#prop for the set is a stage with red curtains!

[uni-vee]

[IN] 🎉 Ver 1.4 Revelry Season

Infinity Nikki’s version 1.4 will officially begin on the 26th of March!

Banner: 5* Queen set (Whimsically: Doll Transformation) and 4* Patchwork set (Animal Grooming)

New Exclusive Quest: Shine, Party King!

New World / Random Quests: The Party’s On, Joyful Tales, Party Banter, Dream or Illusion

Free Sets: Floating Blossoms (event), Momo Rain, Fruity Wish, Childhood Moments

Mystery Set: Circus (unknown how to obtain, may be via Stellarite shop)

[moltengoldveins]

Good Lord the possibilities here.

Thinking about the dsmp as a stage play is kind of the most mentally damaging thing on the earth to me

[yuansie]

ocean memories : prelude's elegy.

synopsis. the last elegy dedicated to the past, never to be forgiven and always to be remembered... for now.

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. talks of hatred and allusions to death oop, reader is a pianist but idk much abt that so i tried to be vague abt the process LOL ?, rafayel being rude bc why is he ignoring his aunt ?! /hj, slight spoilers of rafayel's anecdote (anecdote 3... and it's literally just a line LOL). if there's anything i should add, please let me know!

genres. angst el o el !

rating. pg-13 😟

w/c. 1k

a/n. REVIVED JUST TO POST THIS !! i will HOPEFULLY be able to post this weekly heh 😜 NAWT PROOFREAD BTW !!!! also, i would like to say that the series does have spoilers to rafayel's overall lore but is different to how the fandom has come to piece together the timelines. for the sake of the series, the abysswalker myth is set in the past and therefore there will be minor changes to rafayel's lore HFOAIHWEFIAHE anyways. i hope you all enjoy this !!

HE NEVER IMAGINED HIMSELF TO BE SITTING HERE, he never imagined himself to accept his aunt’s invitation. especially after what he's done and in the midst of being investigated.

he supposes he did it out of impulse, his body itching to do something for once instead of drowning deep into his sorrows and the inky thoughts that plague his mind. in a world lacking color, a world lacking all warmth, rafayel finds it impossible to ever take an interest in something other than boiling rage and the thirst of revenge.

everything is a painful reminder of what has been lost and will remain so. the cries that echo in his ear like a broken record making it impossible for him to forget. that one voice that haunts him in every possible way, an aching reminder of what he's done and will forever remain lost.

this too, he thinks as his eyes scan the theater, the rows of red velvet seats occupied by lovers of the opera. this too… she would’ve liked it.

she would. she really would have liked it. she would have savored this: the music.

because music feels like the crisp wind on a nice day where the tides are calm and you can taste the salt in the air. because music makes her feel like she moves like the water does, and because music is as beautiful as everything that is a part of her beloved ocean…

the smell of sea salt is so strong that he sits up in his seat so fast it gives him whiplash for a moment, lurching forwards as the lights dim and focus on the stage, his aunt taken aback from his sudden movement.

sea salt. fresh air. the soft smell of citrus that somehow follows. the shy hints of vanilla.

he’s looking everywhere, bicolored eyes frantic. his heart pulses and aches in his chest, beats with sudden fervor that he can feel it. anxiety claws at his throat and churns in his stomach. such a familiar scent, lost to the tides of time and the cruelty that is man’s greed.

a scent he believed to be gone because of his own greed.

a scent so—

the curtains are fully apart, revealing the pianist.

sea salt, fresh air, the soft smell of citrus that follows, the shy hints of vanilla—

gone.

“i’m losing my mind,” rafayel mutters, settling back into his chair.

the pianist wears a long, black dress, the fabric covering her arms. he can't make out her appearance: her eyes are covered by a mask, facial features hidden. he pushes his former thoughts to the back of his mind, fighting and shoving them back into the little chest he leaves these painful memories locked away.

he props an elbow on the chair’s arm, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, ignoring his aunt’s questions.

the melody that plays blocks his aunt’s nagging, becoming the only thing he hears.

it’s a sad tune, chilling his bones and making goosebumps run down his arms and back. it’s hauntingly beautiful, touching his soul and shaking its core. he feels his whole body ache, his everything yearning for someone he hasn't seen in years and won’t ever see again.

and he is left in his seat, rendered silent as the melancholic blues of the song continues to play, thinking about the what ifs—even if doing so hurts him.

all the sadness and regrets and hatred you’ve had in you, you pour them out in each performance, the piano being the only outlet you have for these emotions. the sadness you felt when you remembered the abandonment and the death you witnessed, the betrayal and hurt you've endured, you let them pour out like water through your fingertips.

you hate her.

you hate him.

you despise him.

and you will never see him again.

you hate yourself as well.

longing turns into loathing, admiration to condemnation, love to deep and utter disgust.

the melancholic melody you play takes a sharp turn, becoming something that only reflects your pure hatred to the man who lost it all for something cursed. and yet, as much as you hate and loathe and curse him, you love him just as much. you yearn for him, your bones and flesh and soul aching in anguish at the distance from him.

your fingers now press softly against the keys, your touch gentle like that of a lover's. rage turns to longing, and your original tune returns to its somber tone.

as much as you hate rafayel, you love him. after all, you've spent more time loving him than hating him.

you miss his eyes, the way the blues look like the sea and the pink like the sunset sky. you miss his smile and the way it always radiated the warmth and happiness he felt. you miss his touch, the way it was never cold. you miss the smell of sea salt, lavender, cedar, and hints of citrus that follows him.

sea salt, lavender, cedar, hints of citrus.

you play the final note, blinking repeatedly. you don't register the applause, don't notice the standing ovation the people give you, you don't notice it at all. how could you when you smell sea salt, lavender, cedar, and the hints of citrus that follows?

but then it’s gone.

so you stand up, bow, and leave.

this is your last performance, your last time ever dedicating your time to a person who never cared for you in the very end.

“i hate you,” you whisper.

rafayel remains standing, as if glued to his spot as everyone begins to leave, his eyes on the stage. “i’m going crazy,” he mumbles.

it's sick and twisted how things turned out between you. how did something so sacred, something so blessed and beautiful become tainted? become broken beyond repair? how did you become something that haunts him when you used to be a pleasant dream and thought? you haunt him, and he has locked you away. so why does he hear you now?

rafayel is crazy, and that's why he heard you in his head, uttering those three words from long ago again.

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2024

[moltengoldveins]

@clingyduoapologist made a really cool “what if DSMP were a stage play” post and basically the instant I saw it I was struck by the muse but I don’t want to just chain reblog the dang thing or make one huge reblog with all my thoughts so instead here are all my thoughts on this concept

i don’t think it’s a musical. I think the tone of the story doesn’t fit. But if it were, it would have a Lot of scenes of unsung dialogue, and that dialoge? Would be rhythmic poetry. It’s Shakespeare Appreciation Time baby.

i do however think there would be a live score and an orchestra. A lot of the music would need to be recorded but there’s at least be a few musicians.

different characters speak in different poetic styles at different times to communicate character and plot development.

to elaborate on that: Characters switch from loose ABBA or ABAB rhyme schemes and vaguely rhythmic meter when chatting back and forth to strict perfect iambic pentameter for tense scenes or political speeches.

Techno speaks exclusively in unrhyming dactylic hexameter, an extremely common poetic form for Greek and Latin poetry. It’s what the Iliad was written in. This has the interesting effect of making Techno sound, at first glance, unpoetic. His speech doesn’t rhyme, and doesn’t follow a common English rhythm scheme, so it wouldn’t immediately register as structured. However, dactylic hexameter is actually significantly harder to write in English than expected because of our syllable stress patterns. Speaking like that would be, objectively, a sign of extreme intelligence, but could easily be overlooked as coarse uncultured behavior.

Techno’s chorus - composed of audience members, background extras, and people (in safety harnesses) sitting in the theater rafters - speak largely in Greek and Classical Chinese, quoting sections of the Art of War and Homer’s work. The major exceptions to this are ‘Blood for the Blood god,’ ‘no,’ and ‘do it.’ They all wear a hat or some form of headband that has a glowing LED eye, hidden, but activated when they speak. The audience plants are all in dark clothes, and when the lights go down they don medical masks/sunglasses. Anything to obscure their faces.

The Chorus, a group of robed masked people who broke the fourth wall and often entered the audience, was a vital part of early Greek theatre. I am an intolerable nerd, and the thought of sitting in a dark theatre only to hear an low distorted voice beside you start to comment on the play as a whole choir of voices echo around you, then turning to see your seat neighbor is a masked person with a glowing red eye in your forehead? Literally incredible.

Dream is the only character dressed in even remotely modern clothes.

Dream is first seen as someone (again, in modern clothes) sneaking around backstage in a black hoodie: most of the audience probably assumes he’s a stagehand and not meant to be seen. Then, at some point, he moves from behind a set piece and enters the scene as an actual character, revealing his mask.

interestingly, this is really similar to what I believe is a bit of myth about why ninjas are dressed in all black in modern media. They wouldn’t have been irl, they would’ve dressed like civilians. But stagehands in Japanese theatre would dress in all-black, and were often completely visible onstage moving sets - it was common courtesy to ignore them. Then one day some playwright had the brilliant idea of having one of the stagehands enter the story as an assassin, and suddenly every actor in all-black was a threat. For the life of me I can’t remember where I read that but it’s a cool thought :D

Dream canonically can interact with set pieces, lighting, and curtains.

Dream actively directs lighting in scenes he is not in, sitting above the stage kicking his feet.

Dream is often used to hand off props to characters instead of having them pull them from a pocket and pretend they were pulled from their ‘inventory.’ This begins to get confusing when Dream is acknowledged later on as the he person giving, say, TNT to Wilbur, or wither skulls to Techno.

characters address the audience as ‘Chat,’ (English’s first fourth-person pronoun my beloved) almost constantly, especially for comedic purposes- most of their monologues are addressed directly to the audience as well. For Wilbur, it’s a sign of instability when he stops addressing ‘Chat’ and start addressing the sides or back of the stage.

philza enters from the lower audience, right by the stage, probably after pooping up from the orchestra pit and taking a reserved seat halfway through so no one sees the wings.

Tommy has by far the least structured or rhyming dialogue - if it weren’t for how carefully crafted it was it would sound like normal prose.

Tommy speaks to the audience by FAR the most. Wilbur only addresses them when soliloquizing. Techno barely addresses them at all: they address him. Ranboo speaks to the audience only when alone, and it’s usually phrased like he’s writing in his memory journal. Tommy speaks to the audience at first like a loud younger brother. As he gets older, it sounds more and more like a plea for help, a prayer for intervention that will never come. Exile is one long string of desperate begging aimed our way.

