#[image of man putting on clown makeup]

[kalmeria]

what if. summer night beeat will be a parallel to honeycomb summer. what then

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ Bi-Han with a Sun Goddess!Reader

ᯓ★ fluff, angst at the end, reader is fem!!

Boy oh boy were you two an unexpected match. One was full of grace while the other's full of temper.

Though, despite your differences, your relationship was surprisingly well.

How he fell for you was a story itself, it all started when you had offered to help Liu Kang and his friends to fight against Shang Tsung. When you were given a place to stay at the Lin Kuei's headquarters, that's how you met the man.

He was the first to introduce himself but from his tone you could tell he was forced to offer the hospitality towards you.

During the wait for Liu Kang's orders, you explored the place and had stumble upon Bi-Han when he was training his men. You were bored so you decided to join.

From there was how you slowly started to know him.

Starting by having a friendly duel to having brunch at the garden. He was surprisingly not as scary as he appears to be.

It was probably your patience and elegance that made him fall hard for you.

He can't explain it but there was this aura about you that just seemed to be drawing him in.

So when he confessed to you after he had invited you over for a formal dinner. That was when things took a huge turn.

When everyone found out you two were together, it blew nearly everyone's mind, especially Johnny's. Like how did that happen?

"What do you even see in him?"

"He makes me laugh"

P.S, Bi-Han hates how you and Johnny are very buddy with each other.

There was this one time Johnny had bought you an attire from his earth and had intended to bring you as a plus one to his movie premiere but obviously Bi-Han was quick to snatch you away.

Just imagine him dragging you gently by the waist while looking over his shoulder to glare at Johnny. You on the other hand was unaware of his jealousy since you were confused why he needed your help on watering the pond (?)

Honestly Bi-Han wouldn't be too showy with affection. Sure he loves you, but he also loves his image. Though if you were ever to initiate PDA, he'd be fine with small things like kisses and hugs. Just don't embarrass him in front of his men. He won't be ever live it down.

Did I mention how soft he gets behind closed doors?

Once it's just you two he can finally drop his cold demeanor.

100% canon he's a small spoon type of guy.

Like just run your hands through his loose hair and massage his scalp. HE.WILL.MELT!!!

He'd definitely talk in a whisper tone to you when you guys are cuddling. Not to mention he always have this soft smile on his face.

"I missed you the entire day..."

"Hm... Your hair looks cute when it's messy..."

"Stop... don't look at me like that... quit pouting..."

He also enjoys taking baths together. Nothing extreme of course. He just enjoys the feel of your skin 'cause it helps him to relax.

He calls you sunshine. I wonder why 🤔

Jokes aside, he also calls you other cliché things like baby and love.

Another funny thing, he enjoys it when you choose to mess with him. He doesn't get mad but instead finds your attempts intriguing.

An example of a scenario was when you had decided to put makeup on him. Your excuse being that you wanted to try a new type of style but he knew those were just white lies.

Once you were done, you just couldn't control your laughter. He doesn't even crack a smile but just stares at you with a blank expression before turning to see his reflection on the mirror.

Did you just put clown makeup on him? He sighs but secretly inside, he finds your laughter quite contagious. It takes all his strength not to smile.

"You are an adult yet you behave like a child"

"PAAHAHAHA I AM—NOT— NOT A CHILD!!" You'd struggle to say through your laughter as he turns to stare at you once again with a unimpressed look, the clown makeup still on him making it even more funny to you.

OKAY NOW HEAR ME OUT. He definitely gives you compliments buuuut since he's too embarrassed to just say it outright, he likes to say it in his native language. He's just more comfortable in his mother tongue.

Just imagine him caressing your cheek as he admires you. Nothing but love in his gaze. It was like you were the single most beautiful thing in this world to him.

"你到底知道你有多可愛嗎? (Do you even understand/know how cute you are?)" He'd say in a breathy tone as though your beauty took his breath away.

Now to your powers, when he first saw you in action, it left him astonished. A sun goddess? Just when he thought he had seen it all... you never cease to surprise him.

That's why it comes naturally that he would challenge you in a friendly battle which you accepted without hesitation.

It was definitely a massive fight, even some of his men were rounding around or peeking from nearby to get a glimpse of the fight.

You were fast yet so smart with your moves. He had to admit that it had him captivated. Sadly the fight ended in a tie since Scorpion had to come in to stop it when things were beginning to get out of hand.

Without realising, you guys had accidentally damage some of the furniture and such. Ever since then, Bi-Han has been looking forward to competing against you again.

After that you were also considered his equal which is already an achievement itself.

Rarely anyone gets that high of a praise.

When in a relationship, his curiosity would peak and he would ask questions about your powers and your backstory.

While telling him your family reputation and the origin of where you got your abilities, he would be listening closely.

You taught yourself how to control and enhance your skills? He likes you even more.

You have daddy issues? Say less.

Whatever it is, he'll just listen to you with his brows slightly raised as you have his complete interest.

Since you're the only one he feels like he can share his problems to, he would definitely share his frustration concerning his father's beliefs about the Lin Kuei.

You would try to help him through it but even with your endless love and care. His betrayal would be inevitable.

When you learned of his betrayal through his brothers, it left you completely shattered.

How could he do this?

Did he not even consider the harm he could do when he did that?

Did you never cross his mind?

All of these thoughts haunted you.

And so did his consequences did to him.

His thirst for power and control consumed him to the fact that he had failed to realise he had lost you in the process.

Countless nights of staring at the wall as he loses sleep...

Until one day he decided to go and set out to find you. When he did, he hid himself in the shadows while watching you pack your stuff.

