WOO! My Dante’s Inferno OC (Lamia) is finally done! My Beetlejuice Discord group did a Inferno OC challenge and it was a blast. I had so much fun designing her and getting to see all the awesome characters my buds made.
Check out the cool peeps who made cool OCs: @neitherworld @vicunaburger @hoodoo12 @lazifyre @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @nerdexpress @strange-n-unbluusual @go-commander-kim @darkrimmedeyes @turtlepated @jeuchrit
Our Dante’s Playlist: Link
Stage Names: Lamia, The Witch
Age & Height: 25, 5’4”
Backstory: Was a witch during the German witch trials in 1626. was freed only to die shortly after (bit by a snake, causing her to trip and crack her head.)
More backstory under cut!
Real Name: Ayla (eye-la) Hagen
Song: Rev 22:20, Puscifer (link)
Role: Pole Dancer, escort, call girl
Relationship: Long time drinking buddy with Movie Beetlejuice.
Likes: Being in control, helping friends, testing new spells, dancing, seducing men.
Hates: disrespectful clients, disorganization, people touching her stuff.
Ayla Hagen, who prefers to go by Lamia, died in 1626. She was one of the only real witches during the German witch trials. She managed to get released by accusing another girl of talking to snakes. While leaving prison, elated that she’d escaped and telling the city guards where to shove it, Lamia was bitten by a snake (karma) on the road, which caused her to trip and crack her head open.
Always a fan of seducing men, Lamia decided to start working at Dante’s when she passed over. Her pole dancing routine is sultry and dark, and after cursing a few clients for treating her poorly, she earned the stage name “The Witch.”
Lamia usually is just a pole dancer, but will occasionally, and selectively, sleep with clients. Normally, her role is to be dominate. She prefers to be on top and in control of any sexual situation. She and Movie Beetlejuice have been drinking buddies for a few hundred years and they met one of her first nights at Dante’s. After becoming more comfortable with him, Beetlejuice Is the only one she’ll let dominate her – for the right price and if she’s in a good mood. Musical Beetlejuice is a little intimidated by her, like many patrons, but loves the adrenaline rush Lamia gives him when she calls the shots in bed.
Lamia is extremely protective of the other Dante’s workers and will straight up hex clients who cross any of them. She puts on an older sister role even if she isn’t physically younger (she’s been dead a very long time).
Some of us cool kids on our Discord server decided to have a little fun this week and create some Inferno Girls OCs!
If you wanna see more lovely ladies, gents, and NB lovelies, check out the “#infernooc” tag.
Without further ado...
Poppy “Lollipop” Remington
More information under the cut!
Name/Stage Name: Poppy “Lollipop” Remington
Year/Cause of Death/Age: 1988, sawblade to the chest, 25
Favorite Dancing Song: Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” (or anything 80s synth pop/new wave)
Role in the House: Dancer/Payroll “Payment Enforcer”
-Prefers dancing on stage and working behind the scenes of the club to 1-1 clientele. Very self conscious about her less than stellar appearance
Hair/Skin Color: Mauve/pink hair, mint green skin, small orange horns normally surrounded by teased hair, 5’8, plus sized and proud/ a thin scar runs from her hairline to the bridge of her nose diagonally down to the left; a giant, nasty scar runs the length of her torso from neck to navel, matching an identical scar along her back, she tries to hide them by tying corset lacing patterns every few days along the length of the wounds
Relationship with Beej?:
- Movie!Beej:
- Calls him “Dead Man” or “ATM” for kicks. Enjoys him as a client because he pays well and knows just how to sweet-talk her into giving him a discount on private dances. She pretends to fuss about it, but doesn’t mind in the long run, since he always makes it worth her while. He’s much nicer than her usual clientele and doesn’t treat her like a complete ditz, despite it being her “character” during her sets on stage. He’s one of the very select clients she’ll sleep with, as she’s more akin to a “hostess” in a club rather than a prostitute. She loves the fact she can be a complete brat and snark off to him, and he just loves it. He’s also the only one she’ll drink with while on and off the job, because she is a party girl and goddamn if he isn’t a party. Beej is one of the few people outside of the other girls at the club that knows how she ended up on the other side, as she changes the story every time to keep clients from being too nosy.
-Musical!Beej:
- Calls him “Honey Bunny” and nothing else. Thinks he is the cutest, most adorable demon to walk into the Inferno Room. Immediately perks up when he visits during her shifts, even more when he books private time with her because most of the time is spent making each other laugh in the middle of intimacy. They’re both very handsy when they’re together, sharing a mutual touch-starved affection with each other. Poppy doesn’t find herself on par with the other girls of Dante’s and hesitates to initiate physical contact with patrons. However, she will drop whatever she is going to at least go over and greet Beej before going back to work and considers him her special VIP client. The two of them have been spied occasionally partying outside the Inferno Room together on her nights off, often in the midst of causing mischief and mayhem upon the unsuspecting Neitherworld citizens. He was the first one to get her to “loosen up” after her untimely death.