Tommy stops speaking to the audience so much after Doomsday. He starts again when Dream is imprisoned. He stops for good when he dies in there, beaten, alone.

Sam and the Warden are meant to be played by different actors, ideally siblings or fraternal twins. They wear identical stage makeup and costumes, but the difference is there. None of the characters acknowledge this.

the Stage would need to be absolutely massive and curve almost halfway around the central audience, largely because it should be able to be split at times into two separate stages to show different things happening at the same time. This could possibly also work if there were two stages, but getting people to easily turn from one stage to the other without loosing sight of what was happening would be rough.

Doomsday taking advantage of the scaffolding in the rafters and using them as the ‘grid’ for the tnt droppers.

actual trained dogs for Doomsday my beloved. Would cost a fortune but could you imagine.

the entire revolution arc ripped off Hamilton, we all know that, I think we can afford to have a stagehand step forward in that frozen moment in time when Tommy and Dream have that duel, grab the arrow, and carry it slowly across the stage right into Tommy’s eye. For morale.

throughout the execution scene Techno keeps slipping out of poetic meter, especially when he sees/is worried about Phil. After the totem (which would be freaking amazing as some sort of stage effect with like lights and red and green streamers or smthn dude-) he stops speaking in poetry. The scene with Quackity is entirely spoken dialogue. Chat is silent. It’s only when he gets back and sees evidence that his house has been tampered with that Chat starts up again (kill, blood, death, hunt, hunt, hunt-) and he starts speaking in rhythm again.

Every canon death, Dream marks a tally on something in the background. Maybe it’s in his arm? Like a personal scorecard. Or maybe it’s on the person themselves, a little set of three hearts he marks through with a dry-erase marker or something.

phil and techno have a lot more eastern design elements and musical influences than the rest of the cast, except for Techno’s war theme which is just choir, bagpipes, and some sort of rhythmic ticking or thumping. Phil’s also got a choir sting but it’s a lot harsher, the ladies are higher and them men lower, and the chords are really dissonant (think murder of crows)

Tommy’s theme has a lot of drums, but its core is actually a piano melody. The inverse of Tommy’s theme is Tubbo’s, but Tubbo’s is usually played on a ukulele. Wilbur is guitar, obv, and Niki’s is on viola.

Quackity is a little saxophone lick. He and Schlatt both have a strong big band/jazz influence.

None of the instruments that play dream’s theme play anywhere else in the music. I’m thinking harp, music box, and some kind of low wind instrument.

[weirdagnes]

Mouthwashing: The Musical

cant get it out of my head so dumping some ideas in a non-arranged way:

SONG NUMBERS

The songs ABSOLUTELY has to derive leitmotifs from the original soundtrack. It has to be 80s inspired dark synth-heavy with a little industrial/experimental touch. Maybe some of the songs are titled after the actual track titles (“Heroes”, “Here, On Earth”, “Bad News” - very theatrical titles).

Every character gets a soliloquy (ofc)

I can see Swansea having 3 leading songs. One will probably have the motif of “Close your eyes” (character introduction song), two is the reprise (Daisuke death scene), three is the speech he gives to Jimmy.

Anya’s solo comes in the “Dead Pixel” scene, but maybeee it can be a duet with Curly;

Daisuke will have the silly song and dance number that becomes sad mid song when he talks about his insecurities as intern (but it still ends with a bang).

Jimmy and Curly will absolutely HAVE to duet in the “I want to go home” We ARE home” scene.

I can envision a lengthy number heavy on spoken featuring Anya, Curly, and Jimmy during the scene where Anya reveals her pregnancy and the talk before the crash.

Curly could have a solo song with post-crash actor on upstage while in his headspace, his pre-crash actor sings on downstage.

There has to be a painful Anya, Jimmy, Swansea and Daisuke number on the scene when Anya locked herself in the medbay except this time! we get to hear Anya sing her side of the story (maybe Curly’s precrash actor is standing at the side too while Anya sings her last moments but he’s unseen by her, ya know like implied “audience sees, characters dont” thing)

LIGHTING/SCENES

Lighting has to be the peak highlight of the play, like in the game! Instead of black curtain bg, there’s a projector and screen as background that’ll display the day/night/sunset screentime.

Floor lighting is going to be used a LOT for dramatic scenes, like in Curly’s blood sea hallucination, floor lighting could be red as like, reflection of the blood sea.

Light direction goes INSANEE during crash reveal, imitation of emergency lights.

Can you IMAGINE Swansea’s speech scene on stage with projector and screen??? I cant explain because i never studied stage lighting but OUGH PLS IMAGINE HOW COOL AND DOABLE IT IS -

SET DESIGN

This is kinda hard because with set design, you have to be creative limiting stage props while keeping imagery of the set so changing set isn’t troublesome. There’s 6 sets: lounge, medical bay, cockpit, utility, cargo, and hallucination areas. But we can cut it down to:

SET 1 - LOUNGE + MEDICAL BAY. Both have screentime so they can be the same set, maybe Medical on stage right and Lounge on stage left. I think this format will make the “Anya locks herself” scene flow better. Anya is singing her final thoughts stage right, spotlight focus on her as she slowly moves downstage while the crew changes the set to Utility so after Anya takes the pills, the transition to Jimmy and Daisuke entering the Utility is quick.

SET 2 - UTILITY + COCKPIT. The set is pretty unique because of the cryopod and the vent, but it can share set with the cockpit since they have the common design of pipes and screens. The difference between the set are objects that can be easily taken away or added during set change, which is the pilots’ chairs in the (Cockpit) and the cryopod (Utility).

SET 3 - CARGO + HALLUCINATION AREAS. These set are mostly dark in lighting and not much prop other than boxes or shelves (with wheels underneath for easy pushing) of mouthwash and TVs. Scarce lighting and mostly empty stage allows free space for imagination which is perfect for hallucination scenes. The cargo area doesn’t have much design variety anyway.

[keeshon09]

I’m gonna talk about The Wolfpack 5 Installments: 1978 IAAPA Expo/The Japanese Theme Park(aka where it all began)

In November 1978, The Wolf Pack 5 made their first debut at 1978 IAAPA Expo in Atlanta, Georgia. Complete footage of this show was discovered in 2021 and can be viewed on YouTube .

The 1978 IAAPA Expo's background had various characters Creative Engineering had made (The Scab, Willie Wabbit, Count Dracula, Friendly Freddy, Jingle bells Jamboree, Confederate Critter Show and The Bear Country Jubilee), as well as the words "Creative Engineering Inc" towards the top of the backdrop.

The flooring of the display was green. All the characters, expect Fats, stood on top of platforms. The Wolfman wore a yellow pinstripe suit with a green bowtie, it was later changed into a blue tuxedo with a black bow tie. Fats wore a golden tuxedo and played a light blue upright piano. Dingo wore a black turtleneck with a light blue jacket, her Drums were label "Wolfpack 5'. Beach Bear wore a pair of tropical-floral print shorts. Queenie wore a light blue shirt, Black Pants and a blue scarf

an unknown Japan Theme Park(Kobe Portopialand) brought the show and Creative Engineering sold the original Wolfpack 5 show from IAAPA, and was finished installed at the park somewhere in 1979. where they could be seen performing for attendees of the event from March 20 to September 15, 1981.

This show was placed on an elevated stage. The animatronic, except for Fats(again), kept their platforms from 1978. The top of the stage reads, "Animal Band." Background text read, “アニマルバンド,” which translates to "Animal Band." The bottom of the stage was blue instead of green, and the floor the band stood on was green.

The curtains for the show were red, and a divider between the show and the seating area. The Characters’s original cosmetics were changed. The Wolfman wore a blue tuxedo and a black bowtie.

Fats remained the same, wore his gold tuxedo and played a brown upright piano instead of his blue one. Dingo wore a black turtleneck and a white overshirt, her drumhead also went unchanged. Beach Bear wore a pair of yellow tropical-floral print shorts. Queenie wore a black turtleneck, a pink overshirt, and Black Pants.

Their outfits, stage, props, and cosmetics were Changed in the 1981 Portopia event in Japan. The Wolfman wore a Red checkered tuxedo and bowtie with a white dress shirt. Fats STILL worr his usual golden tuxedo, even though his piano is now painted black (Like they like Fats' piano more than him). Dingo now wears a pink hat and a gray jacket. Her drum set had been removed and replaced with a generic one. Beach Bear's outfit didn't change. Queenie now wore a long, flowing orange dress.

In Somewhere in 2023, The show was rediscovered by "Pasqnotrook' to still be held in a storage unit in Japan before being sold to an unknown buyer in Japan. On October 27, 2023, images of the characters in the original storage unit would be released to the public.

[toytoriyadorm]

CHAPTER 15: Plastic Swords

The final day of the festival had practically come and gone, save for the final acts before Lotsie’s big dorm leader decision. As the sun set, Ramshackle’s first year duo sat in the front just as Lotsie asked, finding him in the seat right next to them. The scheduled acts by most of the students were comedic at best, embarrassing at worst. 

“I’m starting to see what Leona meant by the students sucking at acting.” Grim said as the two watched a second-year try and fail to get the audience to laugh through some poorly-made jokes about the student body.

“I might have to agree,” Lotsie jokingly lamented with the beast. The dorm uniform he wore looked significantly different compared to the other students, with a deeper magenta coloring the coat and a light feather decorating its hat. In a way, it complimented the sweet appearance Lotsie already had. He noticed a student pulling out his phone.

“Hey! No photos during the Festival, please and thank you!” Lotsie sighed. “Hmph, I just want people to be focused on making memories, not capturing them.”

The second-year slowly walked off with only a small applause from the crowd, who were all waiting for the next group. The drums from backstage began to roll as they did with all of Toytoriya’s crews. However, a loud cheer–likely from Winston’s fanclub–  began to rise from the front as he, Zackery, and a whole lot of the latter’s robotic props came onto the platform. Dressed in rather princely uniforms, the two raised what looked to be swords and began the act.

The premise was rather simple based on what Yuukei read on the day Grim and Winston practiced. It was a scene from a play that was rather famous in Twisted Wonderland about a soldier betraying his country. One of the bots began to play haunting music as the two re-enacted the climax of the plot.

“I can’t believe you, betraying our glorious country just for some pitiful peasants.” Zackery spat with a venom Yuukei didn’t expect to see out of the bubbly teen. “Your soul has become corrupted!”