You were leaving to Japan with his brothers.

The dark circles around your eyes and the glow you always had on you was gone.

His actions had entirely ruined you...

Once he was sure it was just you and nobody else, he would step out of the bushes and choose to approach you. A dumb but desperate move.

The second your eyes settled on him. There was no warmth... but rage in your eyes.

Without a second thought you would initiate a fight against the man who was once your lover.

Due to your still aching heart, you would fight with tears in your eyes as your emotions got the better of you, something Bi-Han easily caught notice of.

After exchanging blows and countering them, Bi-Han would manage to hold you in his embrace which you struggled against but soon you would give in to the warmth of his body. The feeling you've longed for ever since he was gone.

"Please... don't leave..." He'd plea, afraid that he might never see you again.

"I never left... you did..." You'd say, then gently removing his arms around you which he let's you without resisting.

"You left me... like I was nothing to you..." You looked at him, staring at the way his face was unreadable but you could see the glimpse of hopeless in his eyes.

"I'm just glad this time I get to say goodbye" You'd then reach out to hold the side of his face... before turning to leave with your belongings.

He doesn't stop nor chases after you but rather just stands there and watch as you go.

The heartbreaking realisation that he was no longer the reason for you to stay.. but to run away.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[sleepysuburb]

Top 5 Steve/Reece character designs? (Hopefully this hasn't already been asked lol? ^_^

it hasn't!! character design is one of my main passions so this is an ideal question 👀 I really went balls to the wall for this one so it's under a readmore!! sorry for the chunks of text!

REECE

1. Stu. I'm so obsessed with Stu's design choices; the way he's clearly meant to look a little "too old" (not my opinion! I think he looks gorgeous) for his fashion sense, with his little tummy and his loud shirt, his tight jeans and very 90s auburn-blonde hair, his pink lip gloss (!!!!!!)... he's comfortable in himself and knows what works for him, so why change it as he gets older?

Conversely, the loud way he dresses is put into stark contrast with Carl's more age-appropriate, sensible dress and neat haircut, which gives him just one more reason to be at odds with him. He's visibly gay and camp with it, while Carl's repression is mirrored by his straightlaced design - I always see this canyon between their respective expressions and what it represents as a big source of bitterness, embarrassment and envy in their relationship, going both ways.

2. Stella. Oh Stella the riot grrrl you are... the choker, the lace tights, the leather pinafore over black mesh; it's all so babes in toyland/hole etc. Her hair is so quintessentially 90s, but specifically its a style and colour combo often worn by rebellious, troublesome, outcast women in media; to me, her design embodies this yearning for excitement outside of her marriage and a resistance to 'settling down', especially with Charlie. also she's hot. who said that

3. Mr Jelly. Never has a washed up clown looked so... washed up. I love the way his makeup is clearly slept in and not touched up for days/weeks/months at a time, cracking around his persistent frown lines and pilling around his eye bags, and how his hair is badly combed over his bald cap like he's actually trying to hide a severely receding hairline. He looks like the sort of grimy, scary horror clown you wouldn't want around your kids, only to subverse that somewhat - he's not cruel or creepy really, just a sad, disenfranchised man whose career was stolen by medical malpractice and intellectual theft. and his hook!! what a great tool for clowning-based mishaps.

4. Brian Macmillan. I'm predictable. but LOOK at him. we never really see him without at least an element of the dame - sometimes he's in full costume, sometimes half dressed in a bra and girdle with his makeup partway done, and sometimes looking totally regular, but wearing that scoop neck polka dot blouse we're all obsessed with. Despite the dame typically being a comic, matronly character he brings this glamorous drag queen flair to the role and, with his angular glasses, a sense of sharp, cruel intelligence that reminds me of the big bad wolf, with his permanent sneer and the way he prowls around the theatre lording himself over everyone... he feels like he should have fangs all the better to eat you with. also he's hot. who said that

5. Neville Griffin. my gf will kill me for this one because they hate the way he looks, and I get it - his design, even in isolation to his rotten personality, does a great job of making you hate him. He starts off as this lank, greasy, ungroomed-looking young man with casual, ill-fitting clothes; he's ill at ease in himself at this point, hasn't figured his career out, let alone his image. not even enough to make himself presentable. You almost (almost) feel sorry for him. and then cut to him further along in his career - he's arrogant and obnoxious, with his turtleneck and flash suits, his gold jewellery, all of it screaming that he knows he's better than you and he feels untouchable. somehow he still looks greasy, but this time like he doesn't care about other people enough to be fucked showering properly, you know? and always, always in the background, those awful posters of him with his big, bared-teeth grin. also he's h

STEVE

1. Herr Lipp. everything about Herr Lipp is just so unsettling and creepy. his suits are that uncomfortably 70s-sleaze combo of brown tweed, yellow, orange and green that so many people instantly associate with pervy old men. he always looks so wet, like mystery wet all the time, glistening upper lip and shiny forehead, his eyes all bloodshot and damp-looking due to the - I'm guessing some kind of tape or glue? - Steve has in his undereye crease, his hair slicked to the side... it's like he's always exterting himself or sweating guiltily because he knows he's doing something really wrong. that just ramps up when he's trying to get Justin to stay, and the way his appearance maniacally degrades through that sequence is genuinely the stuff of nightmares.