Clothing Style:
- On Stage: bright 80s lace realness, legwarmers, tulle skirts, THE WORKS
- Working the Floor: tight athletic wear “Physical” video glam, the only fabric in the world to dance with is LYCRA
-Office/Off Duty Wear: casual 80s preppy vibe, oversized jackets with dresses, polo shirts with popped collars, handkerchief skirts
Backstory:
The summer of ‘88 was not turning out the way Poppy Remington expected.
Not only did her father temporarily cut off her only source of income, but the only way to get it back was to work a job during the summer to prove she could be a responsible adult. For a few months, at least, her father wasn’t expecting miracles. The only short-term notice job available was working the local overnight camp as a counselor, which she reluctantly agreed to take at her friends’ urging. They were all going to work there that summer.
Supposedly.
On the night before they would set off for camp, the group decided to throw one last bash before they were shackled with the responsibility of making sure children didn’t get themselves killed in some horrible accident. One of her best friends had the idea to use the yard outside of the abandoned sawmill for the party. It was out of the way with no chance of being bothered by the cops.
Which meant, naturally, that when things started to go downhill, there was no way out for the unsuspecting adults.
The 2x4 shook violently with the force of her grip, splinters digging into her palms as she shifted the weight of the weapon backwards. Ahead of her, the open door of the sawmill swung wide open as if to taunt her; beckoning her to make a run for it while the room was clear. There was no possible way the crazed “Mill Murderer” could have made it from the farmhouse to the mill ahead of her. He was knocked prone on the kitchen floor with a swift blow to the back of his masked head.
Poppy licked her chapped lips, glancing at the body of her – now ex- boyfriend, shorn in half by the supposedly broken lumber saw. She had told him to wait for her before going to check out the sawmill, but like the idiot he was, Chad decided to play macho man and go tearing through the grounds like the energizer bunny.
“Ugh, you were so cute, but so stupid.” She muttered to the body, kicking off her high heels in preparation to bolt out the door.
In a flash, Poppy sprinted toward the other side of the sawmill, focused on nothing else but reaching the running police car outside.
Of course, that meant she wasn’t paying attention to the ground, causing her to trip over some unfortunate victim’s severed arm and tumble headfirst to the ground. She managed to land on her arms but hit her head on a small pile of discarded lumber scraps. Her face felt like it was on fire, already feeling the blood seep out of the gash that spread from her hairline to her nose.
Poppy tried to stand, managing to get halfway up on her own before being helpfully pulled up and off her feet by a large, gloved hand. Screaming in anger, she swiped at the masked killer, trying to find some vulnerable part of him to attack.
Was he waiting for her to run? Did he plant the arm there as a trap?
The Mill Murderer carried Poppy by the throat as she struggled, back to a corner of the room she hadn’t explored before now. Trying to turn her head and see their destination, her eyes widened as she saw the ridiculously convenient, oversized table saw just waiting to be used. Doubling her efforts, Poppy tried to dislodge herself from his grip, and dug her nails into a bit of skin that was exposed under his gloves.
He howled in pain, tossing her away from him like an angry cat-
-right on top of the dormant sawblade.
Poppy felt the serrated, rusty blade digging into her back, unaware of just how deep the tool had impaled itself within her. Maybe it was the shock, maybe she was fueled by pure spite and an unwillingness to give up so easily, but something was keeping her alive. Even though she spit a mouthful of blood at him as he loomed above her, tilting his head as though impressed that she was lasting so long. People only bled out of their mouths like that when their lungs and esophagus were thoroughly punctured.
Not wanting to risk this angry woman gaining a second wind, he quickly slammed her torso further down onto the blade, watching it sever a line down the middle of her chest before she stopped squirming around. He waited a few moments before gathering himself and shuffling out of the sawmill: that was definitely a victim worth writing about in his journal.
--
Poppy stared angrily into the mirror, wincing as she pulled the neon pink thread through the tender skin of her chest. Just a few more stitches and she would be ready to go, already hearing the halfway mark of the performer’s show currently on stage. She was next, despite her best efforts to change to a later time slot, and now had to do a rush job on her sewing.
At least she had gotten Madame to sew up her back earlier that day. It was hell trying to stitch backwards in a mirror. Most of the other girls shied away from such a gruesome task, but she could always count on Madame to help her without complaint. It was embarrassing to even need such care and attention, and Poppy did her best to make up for her physical flaws but working extra hard behind the scenes of the Inferno Room.
Tying a cute, knotted bow at her collarbone, she snipped the thread with a pair of scissors before wrapping her lace bustier around her torso, snapping it into place. Her favorite acid-wash denim jacket was next, sliding across her shoulders like a comforting blanket. The scar on her face could be hidden with makeup and clever hair styling; small favors she had learned to appreciate the longer she performed.
Poppy leaned forward into the mirror, checking for any lipstick stains on her pointed teeth, “Just one set, and then we’re all his for the night.”
