook, who was walking with his eyes dead-set forward. “You’ve been watching him,” you presumed. “Have you come to the same conclusion I have?” Rook glanced towards you, then looked ahead again…but not before giving a sharp nod. “Oui,” he said. “I believe I have.” “Would you two just spill the beans?!” spat Grim, moving in front of the group and halting your progress. “What’s really goin’ on here?!” “If you both think you know, why not just tell us?” Epel urged in agreement. You and Rook paused. You looked at each other, then Rook addressed the other two. “The Roi du Poison isn’t acting like himself…” “...Because,” you finished, “The ‘Roi du Poison’ ISN’T himself.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Isn’t it obvious, Epel?” you hissed, and this time it was you who pointed back. “What we just saw wasn’t Vil losing his mind and becoming a tyrant.” You glanced back with a foreboding look in your eyes, then looked meaningfully into Epel’s own, voice lowering an octave for impact… “What we just saw wasn’t Vil at all.”

To Be Continued in Part Two…

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