2. Pauline. the human embodiment of a 90s M&S workwear catalogue. she looks like if a generic office job grew legs and developed a seething hatred for everyone below it, and at first, that's kind of what she is. I love the motif of sharpness and orderly lines in her design, from her 'horned' hairstyle to her straight pencil skirt to her angular specs. it's all set off by her lurid pink lipstick, that betrays the real harsh interior lying beneath her neat, jobsworth exterior. in s3 her design becomes notably less put-together and more masculine, as if to try and offset her new vulnerability; her hair is cropped short and her clothing more masc-leaning, tending more business-casual than just business. she doesn't have her job to cling onto anymore, and it shows - but I also love that they went headfirst into making her more visibly queer. also sh

3. Ed Buchan. he's smart, anyone could tell that, what with the way he dresses like an academic - but despite that his clothing is so at odds with what's 'normal'. he looks old-fashioned and out of touch with his patterned jumper vests and his glasses with their chain, especially next to all the police in their sleek, no-nonsense suits. He's automatically an outcast and othered from them all. he has this sweet soft face and the look of a puppy vying for approval, while the others appear hardened and jaded; and they (mostly) are, while he remains gentle even after being kidnapped. also

4. Jed Hunter. he's so clearly influenced by real casting directors the league must've met. there's a slight southern inflection to his speech and since we see him in London in s3 I'm going to assume he's from there - his design, with the mullet situation, designer stubble, sleek clothes and smooth mannerisms, screams well-off, gentrified londoner. he's out of place in Royston vasey, but equally his pretentious brand of normalcy is strange in its own right. he's a caricature of 'cool'.

5. David Sowerbutts. David's design is almost cartoonish, which isn't a surprise considering his concept art was drawn by Reece and was cartoony and exaggerated from the off. he puts me in mind of a little boy in a propeller hat, but if that boy was a grown man and the propellor hat was an appalling bowlcut. all his changeable features, his terrible kitchen-scissor half-shaved haircut, his chunky utilitarian glasses and his simple, dull clothes are minimal maintenence things, making it clear Maureen does everything for him and does it in the most no-frills way. the fake teeth are excellent because they extend his lower jaw and force him to keep his mouth open a bit, making him look more vacant, but on top of it all you have these furrowed brows and intimidating stare that let you know he's capable of more than he lets on.

[gacha-incels]

tbh I didn’t know the incel Joker obsession spanned across incel groups outside places like the US where this imagery originated from. like in those clothes this guy looks like a kid on Halloween. he woke up, dressed up in clown clothes, did his makeup and drew a goofy ass smile on a medical mask. he’s holding what looks like a nerf or water gun while at the same time espousing extremely real and violent threats to women. there is a strange juxtaposition happening between the way he’s chosen to represent himself here as, essentially, a kid’s comic book character and his violent words. Of course to these guys this character is a “symbol” for them, we don’t need to argue that and I don’t want to be reminded about how much money and film has been dedicated to these comic books lol. using this image is Iike a fast forward button for any actual PR or messaging he wants to say to his fellow incels, especially if he wants people to join and spend money. I’m not talking about that but rather the optics of using a comic book character, something typically associated with children.

imo this and the extremely violent reactions we have seen here and in the west regarding videogames (the previous “gamergate” and whatever stupid shit is happening now) have some overarching similarities. are these guys worried about the abuse workers suffer in the industry? No, they don’t want the boogieman “femi” working on games, they don’t want the boogieman “SBI” touching their games, etc, you’ll see a lot of these guys say it’s because they want these games to remain as “escapism” for them with “no politics”. all of this is incredibly naïve. politics affect every single part of a game - who gets hired, what gets made, what story that gets told, the characters, the marketing, the budget (and sponsors and everything that entails), etc. when you see them write about “SJWs” all at once, and suddenly it’s “SBI” all at once, and then suddenly this turns into “DEI” etc, it’s because these misogynists all watch and listen to the same group of big misogynist “influencers” and will parrot everything they say. So we’ve got the following all together - idolizing and dressing up like the comic book character the Joker, an unhealthy attachment to videogames with a “no girls allowed” attitude, blaming everything on women and minorities, a naïve understanding of how the world works, and these Daddy-figure influencers. It seems like some sort of self-inflicted arrested development (idk if this term is still used I just mean they refuse to grow up/mature, and this is specifically on their own accord) to me, it’s like they let themselves have the thought pattens of kids/teens and completely wallow in this, but with the violence and brutality of adults. blame everything bad in your life on women, it’s the thought process of a petulant teen boy, every woman with short hair is a feminist, legitimately how a child would think, but taking a knife and brutally attacking a woman with short hair and the bystander man who tried to get between you is the violence and strength of an adult. but these guys are so legitimately pandered to by society, placated by companies and have made entire communities and cottage indu$tries based on hating women/ believing that everything wrong in their lives is because of women that there’s no reason to “grow up”. It benefits them, they never have to think they’re wrong, and they enjoy it. this is at least a small part of what goes in to this I’m guessing, so much of this is so oddly childish with the emphasis they put on comics and videogames yet extremely violent in real life

[vclvetfleur]

Freak Show Chapter 2

Buggy x fem! reader

Summary: After a failed attempt to fully rob a town, your crew has informed you about an easy lavish party on a boat that's vulnerable to rob from.

Word Count: 4k

TW: Buggy is annoying, man-hating (deserved)

Chapter 2: Captain Linien

You got up, rolling over in your sleep. Your eyes slowly adjusting from the complete darkness to the sunshining into your bedroom. You pulled the sheets closer to your body, wanting to keep the warmth in, snuggling into your soft sheets. You decided to stay in bed a little longer before having to start your day. Unfortunately for you and your crew, there were breaks to be had on sea. The next best thing was bound to happen. There was no way you were going to find the one piece with laziness and sitting around.

