Villain Arc - Tumblr Posts
this is my new evil scheme, thoughts?
Oh fuck
Wait can I just like… post my old characters and stuff… hmmm
Anyways, meet Ripha
Possibly one of the drawing I’m most proud of so far.
She is an archeologist whose side hustle is necromancy. This specific illustration was made with the thought of the campaign turning a little… darker for her.
Bonus: This is her familiar, Fable, as a reward for reading past the break.
(He says “Hi”)
I have undergone a villain arc.
let Hawks have a villain arc that is just killing commission workers
pokemon reference goes crazy and I'm here for it
anyway *twiddles evil mustache* I guess I am the villain of this story...
@axle-hates-zucchini hey man what's your problem....
So, I figured out my villian arc is all about how bullshit it is for multimillion corporations to keep limited time/seasonal flavors around for only a single month at a time.
Looking at places like McDonald's and Starbucks (among several others) that won't just... let things ride out their popularity for a month or two before storing them away for a year.
The door creaked open, golden light spilling from within.
It looked like heaven—as if a slice of something glorious had been tucked away.
Mythria reached a hand for it, but Ella got there first, swinging the door open with a grin.
“After you, m’lady.”
The room was warm when she stepped into it, Ella’s boots echoing after hers, and the pedestal in the center beckoned.
She gasped.
“It’s real.”
Beside her, Ella looked close to tears.
“It’s beautiful.”
And it was—the leather bound book was bracketed by a delicate over cover, twisting leaves and furling branches stretching across its length.
They stopped in front of it, climbing the pedestal.
Mythria wanted so badly to hold it, but couldn’t bear to touch it.
Hello, it seemed to say. I’ve been waiting.
Ella sniffled, and wiped a tear.
“You should do the honors.”
Mythria blinked at her as Ella wiped tears from her cheeks.
“Are you sure?”
Ella nodded, and Mythria turned back to the book.
It was so pretty. She hadn’t known anything could be this pretty—and after all of these years of searching, all the pain, she realized it was worth it.
Her fingers closed upon the book, and she cracked it open.
As soon as her eyes read the first line, her body seized, crumpling to the floor.
She shook, pain lancing through her, iron twisting along her bones.
Above her, Ella simply watched curiously.
She took a handkerchief out of her pocket, wrapping it around her hand in order to pick up the book.
Mythria let out a keen, panting, before she was able to push herself up.
“You knew that would happen.”
Ella raised a brow.
“Of course. I’ve done my research.”
“So then why—“
“I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she continued, as if Mythria hadn’t said anything. “I thought it would kill you.”
Mythria snarled, legs too shaky to stand.
“Traitor.”
Ella hummed.
“I did tell you I was from the Golden Ones. You just assumed I had renounced them.”
“What? So you’re stealing priceless artifacts for some unknown gods? Ella, please—“
“We are the gods,” she corrected, and with the light shining down and the book clutched against her side, she looked like one.
Mythria pulled her knees to her chest as something warm stirred within her.
Ella made for the door.
“One day,” Mythria called, “I will come for you. And you will rethink your own godhood.”
Ella stopped at the threshold.
She grinned.
“I look forward to it.”
Inside her, the power of the book thrummed.
You are the god now.
Mythria smiled, and after a long moment, stood.
She hated traitors.
“If I am a god,” she said to herself, “then it is time for a reckoning.”
The vault trembled, as if it could sense the power growing in her, and delighted in the empty book being stolen away, now simply a book and not a power container.
Mythria was the power container now.
And she was going to show them exactly what a god looked like.
“Please,” she whispered. The villain paused.
A slow grin spread a cross their face.
“Begging so soon? Not very heroic.”
She laughed, and it hurt.
“Not heroic, no.”
The villain’s eyes narrowed, head tipping to the side as they regarded her.
Her eyes darted to the door, fear beginning to churn in her gut. Their face cleared as they followed her gaze, understanding writing itself on their skin.
“You’re afraid,” they observed. The villain stepped forward to where she knelt, knees digging into the ground. Their cool fingers wrapped around her chin and tipped her head up. “But not of me.”
She stilled, swallowing.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The villain tutted, smile vicious and victorious and soft.
“Don’t lie to a liar.”
She closed her mouth.
The villain traced soothing circles along her jaw with their thumb. “You’re afraid your friends will get here in time,” they said softly. The hero made to jerk away, and the villain’s nails dug into her skin, eyes flashing in warning. “You’re afraid they’ll make it here in time to save you.”
Bitterly, tears rose in her eyes.
“Please,” her voice broke. The villain was silent.
They sighed.
“Up you get,” they tugged her up, wrapping an arm around her waist when she wobbled on numb knees. She closed her eyes.
She expected pain, the sharpness of finality, the crisp bite of death—but it wasn’t there.
When she opened her eyes, the villain was watching her.
Her gut sank.
“You aren’t going to kill me.”
The villain shrugged a shoulder.
“Oh, of course not. You want to die. What could be more torturous for you than leaving you alive?”
This time, the panic that curled in her gut was for the villain.
“Let me go then,” she said. The villain’s grip was stone on her waist.
“Mmm, I don’t think so. I won’t kill you,” they reminded. They tugged her against them so swiftly she didn’t feel it happen. Their lips pressed against her ear.
“No, love. I’m going to turn you into another me.”
She could feel their grin against her ear.
They vanished, taking her with them, before her friends could get there.
Six months later, she picked her friends off. One. By. One.
And the city burned.
A little portrait of another character from my wip novel, she's uh- mid villain arc, don't mind her arson.
I’ve never been someone to post about real life events.
this is an art and writing blog, after all.
but this does kind of match up with writing, considering the way I plan on doing descriptions.
consider this a simple warning for a slight rant.
.
.
.
We’ve all felt angry. It’s a human emotion. A natural one that everyone has experienced at some point or another.
But there’s something about being angry. A heat, a burning. And that’s what being angry can be, frequently.
burning, heat, a fiery feeling. Fury, or maybe venom.
But there’s this feeling.
Cold. Cold anger, cold venom, frosty and jagged fury.
Not burning fury. But just as consuming.
And the thought, if you wish to speak with me like that, you do not deserve my respect, and if you do not have my respect, you do not deserve to see me. Me.
Just cold, icy anger that feels wrong. wrong
Off
not right
strange
wrong.
An anger so icy and cold that it didn’t belong in me. Didn’t belong in my feelings. Didn’t belong on me. Wrong.
In the end there was no retaliation, no talk back.
in the end all there was was cold, icy, jagged politeness.
Just icy politeness.
Cold. Cold. Cold.
I don’t like when anger is cold.
That sense of cunning and darkness that isn’t right for me claws its way up into the faint, flickery light, and I think.
I could ruin these people. I could tear them apart verbally if I tried. Carefully curated words stitched from observations. Not outside my realm of speciality.
But I don’t.
Because I’m nice.
And eventually that all gets so tiring. Being nice. Exhausting.
it almost occurs to me that these feelings quite resemble a villain arc.
my anger has never been malicious. but if you want it to be?
I will show you malicious.
Rant ended. Do with my words what you will.
I like the way you think. 😈
Yo what if Charlie villain arc
Live leak of trauma jester's murderer arc. ("This gotta be good"- says anime critic)
What if…?