Winston glances back at Lotsie with a strange look before growling, “What’s corrupt is this empire! The king starves his people, leaves them dying on the ground begging for food! And all for, what, for a war that he’ll never win?!” 

“You best watch your tongue, traitor, or I’ll have your head with it.” 

“Hah! I’d like to see you try!” The bright-eyed student yelled.

But as the audience watched the argument play out, a certain pair of second and third year students were behind the curtains, ensuring every part of the stage looked perfect. 

“You got this, buddy!” Saturn quietly cheered on his villain-loving friend. The other student didn’t look as happy. 

“Saturn…” Pat whispered as he peered at the blades the two first years fought with. “Why do those prop swords look awfully familiar to the real ones you and Zackery were looking at online?”

The pair of black eyes were now on a sweating Saturn, looking around before whispering back, “Look! The props team was already busy with their own teams’ projects, Zackery had a lot of extra fund money and the site said shipping only cost 5 extra madol!”

“Are you insane?!” Pat yelled quietly back, 

“Winston got training from that Yuu guy, remember? He’ll be fine!”

“Oh yeah, a few minutes of fighting with magic is surely enough to fight with actual swords.” Pat’s voice oozed with sarcasm. “Y’know what, at least Heidrich got a little battle training.”

“Aha…about that–”

Pat looked dumbfoundedly at his underclassman, ready to yell at him when a slight gasp came through the loudspeakers. Their heads both darted towards the stage. Back in the front row Yuukei had successfully gotten a shot of the act, yet paid the photo no mind. He stared at where the tip of Zackery’s sword looked a little too red, and the slash across Winston’s cheek that began to drip red onto the gray floor. 

CHAPTER 16: How To: Save The World

The silence in the coliseum was deafening as Winston touched his cheek and looked at the blood from it. Zackery looked in shock, now clutching his sword with shaking hands. 

“I’m so-”

“So this is how you treat even your best soldier.” Winston spat, flicking the blood off his fingers. “I’m nothing more than another ‘rebel’, right?”

The brunette pointed his head to the audience, reminding the “villain” of their act. Zackery shook his head in return and refocused.

“You made your bed, so sleep in it.” He snarked. “It's not my fault your naivete pushed you this far.” 

Winston charged at his partner, the audience gasping as the swords clashed together. Like a real duel, the two danced across the stage until the blue-eyed student was nearly pushed behind the curtain. “Admit it! You know what this country has done! And you know it's wrong!”

“Shut up, shut up!” He yelled, pulling his sword and “stabbing” the hero in the abdomen. The brunette’s breath hitched as he fell to the floor, yet he still cracked a smile at his classmate’s panicked face. “My naivete… Of course you’d call it that, you’d call the dream we shared as nothing more than a childish memory–!” 

His crumpled form finally speaks no more, the light now focusing towards the purple-haired student. Zackery stared at the body before the sound of a guard called his character’s name, hesitantly turning his head in response. The stage’s lights finally go out, and a wave of applause comes afterwards.

Yet, when Yuukei turned to the dorm’s most lovable door leader, he was surprised to see Lotsie sitting silently with a look of apathy on his face.

—

“This evil one did not mean to swipe at your face!” Zackery announced to his classmate as the first years got backstage. “But that said, this villain must applaud your quick thinking, hero. But know I will not make the same mistake again!!!” 

“I know, I know.” Winston muttered as a second year put a colorful bandaid on his cheek. 

“Hm? Has the hero been lacerated upon his heart as well? I said my apologies rather well!”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings, weirdo!” Winston exclaimed. “Lotsie’s just…been weirding me out. If I wasn’t so focused on it I could have dodged your swing anyways.”

“Hoh?” Zackery looked on with genuine concern. “Whatever could the great king of this land do to throw off its bumpkin hero?” 

“I don’t even know if you’d understand…” Winston began to explain, but was interrupted by someone from the backstage crew. “Guys, Lotsie’s about to announce the winners! Hurry up with the bandage and let's go!”

Zackery turned to move, but first responded to Winston. “If it’s really troubling you, then just talk to me. This villain will surely know the answer to your problem!” 

The latter looks on, sighing. He feels for the bandaid across his face, making sure it really is secure before taking uncertain steps toward the rest of his dormmates.

[anne-chloe]

Underground | XIII |

The Goblin King/Jareth x Reader

Summary : The Goblin King is constantly there. He offers a gift, a crystal ball, so you can see clearly what your beloved fiancé is up to. And it seems as though Harry is back to his normal ways.

The spotlight shone brightly in your eyes as you advanced towards centre stage with your castmates. The theatre roared in excitement as an instrumental version of the opening song was playing; the cast directed their own applause to the directors, the band, the costume and set designers, and finally to the audience themselves.

Adrenaline filled your body as the applause rang true in your ears. You couldn't help but smile gleefully at the appraisal, bathing in its glow alongside your friends. The way everyone had worked extremely hard for the past 6 months was unreal—every ounce of energy went into this very performance.

You were saddened that this would be the final one, the closing night of the performance. While you mourned the ending, you were joyous that it had happened to begin with.

You exited the stage after the curtains finally fell, and immediately your shoulders dropped. Arms embraced you from all angles, pulling you into one of those joyous group hugs that you loved to savour every second of. You laughed happily in the arms of your friends, listening and participating in words and whispers of encouragement and exclamation of the performance that had taken place.

And out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar face.

Jareth.

He lingered in the wings, slightly obscured and hidden by shadows. He looked the exact same as you had last seen him; his mismatched eyes glued to your form. You tensed up at the intensity of his stare, feeling shivers roll down your spine. And in his hand was a crystal ball, which he played nonchalantly with, twirling it in his gloved fingers.

You blinked.

He was gone.

The embrace broke and you followed your castmates to the changing rooms, where makeup and hair care accessories were scattered across every surface. Random articles of clothing strung haphazardly over chairs and the floor, shoes messily piles and sticking out.

"I'm just going to be sobbing for the next year," Penelope joked as she slumped into her chair, focusing her attention onto the mirror that displayed a red lipstick mark of her name in the bottom corner. You slid into the chair next to her and started removing your character's accessories; earrings, necklaces, bracelets...

"Me too," you said in agreement. You blinked at your own reflection, half expecting it to start moving by itself. You scrutinised is closely, watching for any indication that it wasn't truly yours. But it followed your every movement closely, and you tried not to roll your eyes at your own paranoia. "I'll be waking up at 3am singing-crying."

Penelope let out jovial laugh.

You stripped out of your costume and lovingly hung it onto the rack, feeling the material one final time between your fingers before finally letting it go. You always became too attached to your character when playing them; it was part of the job. You felt like a piece of the character always stayed with you. Well, you were going to take a piece of the character's jewellery home with you and maybe a prop from the set, just as a cute reminder of the character you got to be. It would be stored away safely in the box that contained other trinkets from previous performances that you'd done, since you were a child up until now.

"Oooh," Penelope called teasingly from behind as you stepped away from the rack. She held up a small white gift bag, a pink ribbon attached at the top with a small hand written note. She dangled it in front of you to take; you gently pinched it from her fingers and skimmed your eyes over the message. "[Name] has an admirer!"

' Your beauty knows no bounds. Your talent is to be admired. Call for me and I will be there. '

It was a note written in cursive. Harry didn't have the neatest hand writing ever, so you knew that this couldn't have come from him. Inside the gift bag was a beautiful rose and a crystal ball.

It was from Jareth.

"So, who's it from?" Penelope asked tauntingly, sliding into your personal space and taking a peek at the written note. You shrugged her off and held the gifts close to your chest, whether to hide them or protect them you weren't entirely sure.

"It doesn't say," you said quickly, and a familiar heat started to burn at your cheeks. But you didn't need Jareth to write that it was from him, and he knew that.

Penelope scoffed and stepped back, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and jutting out her hip. "Well, that's a bit silly," she mumbled, "how are you supposed to call them if a name or number wasn't given?"

Because Jareth wanted you to wish yourself away to him. Again. You knew that was the only way to find him, and he knew that too. His magic was stronger in the Underground, inside his own realm; it was possibly very scarce in the human world.

"Magic, I suppose," you replied, hoping that your tone came across in a joking manner. It sounded dry and sarcastic, and luckily Penelope found a hint of humour enough to laugh along with you.

You finished changing into something else after the conversation was dropped. Your castmates were going out to celebrate the closing performance, but Harry was expecting you at home. He didn't come to the closing show because he was busy with work (and because you didn't want him making love-eyes at Casey again, if she happened to be there). You didn't mind his lack of presence; you were strangely more comfortable without him watching you constantly. You felt at ease knowing that he couldn't tarnish your favourite space with his betrayals.

"Just come out for a little!" Penelope begged, her arm locked with yours and tugging you in the direction of the nearest pub. She wiggled her brows and it made you chuckle, but you continued to decline and unwrap yourself from the group.

"I'd love to, but I promised Harry I'd come straight home," you explained, now stepping back.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you guys had an argument or something, but in the last two months something has changed! Is he being kind to you?"

Yes. No.

You couldn't answer that.

Harry wasn't horrible to you. He was actually very doting on your personal needs. He became suddenly too attentive, and it was like he knew your emotions before you ever did. But in a way, his behaviour was somewhat hostile—not violent and abusive, but to the point where you felt like tip toeing around him. You couldn't deny that it was nice not having to deal with particular things at home, but you felt smothered and overwhelmed at times, as though Harry was constantly breathing down your neck and waiting for you to make a mistake.

You convinced yourself that he was scared to lose you again. You had been so close to giving yourself away to the Goblin King, and that must have frightened him. To have lost you so easily. It's what you wanted him to feel; you wanted him to mourn losing you, as a punishment so he'd never dare to cheat again. But that changed when Harry had confronted Jareth and saved you both. You'd given him a second chance.

"Nothing happened," you said with the best of smiles you could muster. "I'll text you all later!"

And so the final goodbyes were said, and you parted ways. You found a taxi to take you home, and you arrived back at your shared apartment within 15 minutes. Traffic wasn't too bad at that late hour, but you'd asked the driver to take his time and to prolong the journey by driving down back roads instead.

You paid and left and entered the shared space, inhaling deeply into the quietness of your apartment. You shrugged off your jacket and hung it up alongside your bag, then entered the lounge where Harry was sitting and browsing the TV. His laptop was perched on the coffee table, displaying a document with thousands of words written. You joined his side and snuggled up, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as a greeting.

"Good show?" Harry asked without looking at you. He seemed focused on the TV.