After lying in bed for a while you had gotten up and left the warmth of your bed. You walked into the bathroom that was attached to your room, taking a quick shower. You would’ve taken one last night if you weren’t so exhausted by fighting that ridiculous clown. You had spotted a few bruises on your legs and body from the fight the day before. Even when you didn’t see him, he was a constant nuisance in your life.

You stood under the showerhead, the water replacing the warmth that your sheet had previously kept you under. You let the water engulf your body as you scrubbed down your legs and arms with a rag with soap on it. After scrubbing your body, you moved on your hair, placing shampoo on your hair, transferring it to your scalp as you scrubbed into it, bubbles forming into your hair. You washed it out before putting in conditioner. You could not effort to look disgusting at sea. You had an image to keep up with. Call you high maintenance, but you definitely did look your best.

After spending a while in the shower, you decided to step out. You grabbed the towel that hung near the shower and wrapped it around your body drying yourself off. You went to your mirror applying your makeup before grabbing one of the outfits that hung in your room. Most of your outfits looked the same. Usually something laced and black. You took a deep breath before deciding to leave the room. Having to be captain of an entire ship definitely wasn’t easy work. You enjoyed it regardless. It was better than being a crewmate or some random villager waiting for your town to be pillaged by pirates. You open and shut the door behind you your heels clacked against the wooden stairs as you made your way up to the main deck.

You were greeted by your entire crew who were still suffering a hangover from the night prior. “I'm glad you all enjoyed yourselves last night…” You walked up the deck. There had to be one person sober enough to even tell you the plan for today. You never wasted a day. “Where the hell is Lilian?” You shouted out for her before she peered out from the group. Her head hung low, rubbing her eyes with her hand, trying to keep herself up.

“I see you kept busy… Any news?” You asked. She shook her head no, afraid to disappoint you. “Do any of you fuckheads have any news for me?” You looked around at the crew before someone stepped forward. “Ma’am… Uh- I did hear about a local ship hosting a party…” They spit it out finally, avoiding your eyes. You took in the information, nodding as you took steps forwards, taking steps closer to them. The speed of your steps only made the crewmate more nervous. Your heels clacking the wood slower than a single heartbeat that the crew member's heart pumped.

“Go on…” You said in a hushed voice. You extended your neck to enter their view, moving your head once they kept your glance. They finally were forced to look your way.

“It was something I heard awhile back in a bar when we were landed… There was a bartender who was talking to their co-worker about an event in a week.” They tried to recall. You nodded as you tried to take appropriate steps to find out how you’d even catch the ship. You weren’t too far from there anyway. You only took to the seas again 2 days ago. If you made a move now, you’d be able to catch them. You had been in between a few islands, making stops to each before eventually taking your longer journey throughout the seas.

“Do you know where they’re stopping?” You wondered.

“I heard it was just a party. They’re more than likely to go in a circle near the Island and then back.” They continued. Your lips curled into a small smile before pushing it down. You were pleased. Simple enough. There might be Marines that you would have to overthrow, but simple enough.

“Perfect… Killian! Go lead the sails! Now!” You ordered. “We have a party… come on now… we can’t show up in these rags.” You laughed as with a simple motion of your hands shooing the crew made everyone scatter to either go to work, get their weapons prepped or get dressed presentable for the party. All choices were right in your view.

Vivian rushed to your side as you were on your way out to sharpen your swords. “Slow down!” She gasped for air once she reached you. “For such tiny legs, you walk way too fast.” She huffed.

“You just might be slow.” You shot back at her, chuckling at her joke. You weren’t sure if you were laughing at her joke or how heavily she was out of breath to just keep up with you.

“Touché… But still… Fuck… give me a minute.” She put her hands on her knees as she took deep huffed of air before recuperating. You stood above her; finally, might you add. Vivian was rather tall, despite your height difference.

“Okay this is going on way far longer than a minute.” You joked, trying to poke fun at her. She was probably the only one who you were able to be silly around. You stopped showing that off a long time ago. You couldn’t help yourself every so often though. Making people laugh was your favorite thing to do. But you eventually found that it made people take you a lot less serious, just like how people find Buggy, an unserious foolish pretend pirate.

“Fucking hardy har-har. You’re so funny.” Her eyes rolled themselves. “But do you really think this is a good idea? This ship could have a ton of Marines. It could be a trap. Why would two people loudly talk about a party in a bar full of pirates? Hm?” She made a point.

You bit your lip, thinking it over. Your finger laid on top of your lips before swirling in circles before pushing against Vivian's nose, booping it. “Cause they’re drunk idiots working in a bar.” You tried to excuse your plan. You were willing to risk it. Even if it was Marines, your ship was fast enough to escape. And your crew was skilled enough. A marine was nothing against your crew or even a woman who could vanish before their eyes. “Trust my instincts.” You reminded her. “Now go on, you have a party to get ready for. Woo!” You giggled before sending yourself off.

You entered your quarters and ripped one of your swords off of the wall. You examined the sword before sitting down on a stool. You grabbed your tools before beginning to sharpen the sword. You spent most of your time making sure it was sharp enough before heading off to train. You trained yourself with a sword for years. You were unfortunately never in a place to train with a master swordsman. You taught yourself everything.

15 years ago

You hid under the rubble of what used to be your neighbor's house. A raid tore your entire village, houses being burnt, and parents being ripped away from children, executed in front of the entire town. Children were either taken or in hiding. But as time continued, less and less children were in hiding as the pirates who raided the town found them. You laid under what use to be a table that laid against what used to be a wall.

You heard footsteps, peering to the side to see if you could find your parents searching for you. But they were long gone by now. You felt a hand grip your shirt collar, being pulled away. You let our a shriek as you began to kick and flair your arms around. “No! No!” You cried. You did not look where you kicked or punched before finally hitting a sensitive spot. The man let go of you before kneeling down to hold onto his shin.