Thinking about him made all of her efforts seem inconsequential, already picking out the flaws in her stitching from under the lace of her top. She could have taken a little more care with them… and maybe she needed more volume in her hair? Tonight was a bad night for mousse. What was the point of having limp, lifeless hair when her favorite was coming to see her? Would he think she didn’t care? Or that she wasn’t good enough anymore and he would seek companionship elsewhere?
She barely acknowledged her five-minute warning, waving the stage manager off with a huff, too focused on trying to blend out part of the scar that touched the bridge of her nose.
Our discord server prompt for this month was "Teeth"! I decided to draw my inferno OC Bernadette in her demonic Form! Check out @hoodoo12 for a great fanfiction involving the trash man!
It hadn’t been the death he had wanted, going out on his knees with a bag over his head in mid-winter. But after that first murder, it wasn’t like he had expected himself to continue to live a normal life either. To age peacefully in Moscow’s low-income housing, a small fortune amassed in his name. What a life it could have been. Could. But he had found a greater calling to follow and just when it had begun to hit it’s peak, when it had all began to come together in one final revelation of understanding the lights had been shut out on him.
Ivan had thought of hell many times before. When he had sat in his cell it was one of the only things on his mind. Just what it would look like for him now that he had committed one of the ultimate sins against God; 6 times to be exact.
It felt nearly comical that in his life he had been killing girls and now in his after life he was protecting them. It reminded him of a proverb; “Fortune and misfortune live in the same courtyard”. While his death had been a misfortune in his eyes his afterlife had been, fortunate, for lack of a better word.
Dark brown eyes looked up, past the beer belly, to the pasty, moss patched-covered man before him. Yes. So fortunate. Pale pinkish-blue lips parted themselves to take the tip of the wriggling stripped tentacle in his mouth. Clawed hands finding themselves tangled in Ivan's blonde-white hair as a satisfied grunt came from the man.
Beetlejuice.
Not his favorite customer.
Beetlejuice.
Women lover and girl fanatic.
Beetlejuice.
Still somehow always came back to Him for more.
“You got lockjaw down there?” There was little time for Ivan to answer or even move before Beetlejuice bucked his hips forward, forcing the larger man to take more of the wriggling thing in his mouth. His throat nearly clenching shut when the tip of it hit up against it.
“Ain’t that much better?”
There’s a snort of laughter as Ivan threw Beetlejuice a warning glare. The squirming thing in his mouth was almost repugnant, it’s owner wasn’t too far behind. Breath reeking of alcohol and body smelling of cheap cologne. Beetlejuice’s smug look of confidence shifted to one of twitching pain as the Russian pressed half-moons into the man’s hips, hands attempting to hold him still.
Pulling his head back Ivan’s attention shifted to the thing in his mouth. Thick and slick with wet, he tried to ignore the taste. He’s certainly had, had better. Pink-blue lips stretch over it once more as he sunk his head down on the appendage, a pleased hiss escaping from Beej.
A rhythm began to start up. His head bobbing on the stripped cock as his throat closed tight around it each time he went down. Air was whistling through Ivan’s nostrils as he tried so desperately to not choke on it, even if Beej would love that of him.
His hands had moved from the salesman’s hips to thighs now, their grip tight as he placed a majority of his attention in his working his tongue on the underside of the unusual cock and rest of his attention in not dying (again). He carefully placed his teeth down on the cock, gently dragging them up to the tip. He’s had enough practice to know what exactly to do now and the motion was enough to make the smaller man’s knee bounce as he shuddered.
Ringed fingers tightened themselves in Ivan’s hair as a warning of what was to come.
“Easy with the teeth, comrade. I ain’t paid for any biting.”
The tug on his hair became a rough yank as Ivan was forcefully pulled upward, a dazed look in his brown eyes.
“What a look, I outta take a picture of that. Big guy like you on you’re knees. Really does it for ya huh Ivan?”
The Russian could only groan in his agreement as he was pushed right back down onto the thing. Drool that has been collecting on the sides on his mouth now dripped down his chin, his breathing had turned more ragged then he would have liked.
The pulls on his hair kept the pace as Ivan’s cheeks hollowed themselves, desperate now to just get the salesman to cum. Any more of this rough abuse and he was going to choke.
It took only a couple more rough thrusts into Ivan’s cold wet mouth before the thing was pulled out with a slick pop. It took one tight gripped stroke from Beej however for hot thick strands of cum to hit Ivan's face. His instinct was to keep his mouth closed but he knew better and like the good dog he was, kept his mouth open and eyes closed.
It was a solid minute of ragged breathing between the two men. Ivan’s eyes fluttering open almost prettily as he gazed up at Beetlejuice. Even if his expression was almost deadpan, his heaving chest and slightly pinked cheeks gave away just how much he too, had enjoyed himself; as if the bulge in his colorful pants wasn’t already a rather big hint.
Beetlejuice had relaxed into the plush red sofa he was sat on, breath equally as ragged as his green eyes took in the picture before him.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who had fun” A foot pressed painfully against Ivans bulge, making the Russian let out a heavy huff of air. “C’mon comrade! I’d say it’s your turn for a big finish.”
Yes. He thought as the grip on his hair loosened so he could stand. So fortunate.