"Very," you answered curtly, sitting back and resting into the cushions. You felt the ache ease from the heels of your feet, and you stifled a satisfied moan at finally being able to relax. "Pen and the others were heading out to celebrate."

Harry grunted, but he didn't look at you.

You placed your hands into your lap. Your gaze roamed the laptop in front of you, sneaking words from his paper. None of the content made much sense, and you were sure if you'd read it from the beginning then you still wouldn't understand. You'd tried to once, but his company was very intricate and complicated.

"Good day at work?" You asked after a brief pause. You watched in your peripheral as Harry's shoulders tensed. But still, he didn't look at you.

"Yes."

Odd. Normally he had more to say. Whether it was about a meeting he was dissatisfied with, or a moan about a colleague messing up—he always had more to say.

You furrowed your brows at his behaviour. "Did Marcus upset you again?"

Harry shook his head, and he continued to scroll through the channels on the TV. Then, he flicked on the Netflix app, where he continued to browse the selection there. But he wasn't looking for anything in particular; he was just keeping himself distracted. And that made you suspicious.

"No. Marcus was off sick."

"Oh," you breathed, feeling your chest tighten as the tension in the room started to grow. You didn't dare to pry any further. There was a question you wanted to ask, but you knew that it would spark an argument if you weren't careful. Harry was clearly not in the mood to be reasonable with his responses, and you were particularly drained from todays events.

"I'm going for a shower," you told him when he didn't show any indication that he wanted to continue speaking. Harry waved you off and you immediately left.

Once inside the safety of the bathroom, you stripped your clothes and turned on the shower. You splashed your face with water from the sink and began wiping away the makeup that made you appear preciously doll-like. Then, you stepped into the shower and started to wash your troubles away.

Your mind continued to focus on Harry and his strange behaviour. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Something bad must have happened at work, or else he wouldn't behaving this way. Harry couldn't lie to save his own life, nor could he keep a secret very well; he wore his emotions on his sleeves, and that's why you matched well with him in the first place.

You stepped out the shower and wrapped a towel around your hair and body, then moved into the bedroom you shared. It wasn't how you had left it at all—the bed was made, and the sheets were fresh from the cupboard. You dried off and shimmied into your shorts and shirt. You towel dried your hair and plaited it over your shoulder.

You blinked at your reflection.

It blinked back, delayed by a second.

You immediately backed away and pointed accusingly at the mirror. "It's you again," you whispered harshly, watching as the reflection displayed a devious grin, completely the opposite of your irritated expression.

"Yes, yes," she hummed, waving you off with her hand. "Magic is a fickle thing. You chose Harry over our King."

She was direct and straight to the point. You frowned and slid back into the chair. "He was using me—"

"No he wasn't," she corrected fast, shaking her head in disapproval. "Our King did everything you asked of him. And you left. And you still haven't called for him. Why haven't you called for him? You know you want to."

Why hadn't you called for him? Harry told you he was using you for entertainment. You were just another pawn in his sick game of taking advantage of vulnerable wishes. You bit your tongue every time you thought about calling for the goblins to take you away; it was always so tempting to leave this world behind.

"I won't be tricked again," you explained firmly. You drummed your fingers into the surface of your vanity. "I don't belong there, do I? Harry told me—"

"Harry is a liar and a cheat," she hissed, her hands pressing against the mirror. It was almost like she was trying to claw her way out. You were thankful that this wasn't a scene out of a horror film, or else you'd have been screaming in fear. "Don't you think he's been acting strange today?"

"He's probably tired," you defended.

"From?"

"From..." you couldn't find the words to back up your argument. Harry's job wasn't laborious in the slightest. It was an office job that required him to sit, drink coffee, talk to other people via email and meetings, scroll through his phone, type a few words on a document then go home. Sure it could be mentally draining, staring at the same four walls for 8 hours a day, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be tired. Right?

Then, the reflection lifted her finger and pointed at something behind you. You blinked, confused, then spotted the gift bag you had left out in the entrance of the apartment. You whirled around to confirm it was there, and it was. You stood and picked it up, and instinct told you to pull out the crystal ball from the bag.

"He's awfully suspicious," she taunted from the mirror, her eyes glistening something dangerous and knowing. "Take a look."

"That's spying," you muttered, your thumb rubbing over the smooth glass.

"It's checking," she whispered.

A white mist rolled from the centre of the ball, then revealed Harry sitting in the lounge with the laptop perched on his lap. He seemed completely normal, typing away with the TV playing a random film as background noise. But then his phone buzzed, and he immediately discarded his laptop and unlocked the texting app, revealing Casey's contact and an entire history of messages.

You sank down on to the bed as Harry smiled dearly at the messages. He glanced around to check you weren't there, and he texted back. They were flirting—sending kisses and making jokes about their most recent meeting, about how wonderful it was to be in one another's arms again, to explore one another so personally and deeply.

You felt something shatter.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You zoomed across the room and flung open the drawers, threw on outside clothes and began stuffing random articles of clothing into a duffel bag. You ignored the sly smirk from your reflection, not noticing the way she faded completely.

The bedroom door opened, revealing Harry's mop of messy hair. He peered in, confused, then gaped at the sight of you packing your things. "What are you doing? What's going on?" He exclaimed in panic, rushing to your side to grab your arms and stop you from moving.

You pushed him away, expression darkening at the mere sight of him. "I'm leaving," you spat, bitterly and venomous. "For good. Have fun with Casey. I'm sure you'll both be perfect for each other."

Harry visibly paled, and the clogs inside his mind whirled as the connection was made. "I don't—how did—" He lunged forwards and secured your arms around your body, and you struggled to move against him.

"Let go," you demanded, whipping your shoulders back and forth to try and throw him off. His grip remained firm and secure, his nails digging into your skin.

"No." He huffed, "I want to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about!" You hissed. You tried pinching his arms, but he merely groaned and held you tighter. It was becoming harder to breathe at this point, and a brief fear that he might accidentally suffocate you crossed your mind.

"[Name], please just listen to me," Harry begged, his voice an annoying sound in your ear. Like a fly buzzing around something sweet.

"So you can lie to me again? I trusted you! I believed you when you said you wouldn't see her again! And you're texting her! I bet you didn't want to come to my shows because you were seeing her instead!" You cried accusingly.

You'd caught Harry again. Well, sort of. You weren't going to admit that Jareth had given you the means to discover his betrayal, because that would only add further fuel to the argument. You didn't need him finding out your methods of discovery, it was practically irrelevant.

"She messaged me first," Harry argued, as if that very fact would make anything better.

"Why didn't you block her?"

"She got a new number!"

"Then block that too!" You shouted. It was like he found a thrill in cheating on you; sneaking around behind your back and romancing another woman. He must have found an enjoyment in being involved with Casey, then romancing you as if he hadn't just done something wrong. You felt icky and disgusted, especially now that he'd wrapped you into his arms so you couldn't escape.

"I'll do better," Harry quickly said, his attitude changing from defensive to pleading. He spun you around so you were forced to look up at him. His eyes were glossed over, and his face was rather red. "I won't do it again. I'll phone her now and tell her that I'm finished with her. I'll do it."

His ramblings made you want to be sick.

You needed to get away from him. There was no way you could trust him again, not after he'd cheated with the same girl twice. You felt stupid for ever believing that he'd change. You thought he was afraid of losing you to the Goblin King, that nearly remaining in the Underground would have surely broken his heart—but it was clear to you now that he didn't have a heart.

"Phone her then," you decided coldly. "Phone her. Now."

Harry let go and he bolted for the door.

You crumbled to your knees and began scraping together the shattered crystal ball. You desperately tried to piece them back together, but it was useless.

Your head tilted forwards and a harsh sob left your throat. How could you have been so incredibly stupid? You'd always said that a cheater was forever a cheat, and that if your significant other ever cheated then you'd never forgive them. Why didn't you take your own advice? You wanted to believe that your relationship could remain as it had, but you were so stupidly wrong.

"Goblin King..." you huffed under your breath, tears dripping into tiny puddles on the bedroom floor. You sniffled and rubbed your eyes. "I... I wish..."

The words were stuck in your mouth. You were extremely conflicted. Did you really want to leave like this? You could go back into the city and find your friends and maybe crash at theirs for a few days. They would remain out partying until the sun would surely rise—it was their typical fashion.

Harry returned to the bedroom with his phone fumbling around in his hands. You could hear the tone dial beeping, signalling that he was calling somebody.

"Hello? No. Its over. I don't want to see you anymore," Harry said into the phone, his eyes directly trained on you. You tensed up, feeling like his words were directed to you rather than Casey. "I can't keep sneaking around. It's exhausting. I'm not in love with you anymore."

He's not in love with you anymore.

Your lips parted in disbelief. This is the push that you needed. You suddenly felt empowered. You felt... free.

"I wish the goblins would take me away."

Harry's expression turned into shock as the words left your mouth. He lowered his phone and moved towards you, his hand shooting out to cover your mouth, to muffle the words about to be spoken.

But you were too fast.

"Right now."

[acaplaya-musings]

Random VoicePlay fic thing

Had an idea that was bouncing around my brain for a few days, and finally decided to write it, over the course of like three weeks because of sheer procrastination (if I could just type words through sheer thoughts without having to use my hands, I would be unstoppable, but alas). Basic premise: Greta, the prop doll from the Thriller video (Kathy's "stunt double"), being a haunted/cursed doll, and basically this is a story told from her perspective.

(Word count is a little under 3,000 words, roughly)

.

"I'm back! I got a doll!"

"Great! Gimme a look!"

The doll blinked to life as the human carrying her reached whatever destination they had in mind. The doll was raised upwards, and she did her best to get a look at the human whose grasp she was in. It was a woman; short and with long straight black hair, similar to what the doll herself had.

"I'm calling her Greta; Greta the Gruesome!" said the woman, sounding pleased with herself.

I suppose that's my name. Not bad, I suppose, thought Greta.

Most haunted dolls didn't start life off that way. They weren't haunted when they left the production factory, and most of them remained 'unhaunted' when they sat on display in stores - it'd be harder to catch people off-guard otherwise, and it'd be bad for business. No, hauntings oft resulted from a combination of factors, such as the doll's appearance being creepy enough to start with (whoever heard of a haunted Barbie?), and the type of person gaining ownership of it, although it was getting harder to find decent scare victims these days, and you just couldn't get proper exorcisms like you used to!

The spirit inhabiting this doll, now called Greta, had possessed a doll once before, but had gotten bored of her previous owner, as well as slightly worried by the owner's cat, who appeared to take much more notice of the doll's true nature than its human did, and spent much time eyeing the doll suspiciously, tail swishing back and forth. When the cat one day decided that it wanted to have an even closer inspection, the spirit wasted no time in departing from her physical form. She had spent an undefined amount of time floating about in a separate plane of existence, before being pulled into her current form.