“You stupid brat!” He yelled. You watched a large piece of fruit drop from his sack. He tried to quickly grab it. You knew you could use that readiness as a negotiation. You grabbed the fruit and held it behind you, tightly against your arm and body.

“Give me that!” He yelled. You shook your head.

“Free me and you will, whats it worth to you?” You shouted back. He drew his sword, ready to take it to your neck before you got up and ran. He chased after you. You took a bite out of it, the pirate dropping to his knees.

“You stupid fuck! You have no idea what you’ve just done!” He dropped his sword in defeat. You took more bites before finishing off the fruit, purely out of spite and pettiness. You threw the stem of it at him. “Take the girl at sea! Have her learn the hard way. Stupid brat.” He growled as he gripped your collar again, making sure to keep a distance from his body to you. Another man came and grabbed your legs. They brought you to port, swinging you back and forth before chucking you to the sea. You had just learned how to swim that year. But it seemed nothing you learned helped. You struggled to float, but you sank farther and farther. Your body essentially was made of a bag of rocks against the sea.

You tried to keep yourself afloat before your body tired itself out. Your sight grew dimmer until it was consumed by complete darkness.

You were awoken, frozen cold as your eyes finally shot open. Your eyes being burned by the sun, shutting your eyes immediately. You turned to your side, swallowed sea water spewing out of your mouth. You felt a pat on your back, turning your head to see one of the village girls. “Who are you?” You asked, trying to recuperate with what just happened.

“No time… get up.” She ordered. You nodded, stumbling as you tried to get up on your legs, too weak to carry yourself. She wrapped an arm around you and threw your arm around her. She dragged you off to where she had been hiding. And you both remained there for what seemed to be days. You never left the spot until you both felt completely certain that they were gone. But any sound outside kept you both in fear. You both were too nervous to actually leave. You only ever left your spot after finding out about your new abilities. Once you had discovered them, you wandered around the disheveled torn-down town to come back to report what happened. Apparently, the footsteps you heard were a rescue team, looking for any survivors.

Regardless of never being found again, stranded, you have never felt so grateful towards another person. You could never find yourself on how to repay them. You still never did.

Now

You had draped the long lacy dress over your body, wrapping and hooking a corset to yourself. You kept your hair down, knowing that you’d most likely blend in. Even if you didn’t, you knew you’d turn some heads. Perfect to flirt with rich men long enough to steal something off their person. Men were your easiest targets. Most pirates at sea were lonely, so just any slight attention gave them up easy enough for you to have them distracted long enough before you or your crew could rob them blind. Marines too. Rich men were just eager that someone would even give them the time or day.

You strapped a belt around your waist, sliding your sword in place before sneaking two smaller knives into the corset you had. Along with the harness attached to your thigh. You could not afford to have what happened in town with Buggy ever happen again. You could not take that kind of embarrassment ever again.

You walked back up to the main deck before getting news of the party ship still at the dock. You smiled before ordering the ship to dock, putting down their Jolly Roger to keep themselves hidden. How dumb would you be, parking your ship near a ship and not possibly be detected?

Your ship soon arrived, laying the plank down for you and your crew to make their move. You lead them as they scattered themselves around to keep it less suspicious that a crew of tons of people behind one person were going to this party.

You stepped forward to the bouncer, making up a name. “Not on the list.” They stated.

“But… my friend told me they’d get me on. Hmm…” You tried to think quickly. There had to be a way to get on. “There possibly any other way… I mean…” You looked up at the bouncer, leaning in close. Once his eyes darted somewhere else, to avoid temptation, you quickly glanced at the list. ‘Captain Linien’

“I’ll just ring up Captain Linien. I’m sure we could sort this out…” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket before you were stopped by the bouncer. Apparently he didn’t want to get into any problems with the boss. “Uh- sorry. I must’ve missed your name.” He quickly reacted. You showed him a smug smile before walking in. “Those are my plus ones if that isn’t an issue. I can bring Linien out right now if it is…” You vaguely threatened before being quickly brought on board.

‘fucking idiot…’ you mumbled under your breath as your crew was allowed their way into the boat. You separated as you wandered around, making small conversations. You had left a group to remain at the seaport to follow the ship at a distance in case you were meant to leave immediately. You already had such a high bounty on your head. You could not afford a visit from one of the warlords of the sea. They’ve nearly caught you before. But that’s a story for another time.

The ship began to move. You were now ready to strike. You started slowly making rounds back to the people you introduced yourself to already. You casually leaned your hands on them, running a hand down their torso. They’d stare at your hand for a bit before remaining eye contact with you. Your eyes were usually intense but enticing. But once you caught them, you’d carefully slip away their jewelry or their money. Sometimes both. Before engaging in even longer boring dialogue until one of your crew could ‘distract you’ and pull you away from the conversation.

You acquainted with as many people as possible before excusing yourself. You had to find something else to rob. You hid in the bathroom, focusing your energy before slipping out, a ghost in the middle of a rob. You made sure to not bump into anyone before sneaking around in any room you could find. You found a few cargoes, sneaking as much valuable as you could into a bag you had.

You were not satisfied though. You made enough money, hell more than enough to throw a feast 3 times a day for 4 months, but you were hoping for a map. You snuck into the captain's quarters, rummaging around before finding scrolls. You smirked, stuffing them into your bag before looking at them. You found yourself quickly making it back to the party. You were sure your crew would find more.

You looked around the room before finding someone who looked just rich enough but dumb enough. He was a younger man, his hair slicked back in a white suit at the bar. You took your seat next to him, leaning against the bar to peer over the liquor.

“You need help finding anything?” You caught his attention. Time to play the role of the helpless bimbo.

“Oh… yeah sorry. I’m not usually in spaces like this. I have no idea what's even on the menu…” You lightened your voice as you squinted, moving your head around, looking for something. All you thought about was how’d you steal that liquor later for your own party.

“Darling there isn’t a menu… here let me order for you.” He fake politely flirted. Of course you knew there wasn;t a menu, you prick, you dreamed of saying to him, but played it off as a smile.

“No- no. Please let me pay it myself.” You pleaded, but he put a hand up denying your plea and you kept quiet. These types of men were the same. Thinking if they just played savior for a helpless dumb girl, they’d get some kind of action from them.

“Thank you.” You smiled

“It’s okay. Uh- something sweet?” He asked and you just nodded, playing up the new role you gave yourself.

“Anything for you my love. What’s your name?” He reached for your hand, planting a kiss on your knuckles, making you want to vomit. But you just gave him a fake name.

You sat at the bar, a drink in hand as you stirred your straw in a circle, simply out of superstition. Your hand toying with this bratty annoying rich kid with enough of his daddy’s money. He had to be maybe a year off or more your age. It could go either way. You giggled at his stupid jokes, playing up your role, as always. You heard a throat clear, expecting your crew before spotting the last person you’d wanna see.

That stupid fucking clown. “Uh- I didn’t know you guys have a circus show playing here.” You giggled at the guy you spent the last couple of minutes with flirting.

“We don’t… Uh- yea, my father hadn’t paid for one…” Shit… he’s the captain's son. Shit.

You really lucked out just using him for his own money rather than information.

“They didn’t, But hey buddy, she’s been robbing you the whole time. Check your watch.” Buggy blew your cover. You stiffened up, removing your hand from him, and kept them to yourself. “Oh, can I get my ear back too? This has been real awkward.” Buggy confessed before hiding his ear flying out of your purse's side pocket. “Did you really offer a guy a blowie too? For a gold chain?” He continued to expose you. “I guess he’s not the only one you stole from.” He laughed at his own jokes.

“I don’t have a clue who you are.” You lied. Hoping to save face in front of the captains son. But Buggy tsked. His hand sneaked off his body, opening your purse to reveal all the jewels, money and maps that were kept in it.

“No one likes a liar…” He used the fake name you gave. “Or was it Jen? Or Crystal? Or June? Or Li?” he continued to name all the fake names you gave. All attention was drawn to you. You tried to quickly snag your purse, but Buggy swooped it up quicker, due to his proximity to it. “Sorry pretty boy, it wasn’t gonna happen.” He snickered.

“Someone get security!” He yelled out. The crowd grew frantic, running off to find some safety, or a way to get off what was eventually going to be a death trap.

Well cover blown.

You drew out your sword, holding it up against the gentleman’s throat. “Now, what’s going to happen here is you’re going to take this man in and give me my shit. If not, I will slice you up like a ham.” You threatened.

“Hey, jokes are my thing. Come on now.” Buggy gleefully tried to bully. “Shut the fuck up!” You shouted at him, drawing your sword at him.

“Hey! Watch it!” Buggy put his hands up in defense. Your sword laid against his throat, pressing the tip of it under his Adams apple.

“Make another joke and it will go straight through.” You threatened. You saw Vivian from the corner of your eyes and a few crew mates. You flicked your head up, telling them to leave. You had it covered. You were sure you’d get back safe enough. She nodded before guiding people out. “Pretty boy stay. I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this.” You quickly tried to bury the hatch. “Oh. He gets an apology, but-“ Buggy started before seething in pain from the sword slowly piercing him. “Shut it!” You ordered. “Listen- fuck what was your name again? Whatever. No hard feelings. It’s just pirate business is all.” You shined him a kind smile.

You felt a quick hit to the side as you toppled over, sending you flying out of your chair and onto the floor while Buggy’s hand came back to his wrist.

“You’re such a prick. It’s the same old trick.” You tried to get up. You looked at the bar and watched the poor kid finally make a run for it. “Fuck!” You yelled. “It’s just too easy with you though. You fall for it ea- Ow! Fuck!” Buggy held his head, hearing a loud thud come from you. Vivian never left. She grabbed a chair and hit Buggy, hoping you’d make a safe escape.

“Vivian! Get the fuck out!” You shouted. Buggy grabbed her by the throat knocking her into the bar. You quickly shot up and ran over to him, throwing punched, but he detached himself with every punch thrown. “Get the fuck off of her!” You sent your sword flying to his neck, only for it to pop back onto his body. You dropped the sword before making yourself not seen. You climbed the bar before throwing a kick into his nose.

He let go of Vivian, holding onto his face quickly. You grabbed her collar and pushed her off to run. She finally listened and tried to make it out before grabbing your purse from off the floor, playing along with the rest of the crew and members on the ship. Safety boats were waiting for people to be brought back to shore. You knew your crew would have everything handled.

You sent more kicks and punches over at Buggy before feeling a grip on your arm. You looked up and watched 3 Marines standing there. Two grabbed Buggy off the floor, prepared for him if he flew off as more Marines were on their way to the room. You both were compromised.

You felt another pair of hands grab you, trying to make out where you were as you struggled to escape the first ones grip. You felt cuffs go around your wrist as you were now officially caught. So was Buggy as it didn’t matter how many times he tried to pull himself apart, a Marine was there to grab whatever flew off his original body.

“Nice going clown.” You finally revealed yourself. There wasn’t a way you’d get out of this.