"Woah! She looks just like you already!" said a man from the other side of the room, grinning.

"Already"? The humans kept talking, but Greta stopped paying attention to them, to instead focus on her surroundings as she was carried further into wherever it is she was. The first room had chairs on one side sitting in front of brightly-lit mirrors, while the rest of the space was decorated with an eclectic mix of props, toys, posters, and costumed mannequins. Ah, performers, it seems, or a production company for performers, at least. Greta's guess was further supported when she was taken through a large red stage curtain into a separate, larger space, which appeared to be some sort of filming set, with large lighting rigs on tall poles illuminating some sort of mock cemetery scene, judging by the assemblage of prop gravestones and eerie-looking dead trees.

Theatres were largely considered the more preferrable option when it came to haunting a performance space, but still, this certainly had potential.

"I'll just leave you here, for now, ready for tomorrow," said the woman, putting Greta down amongst the fake gravestones. Greta was positioned so she was lying on her front, but with her head held up, leaning on her arms out in front of her, as if she was crawling, perhaps.

Greta waited until the studio was fully devoid of noise and movement before plotting out her first move. Part of her wanted to bide her time, to wait until the humans were right in the middle of filming before unleashing hell, but perhaps that was too ambitious, and besides, she was already long overdue for some decent entertainment. Perhaps something small wouldn't hurt - just something to put the humans on edge a little for the time being.

Greta surveyed the filming space, and took notice of another doll - a regular, unhaunted one - a few feet away from her. It was slightly larger than her, and positioned similarly, but more closely resembled some sort of male zombie. Hmmm...

.

The red dividing curtain was first opened the next day by the man that Greta's acquirer had been talking to, a tall individual with brown, shoulder-length hair. He idly walked over to the filming set, carrying a large black bag under each arm, but stopped as he properly took notice of it. At first he looked down at the floor, at the space where the zombie doll was previously, but then his gaze lifted to the dead tree just further back of it, and to the tallest branch, pointing upwards like a spire, and currently poking through the back of the zombie doll's shirt.

The doll had been slightly heavier than he looked, but Greta had had plenty of energy stored up, with more than enough time during the night to concentrate and get it done correctly.

The man was joined by the woman who had bought Greta in the first place. She followed his gaze, and as she did so, an eerie, childish giggle echoed around the space (perhaps it was overkill, but Greta really couldn't help herself).

"Ah," said the man, while the woman sighed. The pair looked at each other.

"Hey, don't look at me!" the man said. "You're the one who bought the doll this time!"

"Well what should we do? Should we go buy a replacement doll now while we've got the chance?" asked the woman in response.

For a split second, Greta was worried that her fun would be over before it really began, but the man raised a hand and said "no, no, I'll deal with it," and dropped his bags at his feet. He then walked right over to Greta, and crouched down so he could look directly at her face.

"Hey, it's Greta, right? Unless you prefer a different name?" he asked her. No response. "Okay, Greta it is, then! Listen, we've got this video that we're filming today, and you are going to play an important part of it, alright? And if you behave yourself, then there might even be a surprise for you at the end! You play nice for us, and we'll do something nice for you! Do we have an agreement?"

Nothing. Not a single whisper of sound, nor a single flash of motion. The man looked over his shoulder towards the woman, who did some sort of gesturing with her hands at him. When the man turned his face back to Greta, he now wore a much sterner, darker expression, and when he spoke again, it was with a deeper, rumbling tone.

"I said, do we have a deal?" he asked, and Greta was so startled that she couldn't help but briefly flash her eyes a glowing red colour. Fortunately, perhaps, the man took it as an acceptable response, and smiled, shifting back to his original demeanour. "Much appreciated," he said, giving her a nod, before standing back upright, and going back to where he had placed the bags.

Greta stayed quiet as she watched the studio become a hive of activity over the next hour, with people moving in and out of the filming space, and doing things like carrying cameras, looking at a laptop screen, and drinking from disposable coffee cups. She also caught enough bits of conversation to learn that the tall long-haired man's name was Geoff, and he appeared to be the director of the videoshoot, as well as one of the performers in it. So he's got double reason to care about things going smoothly, then.

Greta was just beginning to weigh up the other options for potential scare victims (surely there'd be at least one person in here who'd be an easy target?) when she noticed that the short woman had changed her clothing, and was now wearing a black dress which greatly resembled the one on Greta's current physical form

"Yas Kathy! Slay!" cheered one of the other humans as he saw the new outfit.

"Wow, you've got your makeup done already!" said Geoff, teasingly.

The woman, Kathy, rolled her eyes with a smile. She then walked over to Greta and picked her up. "Figured I might as well take Greta with me as a bit of reference base for Rick," she said, before walking with Greta back through the red curtain.

Greta was sat down in one of the chairs facing a brightly-lit mirror (though she was too small to see any of her reflection), and Kathy sat in the chair beside her. A broad-shouldered man with short grey hair, ("Rick", presumably), attended to Kathy, spraying her face and sticking rubbery-looking things on her, slowly transforming her into a hideous old hag (of the undead variety, perhaps).

"Just sit here and let that set for a few minutes," said Rick to Kathy, before he turned his attention to Greta. "In the meantime, how about I give you a bit of extra makeup as well?" he asked the doll, grinning.

'Hmph, I'm fine the way I am, thank you,' thought Greta. She felt like making a hissing noise at the man, but knew that she had promised to behave (for now), and so remained quiet and motionless as Rick used an airbrush to delicately apply some coloured substance to her face. It only took a minute or two, and once he was done, Rick grabbed a small handheld mirror and held it in front of Greta's face.

"There, whaddya think?" he asked with a chuckle, as if treating a doll like a living being was amusing to him.

Greta had to admit that it wasn't actually that bad. He hadn't gone and made her unrecognizable, and instead had merely given her some extra shadow and contouring, enhancing the creepy look she already possessed.

Once back in the filming room, Kathy grabbed her phone, and held Greta right up next to her so their two faces were level with each other. Kathy seemed extremely excited, though Greta really couldn't figure out why.

"The resemblance is uncanny!" said Geoff from a few feet behind as Kathy kept filming. "I can't tell which one's Kathy!" Greta wasn't sure whether to be offended by that or not.

There were some photos taken, a couple of which included Greta, and then filming began. Greta was placed on the floor next to a small table at the front, and Geoff explained to her that they would be filming some parts with Kathy first, before it would be Greta's turn.

Geoff, along with four other humans, appeared to be making some sort of music video. Kathy, Greta noticed, was lying on her stomach in the background of the shot, in more or less the same spot and position as Greta had been earlier. The doll grew interested as she watched Kathy slowly crawl forward along the ground, and then grab the ankle of the man right in front of her and bring her mouth towards it. Greta was a little disappointed when she remembered that it was just pretend, and that nobody was actually getting bitten.

.

"Kathy is wrapped for filming!"

There were claps and cheers from the rest of the group, while Kathy walked over to Geoff, talking to him in hushed tones. Greta was too far away to pick up on anything Geoff or Kathy were saying to each other, but noticed that the pair were stealing occasional glances towards her. Then Kathy left the room (to go return to normal, presumably), and Geoff approached Greta.

"You promised to behave yourself, remember?" he said to her in a low whisper as he picked her up. Then he brightened again as his attention went back to the group. "Alright, how about we practice this first?" he said. "Layne, if you just come and stand over here - it might be safer doing a practice go in this direction." Layne, another tall human, wearing a black longsleeve shirt, came and stood next to Geoff, just as instructed.

Geoff seemed slightly nervous, but was hiding it well enough that Greta was seemingly the only one there that noticed it. He continued talking. "Yeah, so you get bitten, and you panic, because something just grabbed your leg, and so you just kick it away on instinct, like not really a graceful kick..."

Before she had finished processing what Geoff had said, Layne took Greta and put her on one of his feet, which was lifted slightly above the ground. "Like this?" he asked, and then swung his foot forward, sending Greta flying several feet.

The impact of hitting the floor didn't actually hurt Greta - even a broken limb was usually little more than a minor annoyance for a spirit in a doll's body - but that was beside the point! It was the principle of the matter! Oh no no no, Greta simply would not stand for this sort of treatment!

Greta had landed face-down on the floor, so as Layne began approaching her to pick her up, she whipped her head around 180 degrees, flashing her eyes bright enough that Layne couldn't help but wince and turn his head away. A howling wind swept through the room out of nowhere, rustling the branches of the artificial trees, and then finally, a dark red liquid was noticed appearing on one of the walls, starkly obvious against the black surface as it dripped down.

The howling wind faded away, and a thick silence washed over the group. There hadn't been any screaming, sadly, but Greta had at least noticed some alarmed expressions on some of the humans if nothing else.

One of the other performer humans, a short, bald man with a thick beard and moustache, looked at Geoff and Kathy, and then followed their gazes down to Greta, before looking back at Geoff.

"Something you'd like to share with the group, Geoff?" he asked drily, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought we had an agreement!" said Geoff, glaring daggers at Greta.

"So is this like your new 'thing' or something?" asked one of the other humans, who had been standing in the middle during filming. "Instead of getting kidnapped, you're dealing with creepy dolls now?"

Geoff sighed. "I thought I could get her to cooperate," he said, walking over and picking Greta up. "I'll head over to Spirit Halloween and ask if I can exchange her."

"Wait wait wait, hang on, maybe we can still work something out?" said the other performing human who hadn't yet spoken up. He had light brown skin and thick curly hair on his head. "Maybe Greta just wasn't expecting to be kicked in that moment and freaked out when she was flung across the room?"

The short bald man raised an eyebrow. "Are you gonna say that she has feelings, Cesar?" he asked.

"Well yeah! Probably!" replied Cesar. He turned to Geoff. "Geoff, you said you had an 'agreement' with Greta, but did you actually tell her the specifics of what her involvement in this video would be?"

Geoff looked sheepish. "Uh, well, I did promise her a special surprise afterwards?" he said.

Cesar took Greta from Geoff and cradled her in his arms. "And what would that be exactly?"

Geoff leaned in close and whispered in Cesar's ear. Cesar's eyes widened and he looked uncertain.

"Really? You think the two of them hanging out together is a good idea?"

He said it in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, but Greta heard it anyway, and also heard Geoff's quiet response.

"Maybe a companion will do her some good."