“Oh, so you can make jokes, but I can’t?” Buggy criticized, hurt that you even threatened him over his jokes earlier.

Notes: I hope you guys like this chapter. I now have more of a structure of how the next 5 chapters will play out :)

[midnight-laundry]

wrote this on twitter but i figure i should put my meta on the meta website

been thinking about the last episode’s title, and how this could apply to edizzy/steddyhands. warning: i’m very confidently wearing my clown makeup and wig and shoes and nose so buckle in.

where edizzy stand rn, it makes sense to want them to end things and move on, but does that really address the source of their dysfunction? when you’re young or just starting to understand relationships, it can feel like the best thing to do is end things whenever they’re no longer easy or supplying you with as much dopamine as it used to. but as you get older, and hopefully more mature, it could become more likely that you’ll look inward instead.

obviously, there’s a line between actual awful abusive relationships that should absolutely end, and flawed relationships where the ppl in them lost their way and stopped trying as hard. i’ve seen some ppl argue that izzy in the relationship IS abusive (i don’t agree, obviously, esp with ed as the one with the power between the two of them) but viewing their interactions and the way they’re familiar with each other, i really don’t believe that.

these two are in a dysfunctional spot when we meet them, “discomfort in a married state” “trouble in paradise” and so on.

ed is tired of blackbeard, tired of the role he plays and the life he’s built. but the show doesn’t try to tell us that /izzy/ is the reason life has gotten like this for them. it makes it clear that this ennui is a result of ed’s own unhappiness and restlessness.

piracy has gotten boring, he’s tired of the grind, of the constant planning and scheming. for ed, it feels easier to glomp onto this new guy and to run away to china. but better metas than this one have delineated why that wouldn’t have solved his issues, and the edstede relationship would’ve blown up eventually, either by ed becoming bored once again, or stede resenting that he left piracy after his “career” had barely even begun.

izzy has his own plethora of issues he needs to face, too. while he could leave ed and find another captain, what would stop him from repeating the same mistakes he did with ed? dedicating his life to one person, devotion without reciprocation, lashing out when the person doesn’t live up to the be-pedestaled image iz has in his mind?

what if, instead, edizzy can find a way to actually… change… for the better? what if izzy sees a different way forward than just “the only retirement we get is death” and is allowed the space and safety to find it? what if ed is given the chance to figure out who he actually is and what he wants, if he were to understand why he feels so restless in the first place?

could they learn to see each other as a whole complete person? not as just a loyal dog (izzy) or a wrathful god (ed) but as a lover, a partner, a confused man trying to make sense of the cards they’ve been dealt?

stede will have to go on his own empathy journey, but I’d love to see edizzy figure it out without stede. there’s still something there, these two built a life and it must’ve worked for a while for them. i think there’s still something there worth salvaging.

because “wherever you go, there you are” and learning to be better to each other would be how they can get somewhere else, because then they’d be /someone/ else. and what better way to fix their mistakes than with the person they’d initially made them with? i don’t know if this makes sense but: tl;dr edizzy should fix their relationship bc it seems to fit the show’s thesis of “talking it through” and dismantling previous notions of “how things are done”

edizzy are salty sea dogs but could still learn new tricks. and also djenks should give us steddyhands as justice for all the sad pirate threesomes that never came to be

[polarisdelphi]

Another Arthurian concept, we have now Sir Galahad - just like everyone else, with his trusty sword and little "titles" I gave him. Pure of heart and youngest of all seem to fit him nicely :)

Everything about him is constant and reliable - hence so many rectangular and square shapes - but he is very soft as well, very emotional and understanding - so we also have round shapes and edges are pretty much rounded.

And I guess it's pretty clear he's a catholic/christian (hello, yes, I was raised in the religion and TO THIS DAY I still go like "is this catholic? is this christian? it's pretty much the same to me *puts on clown makeup*)

Also, very sober look and sober colours that contrast with how young he looks. Little scar on his face because, you know, not even the most perfect of beings are 100% perfect, it's a little reminder he also has his flaws.

And, of course, upon testing the layers, we have dear Galahad in the church, lit up by some vitrals:

His design is purple, because it compliments Lancelot's blue. Alsoooo, they look very much alike, right? Well, that has a lot to do on my view and my Arthurian world, so let's get to it!

~fangirling and overexplaining under the cut~

First obstacle I got was "Oooooh Galahad is Lancelot's son in a LOT of accounts and most of the early texts as far as I remember".

But the idea and approach I have to Arthurian legend is a lot more on what I call ~realistic~. Not a 100% though, because if you do not believe in magic and the power of new and old gods, you wouldn't think of my version as realistic.

Personally, I enjoy very much the portrayal of Hugh Dancy on the 2005 movie (as you guys know, that Lancelot lives rent free in my head, 24/7, the bastard), and recently I really enjoyed Bernard Cornwell's characterization of Galahad - so when it comes to my approach, I like leaning a lot more to that one because, personally, it makes Galahad looks much more human.

Like I said, I was born and raised in catholic faith. I went to a catholic school, knew and still know all the church songs by heart, have thousands of crucifixes, rosaries, medals of saints and images of saints laying around. To this day, I still go with my mom to church wehenever she wants to and I do enjoy churches - they feel very soothing to me, even if my faith has changed.

This disclaimer matters, trust me HAHAHAHA

All that to say, the guilt is real. With literally everything. And when I started rebelling against the faith I was taught since I was born, gotta be honest, watching that scene in King Arthur where a priest tortures people because they were pagans and says it's God's will and Lancelot just turns at him and screams savagely "NOT MY GOD!!!!" I was

👁️👄👁️

And I only went downhill with this man from there Lancelot was the death of my christian/catholic faith

Ok, ok, why does this matters when it comes to Galahad?