This definitely caught Greta's interest. Cesar kept talking, but Greta stopped paying attention as she began fantasizing. The "special surprise" must surely mean being a gift for a child, presumably Geoff's, and presumably a young girl. Perhaps the child would indeed treat Greta like a new playmate, or perhaps she would be creeped out by the doll. It was of no matter; children could be manipulated either way. And once the child was under Greta's control, it likely wouldn't be too hard to hold influence over the child's father. From there, she could even extend her reach to other workers of this studio, and then maybe even the whole mall, and why stop there? All she had to do for now was to play nice for a little longer. Oh yes, perhaps this Geoff was indeed more naive than he first appeared.

"...So what do you think, Greta? Should we give you a second chance?"

Greta snapped out of her daydreaming just in time to hear what Cesar had asked her. She rotated her head just slightly to look towards the red-stained wall, where some of the other humans were making a great effort in an attempt to clean it (but with little results). As Greta looked at it, the dark red liquid faded away to nothingness in mere seconds.

Cesar grinned. "That's a good enough 'yes' for me!" he said, and Geoff nodded in agreement.

And so, Greta forced herself to put up with multiple rounds of being flung through the air, across the room and onto the floor, as if she were a simple old ragdoll. She mostly tried not to think about it too much, and instead focus on what surely lay in store for her afterwards, but she couldn't help but feel some amusement when on one occasion she was kicked right onto the cameraman, which amused Geoff and his friends also.

Finally, Geoff and the others were apparently satisfied with Greta's involvement, and she was to be kicked no more.

Geoff picked Greta up and looked directly at her. "So Greta, do you wanna stay in this room and watch the rest of the filming, or do you wanna find out your surprise? Your surprise is in the other room, and we're gonna be moving between the two spaces a lot today anyway - we're still far from done from this video! Uh, can you do one flash of the eyes for stay in here and watch, and two eye flashes for finding out the surprise?"

"My surprise is in the other room?" thought Greta. Hm, perhaps the child had been brought to the studio. Sure, Greta could work with that. She flashed her eyes twice.

Geoff smiled. "Fair enough," he said. He called out to the rest of the group "I won't be a minute!", and then took Greta back through the red stage curtains.

Greta became confused when she couldn't see any child in the room with the makeup chairs, and then even more confused when Geoff didn't take her out the door, but instead moved closer to the shelves at the back of the space, filled with props, toys, and other such items. She suddenly found herself looking at another doll, one she hadn't noticed the previous day. She had the likeness of a baby doll, with chubby cheeks and short brown hair painted onto her head, but her physical form appeared notably older than Greta's. And she was also most definitely haunted.

"Greta, I'd like you to meet Clara."

. (So I am maybe probably gonna write a short part 2 to this at some point, which was actually gonna be combined with this part, but I ended up writing more than expected (what else is new) and this felt like a good place to end it or at least for splitting it).

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

All the World's a Stage, and You're the Playwright

Hello! It's been a while. Life really catches up to you, huh?

In the interim, book 1 of one of my favorite interactive fiction novels just dropped, and I've been devouring it.

Speaking of which, this is set post book 1 of The Night Market, in the interim between book 1 and 2 (since 2 will be a wip for a while and I'm impatient and I adore this work so much).

If you're not entirely sure what's going on, use dream logic. Because I intended for this to be a very different piece and then Milo Next said "no I want to be sad and tormented".

There are SPOILERS in this for the ending of Book 1, and mentions of Child Death, and Death in general. I don't get explicitly into detail about it, I'm not that kind of a writer, but if those heavy topics aren't for you, I recommend avoiding this piece.

Ember/Blaze is my OC! They use any pronouns.

Without further ado....

-

He knew he was dreaming.

Milo remembered the acrid smell of blood in his nose, looking down at the crimson stain on his hands (or was it silver? Or chrome? Or an oil slick spill of color?) and seeing their wide eyes staring back at him accusingly. A pearlescent tear sliding down their cheek as they gasped their last.

It was a dream he'd had many times. One he'd have many times more.

He shuddered, holding them close. His handsome lover, reaching out and cupping his face, their lips trembling. The black smoke of their hair drifted out to mingle with the late-night mist of the gardens, almost as if desperate to cling to the fabric of this world.

The world he'd excised them from.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Apologizing the way he never would have in the waking world, baring his bleeding scarred heart.

In the dream, he always did this. Like two actors upon the stage, a single lantern dangling over them like a spotlight.

If he looked out, he knew he'd see a full amphitheater, their breath held tight with anticipation.

A sea of masks watching his mistakes over and over again, witnesses to his crime.

"Save him!" A voice shouted from the audience, soft and sweet even in its anger. A mask made of woven willow branches, with glistening sap tears that spilled out of the eyeholes.

"You deserve to rot for your crimes," another called, from out behind a featureless onyx mask cracked and gilded with silver, heartachingly beautiful in its kintsugi design.

A third raised its voice, powerful and commanding even amidst the crowd. "You didn't deserve her. You've killed us all." Eyes stared accusingly at him from behind an ornate devil's mask, the golden snarling mouth turned copper from lipstick made of blood.

As always, he braced himself for the last voice, the voice that never came.

The empty seat in a full theater that terrified him as much as he was desperate for it.

He stared down at the lifeless body in his arms. He had once embraced this body with his own, whispered frantic words in hidden alleyways mingling brightly with loving laughter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I could bring you back…" He held out a wooden heart, the red paint cracked and peeling. A prop on the stage of his dream. Red fabric slid down his chest in stop motion across the empty courtyard.

He knew how this would end. The curtains would draw on his false heart, the audience booing in dissatisfaction.

They wanted a proper ending. His body at the gallows, his crimes paid for.

They wouldn't get it.

He would relive his guilt again and again, night after night upon the stage for all the world to see.

Milo bowed his head and waited for the lights to dim.

That's it?

A voice slid across his mind, and he gasped, jerking his head up. Looking frantically around.

The dream always ended afterwards. No one else had lines.

Hands slid around his own, grasping the wooden heart.

Squeezing tightly, punishingly.

Don't you think I deserve more than this? A false caricature of your heart?

He looked down.

To his horror, his dead lover stared back at him. Hollow, empty eye sockets stared back at him, keeping his attention.

A perfect pair of lips moved, and he heard their voice become clear, as if he had been listening to them from underwater, and only now had begun to surface.

"Don't let the curtains draw, Milo. The audience deserves a proper ending. It is you who expects the Gallows." They tugged at the wooden heart emphatically, and he watched as it rotted and crumbled between his trapped hands.

"If you truly wish to change things, you must change the ending. Malcolm has always been the Gatekeeper. You knew this from the start." Ember reached out, cupping his face. Her hand was incredibly warm, almost searingly so.

"Become the Storyteller, Milo. Make the ending your own. After all, I'm not the only one who you made a promise to. I'm not the only one you left behind."

They glanced out to the audience, and he followed their gaze.

A lantern slid down from an invisible ceiling, a spotlight on a single seat.

Malcolm's seat.

Milo's eyes widened with horror.

Wood became metal, and the corpse in his arms grew warm, hot with life. Skin became unbroken, and cheekbones swelled, eyes forming and staring at a spot in Milo's warehouse.

On the woven circular rug in the epicenter of his room, sat a little girl clutching a stuffed cow. She watched in anticipation, a child listening to a story told by their parents.

Milo's hands trembled.

He had forgotten.

No- he had purposefully pushed thoughts of her away.

He'd left her behind when he ran away, and here, in his dreams, he couldn't run any longer.

Ember's hands squeezed around his own, and he glanced back at the man in his arms.

"She deserves a happy ending, Milo Next. Not everything has to be a tragedy. We adults soak in the jaded pain of our lives, we sometimes forget the children we once were. We have to teach them to hope. That death is not the result of punishment, or despair." He nodded towards Ever. "That her death may have been frightening, but it is not the end. Death is just another part of life. The cycle that always begins again."

Ember looked up at him, warm amber eyes flickering like lantern lights-

No. Like a blaze of fire. Burning brighter, with no intention of stopping.

"Show her, Milo. Show her this is not the end. Show her that you can be kind. She needs you. She needs to hear it."

Milo shuddered, feeling tears beginning to leak down his face. "But death is scary. It is the end. How can I lie to her? How can I tell a kid that sometimes people die?"

Ember, no, Blaze laughed softly. "It is adults who are afraid of death. Children don't know to be afraid until we teach them." Their gaze was sorrowful. "And sometimes, children die. Lovers die. People die. It is our duty to ease them into the inevitable. To twist the story into something hopeful. Show her, Milo."

Another voice spoke up over his shoulder. The voice he had been dreading from the start.

"Show her that death is not the end." A hand grasped his shoulder tightly. "Show her that even you know how to forgive and be kind. Show her your heart."

Milo didn't look at Malcolm. He couldn't. Not when his gaze remained captured by Blaze.

Tears streamed down his face, and finally, he sighed.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."

Milo Next reached into his chest, pulling out his bleeding heart. Beating wildly with the frantic pulse of life.

The audience in the theater gasped.

Ever leaned forward, her eyes wide with wonder, with the innocence of children.

In the garden, in the still quiet by the fountain, he leaned down.

Just the two of them.

Blaze and Milo.

A corpse and its murderer.

He pushed his beating heart into the keyhole of Blaze's chest, and watched it be swallowed whole.

"I'm sorry," he said. Milo watched as color began to bloom in those cheeks, filling pink lips with life. A chest that began to rise and fall, as it had done so many times before.

"I'm sorry," he repeated firmly, trying not to choke on the words. "I love-"

"-you."

Milo woke up with that last word on his lips, and gasped, sitting upright in his makeshift bed. His chest heaved, and he clutched at it, feeling for the frantic beat he'd known his entire life.

It was still there.

Hastily he scrubbed the tears away from his face, night sweat drying on his skin, and felt something smear across his face.

He pulled his hand away.

Silver/red/chrome/oilslick blood still lingered on his fingertips.

In the silence of the waking dawn, Milo Next wept.

[dayfalwastaken]

Power Testing - Spider-Man fanfic preview.

Mirroring a lightbulb lighting up, he jumped to his feet, his mind racing with a few spots in seconds. The first place he’d thought of was Doc Ock’s underwater base, though that one had been flooded from top to bottom. There was Vulture’s so-called “Nest”, but that… Nope. The Lizard’s hideout in the sewers- a more acceptable alternative if he ignored the smell. Although… Nah, bringing the Symbiote down there would make him eligible to experience the “Lethal Protector Treatment™”, and if that’s what led to Venom he’d have no right to get mad. There were those couple of weapon cashes belonging to Mr. L that he’d busted, but they were too small for what he needed to do. Or…

He finally gave the warehouse a good, long look before letting familiarity take him down the wall and through a broken window. What he saw inside left him with his mouth agape.

Or he could use Mysterio’s old prop house. Peter shook his head. These were too many small miracles one after the other. He knew he shouldn’t jinx it, but something bad was going to happen in return, wasn’t it?

He’d forgotten all about this place after the Police had raided it. The building had been abandoned in every sense of the word so there hadn’t been a reason to keep tabs on it. Every nook and cranny had been inspected, all evidence collected and nothing of interest had been left behind. Even Mysterio had known better than to return here. Before he’d been imprisoned, that was.

“Man, I hope he’s real this time. If it turns out he’s another bot I’m breaking that snow globe of his and leaving him hanging off the Brooklyn Bridge.” He muttered as he dropped to the floor.

The warehouse was huge and filled to the brim with dilapidated movie sets and harmless props, the only things not to be stripped clean by the Police. In front of him was a large theater stage, complete with red curtains with golden accents and spotlights to shine on the would-be actors below. Surrounding it were the sets, which came in all shapes and sizes. One was an old town that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a western, another was a miniaturized castle that belonged in a Disney film. A mockup tropical island was stationed to the far left, featuring fake vegetation, palm trees and a greenscreen where the sea should’ve been.

Near the stage, to its left was a full-sized T-Rex animatronic, sitting behind a row of costumes ranging from astronauts to horror movie monsters and caped crusaders. Other such props were littered about, many in open wooden boxes and on… barrels of all thing. Dust had gathered in absurd quantities on everything, all surfaces having a hazy layer of grey to them. Not even the air had escaped, the roof’s skylight allowing the moon to shine through right in the middle of the warehouse, illuminating the particles throughout. Oh, and there were more cobwebs than he could count.

“Makes you think why a guy with so much money would put on a suit and start robbing banks.” He spoke out loud. He couldn’t say he related to those that chose a life of crime when they already had all they could’ve asked for. Were those types of criminals looking for fulfilment? Something to entertain them and stave off their boredom? Peter would never know.

Hideouts such as these fit the guy’s style more than Peter would’ve considered. Hidden in plain sight, being almost too obvious of a base for people to think they’d actually be used. The bad guys weren’t that dumb, right? Except that kind of reverse psychology was exactly what Mysterio specialized in. It explained why it had taken so long for him to be found out.

Peter walked to one of the barrels and picked it up, checking around to make sure he was alone. He wasn’t sensing… Was that breathing he heard? Or… No, that was literally the wind. A current must’ve formed from all the open windows, which- yep, if he zeroed in on them he could pick up the wind flowing in.

Neat. Couldn’t do that before.

The Symbiote sent something then. It was like a ping, a short vibration at the base of his skull, what his Spider-Sense could have sounded like in another life, to notify him of… He couldn’t tell. Like the tingles, he was given a vague sense of direction, pointing towards the stage, but it was too widespread to say if it was the stage or just in front of him in general. Even more like said power, a feeling of alertness flew through his being, making his hair stand on edge.

Peter took a stance and waited, expecting to be taken by surprise, but nothing happened. The Spidey-Sense itself didn’t trigger, which made him raise a brow. He knew how reliable it was. Unless he was too distracted to listen to it, the early warning system couldn’t fail him no matter what, so… if it didn’t ring then there was no threat in his proximity…

…Was Symby attempting to communicate or was it playing around with his powers, mimicking them for testing purposes? If so, had it gotten the idea from him? He thought the question again, more clearly this time, hoping for an answer only to be met with the usual silence. It was plausible this had been just a test- the Klyntar adapting to his body like he was to its and trying things out. But then… Peter was the host. He was the one who had to accept the foreign being, not the other way around…

And as he pondered that, the lack of ringing in his head kept on confirming he was under no danger. Not being spied upon or anything of the sort.

So… just a fluke? No bug squashing involved at this time?

No response.

Good talk. Well, I hope it was nothing. Because if it was then shouldn’t the faux sense have remained active to keep warning him? Instead, it’d been as brief as it could have, and Peter was fairly convinced it was in both his and the Symbiote’s best interests for enemies to be scoped out if they were hiding somewhere close. Whoever those enemies may’ve been, if they even were that. Keeping information about their surroundings hidden was detrimental to the both of them. A Symbiote, a being whose whole deal about bonding revolved around the “we” aspect would know better than to keep close threats hidden from its host.

So, it must’ve been a fluke. Or a test or whatever it was Symby was doing other than actually warning Peter, since keeping him in the dark about this was a dumb move…

You know, I mean, no rush- I know this is new for you too, but I hope the cold shoulder won’t last long. I’d really appreciate a second opinion in, well, everything really, `cause… if I’m being honest… Most of the time I’m just winging it… That, uh, haha, rolling with the punches- that’s kinda what I do. Even if I shouldn’t when I have all these memories to tell me what I can do better. I haven’t outgrown that yet… Ah, sorry for being impatient- I’d just love it if we could talk, you know?... Probably not. I dunno, sorry. Take your time, buddy. He tried to offer it feelings of encouragement, which he didn’t actually know how to do, but it was the thought that counted, no? Peter hoped so anyway.

A curt blink of acknowledgment was radiated back along with something akin to a metaphorical pat on the head, telling him his concerns were understood and would be addressed, before Symby severed the connection. He smiled slightly.

Heh, coming from the immortal alien goo that’s pretty comforting.

…Symbiotes were so above his paygrade, he couldn’t help but feel a little small when compared to the alien that hailed from the stars. Alien that had been alive for literal eons. The… expectations or standards a being like it must’ve had when it came to-

No, bad Spidey! Don’t thread that way if you don’t want to go into some dark places. Focus on the present.

Just the act of thinking… It was like working to defuse a bomb- trying not to mess things up permanently and second guessing himself at every turn, but then… What else was knew? Typical Parker luck. What was a new weight added to the balancing act, some more confusion to navigate through? He shrugged to relieve the distress.

Redirecting his attention to the barrel at hand, he clasped it with both hands and pressed them closer, caving the metal with a sickening whine. He froze when he realized that may’ve hurt the Other, but when his suit failed to produce a reaction he took it as a sign that he hadn’t accidentally harmed it. Must not have been loud enough, then. Continuing, he was left dissatisfied with the bent plate in his hands. Simply flattening it wasn’t what he wanted, so he crumpled the remains further into a ball the size of his fist. He repeated the process five more times before webbing the spheres together.

Nodding to himself, Peter began crushing it all at once- every one of those one hundred and eighty pounds of steel drums. He actually had to struggle the more pressure he applied, but it didn’t take long for those one eighty pounds to be compressed into something that could fit in his palm. That was over twenty thousand grams per cubic centimeter…

He closed his mouth as soon as it had started hanging open and dropped the metal pebble, staring at his hands. Whether in awe or terror, he wasn’t certain. He was leaning more towards terror.

This was how the Thing felt, wasn’t it? Always having to be mindful of the world around him since he could break it with a mere touch. Like it was made out of tissue paper. That must’ve scared him a little. Peter shared the feeling to a degree, superstrength did that to people, but this… was excessive to say the least. He’d had an understanding of it, but he hadn’t fully grasped just how strong the Symbiote had made him, and… He’d hate to have to use this much power against another human being, or any being for that matter. Ever.

Look on the bright side. Now you can give the world’s best bear hugs.

[cryptid-stimming]

Jazmine Duong (Brookberry Middle School) Stimboard for Anon

x x x / x x / x x x

[Image description: a 9 gif stimboard; from left to right.

First line: A gif of middle schoolers performing on a stage, they are wearing monochromatic outfits except for one who is wearing yellow, this performer walks forwards and mimes pushing another performer to the ground (there is a black theatre curtain in the background). A gif of a red theatre curtain raising upwardsd to reveal a stage and instruments set up. And a close-up gif of someone with a pixie haircut blinking.

Second line: A gif panning over a costume and prop supplies in a university drama department, there are two animal plush masks on a shelf, a donkey with a bow and a black and white cat. A still image of the character Jazmine Duong (from the Berrybrook Middle School Series by Svetlana Chmakova), she is smiling and waving. And a gif of somene rifling through costumes on a clothing rack.

Third line: A gif of someone packing a school backpack with books and a pencil case. A gif timelapse of a large stage being set up in a gym, the stage sections are pushed together like tables, there is a large theatre curtain on the wall behind. And a gif of students wearing monochromatic outfits. They're n a drama class playing a game, they stand in a circle before running forwards and shake their hands in the air.

End of image description.]

(Gif 5 is from a scene in the 2004 movie A Cinderella Story, I screenrecorded my DVD of it, sorry it's a lil' crunchy!)

[shady-scrolls]

[This was drawn as part of a multifandom roleplay a buddy and I are doing...]

The curtains open, as the theatre troop came to the stage.

A 5’ performer with sticky red hair steps up, as the other two in her main crew move about and set up props.

“Astred the Weaver”: Ladies, gentlemen, and those of other binaries, welcome!~ How is everyone doing on this year’s Carnival of Time?… Judging from the fact every one of you is wearing their masks, I can already tell everyone is in the festive mood~ Now, before we start the show, I must remind you of the rules of this festival...

Number 1. Keep your mask on throughout the course of this carnival. Don’t take it off!~

Number 2. Don’t eat the offerings that are left at the ofrendas! You don’t want your great grandfather’s ghost to go hungry, do you?

Number 3. Stay within the city limits to prevent our spiritual friends from crossing borders.

Number 4. Speaking of those spiritual friends, be respectful to them.

And Number 5, the most important one…. Never open the box that contains Majora’s Mask! You will see the artifact in question a few tents over. It is chained up tight to prevent any thievery, but I still feel I should remind all of you.

“Astred the Weaver”: Right, all the basics are out of the way. So let’s get on with the annual telling of the World That Ends in 3 Days~ This year’s performance has dear Lonnie starring as the Moon- the centerfold of this story. And for the children that can’t pay attention to basic theatrics, look at me- she flips onto a beam that was placed on the floor for her, and then contorted her body over so her legs and back curled over her. I can also be a moon~ Now, sit back, and enjoy the show….~

[thebowieconstricker]

Welcome Home Theatre Kid AU! 🎭 🍎 🎶

I have an idea that’s like the cast of Welcome Home except the town of Home is a community theatre and they all just put on plays and musicals so TAKE SOME DRABBLES GO FETCH

Wally Darling is your standard tenor boy that always gets the lead. Also everybody lowkey has a crush on him but no one can tell what he’s into because he just ends up flirting with everyone (he just thinks he’s being friendly but people are swooning left and right). The only thing is he’s not cocky about it, he sees every role as equally important and loves to put on a silly show with his friends.

Barnaby Beagle is, to absolutely NO ONE’S surprise, always the sidekick/comic relief. He’s at the point where auditioning is just a formality, cause he’s always the main characters bestie. But he’s fine with that, he’s happy to support his pals and he has a great time. He’s also the type to argue with the director, constantly saying “I think my character would do this”, but it’s always just to annoy her (the directer is Sally obvi).

Julie Joyful is that one soprano who just. Keeps. Riffing. And they sound great, like go off, but STILL. She’s usually the female lead but she loves to help with everything, painting sets, making costumes, always an extra hand. Also the biggest hype person backstage, cheering everyone on and just so excited all the time.

Frank Frankly is the tenor that always ends up in the shadows. Like they’re singing so beautifully and with such good technique but they always end up in the ensemble??? Like give him a chance??? Also a great shoulder to cry on during tough rehearsals and shudder tech week.

Eddie Dear definitely got into theater because Frank did, and while Frank really would like to be in the spotlight, Eddie is happy to be in the ensemble. He also loves to make up backstories for his characters most of the time it’s that him and Frank are husbands. Eddie also has a lovely bass voice but it’s more fun to just listen to him sing, the technique isn’t really there. Frank doesn’t mind though, you can always catch him smiling when Eddie sings one of his (very few) solos as Townsperson #2. Also he wouldn’t mind cross dressing.

Sally Starlet is your resident done-with-everyone’s-sh!t director. She always starts the show with a vision and it always goes down the drain as soon as rehearsals get started. Very much so stressed and depressed but trying her best tm. Unlike the others, she has a deep passion for the arts, so while everyone else is just having a fun time, Sally is sobbing into her BFA. But the show always ends up going well, so she keeps putting them on.

Poppy Partridge is THE stage mom. Making costumes, finding props, baking sweets for everyone backstage. Yes, it’s very hectic but gosh darn it her children friends need her and her mission in life is to support them. Also on opening night, she’s always front row, crying and clapping and going “BRAVO!” and she has a red rose for everyone.

Howdy Pillar somehow always ends up being stage manager. With all the arms, he’s just most helpful when pulling the curtains or helping to apply mic tap. He’s happy to help the show run smoothly, but dealing with all the backstage shenanigans gives him a headache. Barnaby’s always ready to give him a joke though, so that helps. Also he can tap dance. I don’t make the rules.

[cog5]

May - The Keep, South, Area 1C

#dungeon23

5.9. Backstage

Dark, only a hint of light emanates from a gap in the stage curtains. A faint set of glowing markers are stamped into the floor, creating a guide through the mess of props, trunks, backdrops and stage lamps. Most anything can be found here, an adventurer needs only to name it. However, the object is completely fake. Any weapon found is an imitation, hardly dangerous.

5.10. Theater Stage

A grand stage, surrounded by red, moth-eaten curtains. The play is about to begin.

Act 1: The Queen’s death, and The King’s quest to revive her. In which he, himself, did manage such a thing.

Act 2: The harrowing events that ravaged the kingdom for a fortnight. In which The Queen did eat many people.

Act 3: The ingenious actions of Baltharius, the Mystical. In which he did seal The Queen’s living corpse in the Cathedral.

Act 4: The grateful King recognizes the folly of his ways. In which he appoints Baltharius to manage all affairs of the kingdom, forever, and ever, from here on.

The rudimentary propaganda piece is enacted through holographic emitters of poor audio and visual quality.

5.11. Dressing Room

A cold stillness fills the air. Dressing stations line the walls, filled with make-up slates, brushes, faux jewelry, wigs, and other items used in the art of theater. Costumes are hung about in various combinations. At the far north end of the room, a large mirror. A poster tacked to the southern door reads: “Reign Guilfoyle, Final Performance, The Basting Stitch.”

Reign Guylfoyl was the last human to perform in The King’s theater, enacting a solo performance where they play all the roles themselves. A roster of one dozen characters relay the events of a cataclysmic scenario, in which the world is quickly shrinking to the size of the head of a pin. One by one, they each disappear into an all-consuming spherical void as it closes in around them.

Guilfoyle’s ghost haunts the theater and will inhabit several costumes at once, bringing them to life, near-simultaneously. Reign’s true visage can only be seen when looking into the reflection of a mirror, as their spirit darts from one hollow costume to the next, inflating it with ectoplasmic energy. The costume slowly deflates if Reign is not present for more than a few seconds.

Guylfoyl has trouble differentiating the real world from the one depicted in the play. Through the power of their ghostly psyche, they may begin to actually shrink the world around them, calling forth a black void that slowly encircles the theater and surrounding areas.

5.12. Theater Seating

Rows of seats, bolted to the floor. They creak when sat upon, and the stuffing inside has lost its comfort.

There’s a 2-in-6 chance any given cushion is home to a rat.

There’s a 3-in-6 chance an Augmented Guard will enter and check for valid tickets.

5.13. Lobby and Concession

The lobby is empty, quiet, and dusty. Behind the concession counter, a sullen automaton waits idle. Snacks and refreshments can be purchased prior to seeing the play. Everything is very stale and served with ennui.

Tickets are one gold each, but the automaton will hand them over for any basic exchange. Gold, a button, or a handful of pebbles is fine.

[deepestmusicfire]

Indoor Wedding Décor Magic: Transforming Halls and Banquets in Coimbatore

The Beauty of Indoor Weddings in Coimbatore

Weddings in Coimbatore are a harmonious blend of tradition and modern elegance. While outdoor weddings have their charm, indoor weddings offer a canvas of endless creativity, convenience, and comfort. Whether it's a grand banquet hall or an intimate indoor space, indoor weddings can be transformed into a magical setting with the expertise of experienced wedding decorators in Coimbatore. The magic lies not only in the venue but in the vision, execution, and details that bring a couple’s dream day to life.

Why Indoor Venues Are Gaining Popularity

In Coimbatore, indoor wedding venues are gaining popularity for several reasons. They provide a controlled environment where weather is never an issue, making planning easier and safer. From lighting to climate control and acoustics, indoor venues offer flexibility that outdoor setups may lack. However, the real transformation happens when the space is handed over to seasoned wedding decorators in Coimbatore. These professionals know how to elevate a simple hall into a luxurious or themed celebration space that leaves guests awestruck.

The Power of Lighting and Fabric

One of the first things guests notice when entering an indoor wedding venue is the lighting. Warm fairy lights, majestic chandeliers, LED spotlights, and ambient glows all play an essential role in setting the mood. Expert wedding decorators in Coimbatore understand how to use lighting to enhance the overall feel of the space. Combine this with rich drapes, flowing fabrics, ceiling hangings, and thematic color palettes, and you’ve got a setup that feels nothing short of magical.

Fabric draping across the ceiling, cascading backdrops, floral curtains, and intricately designed stage décor all bring personality and elegance to an indoor venue. Whether it's a minimal white-on-white scheme or a royal red and gold palette, professional decorators tailor every detail to match the couple’s story.

Creating a Focal Point with Stage and Mandap Design

In any Indian wedding, the stage and mandap hold immense cultural and emotional significance. These areas serve as the heart of the event, where rituals take place and photographs are captured for a lifetime of memories. That's why wedding decorators in Coimbatore spend extra effort creating focal points that are both beautiful and functional. A combination of floral arrangements, thematic props, mirror work, vintage elements, and contemporary structures are often used to craft breathtaking stage setups.

Indoor wedding decorators make sure that even with a confined space, the mandap stands out—making it the centerpiece of the celebration. Their experience in managing symmetry, spacing, and lighting ensures that the setting complements both the rituals and the aesthetics.

Tablescapes, Centerpieces, and Guest Seating

Another area where indoor weddings shine is in table décor and guest arrangements. Banquet seating allows for personalized touches in every corner. Beautiful centerpieces, elegant chair drapes, and thematic table runners can transform a simple dining area into a grand, cohesive part of the overall design. Top wedding decorators in Coimbatore know how to maintain consistency in color schemes and themes across multiple elements—from table settings to welcome signs, photo booths, and even the cake table.

Many couples today opt for interactive installations, custom name tags, and floral arrangements that are not only decorative but also meaningful. Every element can reflect the couple’s personality, be it rustic elegance, royal grandeur, or minimalist sophistication.

Indoor Floral Décor and Fragrance Play

Floral décor takes on a different charm in indoor venues. Since the atmosphere is more enclosed, the freshness and fragrance of flowers can enhance the ambiance significantly. From the entrance to the aisle, from stage corners to ceiling hangings, flowers are used innovatively by skilled wedding decorators in Coimbatore to breathe life into the venue. Jasmine strings, rose petals, marigold garlands, or exotic imported blooms—every flower has its place and purpose.

Fragrance diffusers are also being used in coordination with florals to keep the entire venue smelling divine. This multisensory approach adds emotional depth and aesthetic beauty to the wedding celebration.

Thematic Concepts That Come Alive Indoors

Indoor weddings provide the perfect environment to implement theme-based décor. From vintage Bollywood and royal palace settings to pastel garden themes and modern geometric aesthetics, the options are unlimited. With the help of creative wedding decorators in Coimbatore, couples are now turning simple banquet halls into immersive worlds inspired by their favorite films, destinations, or even love stories.

These decorators bring in customized props, stage props, theme-specific furniture, and lighting techniques to create unique atmospheres. The consistency of themes across all elements—from invitations to return gifts—is handled seamlessly when experienced decorators take the lead.

Working with the Best Wedding Decorators in Coimbatore

If you're planning an indoor wedding in the city, working with reputed wedding decorators in Coimbatore is your best move. These experts have local knowledge, strong vendor networks, and hands-on experience in transforming even the most basic venue into something unforgettable. Their ability to bring your vision to life while handling logistics and coordination behind the scenes is what truly makes your big day stress-free and magical.

Choosing the right decorator means you get access to creative minds who understand lighting dynamics, fabric flow, spatial design, and thematic aesthetics. They bring with them not just skill, but a passion for crafting memorable wedding experiences.

Final Thoughts

Indoor weddings in Coimbatore are more than just celebrations—they are artful productions brought to life by visionaries. With the guidance and creativity of top-tier wedding decorators in Coimbatore, your wedding can become a storybook dream, no matter the venue size or style. From mandaps to entrance arches, from floral trails to ambient lighting—every detail is an opportunity to express love and joy.