Well, usually, he's Lancelot's son. And/or he is this absurdly freaking perfect young man, the peak Knight in shiny armour. But that doesn't really work for me - I like having something more grounded in a grittier side of history, something more ~dark fantasy~, because we all know medieval times weren't pretty.

All those perfect Knights with pristine behaviours and morals, to me, feel too much like the Bible I grew up with - not real history with real people.

Enter Bernard Cornwell's Galahad. He's Lancelot's cousin and, in Cornwell's books, Lancelot is FUCKING INSUFFERABLE. I am looking SO FORWARD to have this man dead, because he is vile, narcisistic and a lying bastard. Galahad, in the other hand, quite despises his cousin for that. They are different sides of the same coin.

(Another disclaimer: I'm not watching The Winter King TV series 'cause they have NOTHING to do with the book and I am MAD about it, so definitely not based on that)

And what I love MOST about him: he found some balance between his faith and his human condition. He is a Knight, he kills and is pretty good at it, he doesn't shy away from battle and bloodbath. And then he prays to God and asks for forgiveness for his actions, knowing, someday, he will die himself and maybe God will allow him to enter Heaven.

He won't stop living his very human emotions to be this naïve saint walking on earth - quite the contrary, he's strong and feared in battle, and can be pretty much of a little bitch taunting people.

There's where I stand with my Galahad, then. I wanted him to be the youngest, to have this sort of naïve look to him - as well as that skinny constitution and more of a confident but reserved behaviour (quite different than Lancelot, who's posing proudly with his sword and smirking like the sassy bitch he is).

He's still learning things, so his hands are a little softer than others. Nevertheless, he already has a scar on his face, showing he's not that naïve. Galahad is pure of heart and cannot understand evil - he understands it logically but never emotionally - but he isn't a perfect naïve sweet summer child. If Arthur tells him to go and kill, he will do it.

And probably pray later.

That's why here he has the same hair as Lancelot - curly and dark, but a little shorter and more tamed - they are cousins. His eyes are more rounded, his face more oval to indicate he's still young and has a lot of good in him. His purple compliments Lancelot's blues, but his cape is a lot heavier and less flowy and dramy than his cousin's.

He has crucifixes everywhere to indicate his unweavering faith in God - even his sword looks like a crucifix. His clothes are sober in colour, but still regal with the purple, given he is a prince. I looked at some priests clothing to take some aspects of that and work on his armour - so we have things like a high button up, probably thick leather vest with a more off-white/lavender collar... Like a priest.

Not so many details and all that because of his personality: given his faith, Galahad does his best to rely on practicality of a chain and leather armour, sober colours to move around the dark settings of Britain and crucifixes to remind him he's supported by God. After all, not all of faith is just giving love, it's also receiving that love - and, in Galahad's point of view, he can feel and see God in the little things that happen to him every day.

All that faith is important to his character because he's the one that goes after the Holy Grail and succeeds, as far as I've read, something Lancelot didn't manage to do. Since I'm not much into ALL that catholic/christian religion thing, because I do think it outshines all the potential the characters have together and I have a personal beef with it, I think a man at that time who could find the balance between faith and life, without falling in cult behaviour and hysteria, honestly trying his best to live according to those values as far as his flawed human existance allowed him... That is the Holy Grail in itself.

Now, I do enjoy the concept of Galahad and Lancelot being different sides of the same coin, so ooooooooh yes, they have so much potential for philosophical and existential discussions, with Galahad always thinking about the salvation of the soul and trying to put some sense in his cousin's head and make him a better person, and Lancelot just indulging in whatever and dismissing everything he says with a good laugh - that is, when he is not in a bad mood and Lancelot just spits all the horrible things people do in the name of Galahad's God and honestly, there's no reasoning with him when he's like that.

They always end up having a drink together, in silence, thinking about everything they have talked about. Galahad does think Lancelot has a point in there and seriously questions people regarding their morals when it comes to their putrid behaviour in the name of God. And Lancelot knows deep down Galahad's words about him are drenched in truth, even if he doesn't have the same faith: he cannot deny he has too many flaws and too many behaviours that, sometimes, are questionable even to those who don't think they'll burn in Hell.

I did draw a little thing I need to find, with the Knights dining and laughing while teasing Galahad about his upstanding behaviour and not wanting to bed a woman every night they had the oportunity, while he's just "Well, there are things in this world more important than fleeting pleasures. At least I am worrying about my soul. You, in the other hand, are all going to Hell." and of course, he says that with the most content smile in the world, teasing them back. All Knights and Arthur fall silent, thinking about his words. Until Lancelot just side-eyes his cousin and "Are the women from Hell beautiful?" - everyone breaks in laughter and Galahad just smiles with a 'you're hopeless' plastered on his forehead.

That's pretty much how they all work in a nutshell. Big questions, big philosphizing around faiths and morals, big doubts and existential dread. But a lot of teasing and jokes, bloody fields and battle rushes, big feelings and an unbreakable companionship based in loyalty.

Even if he is a very level-headed man, very literate, confident, young, passionate and restrained in his expressions of his emotions out of combat, Galahad is still very pure of heart - Lancelot would never say it in front of him, but he believes you can always find a hint of hope and love in his cousin's eyes.

If that is God or not, well, that's up to you to decide.

[stonecrusherdrawsthearts]

World of Heroes R - Wild Cardz

Ever since the shot that sparked a revolution, Gotham has been a giant gothic battleground, so dour and devoid of humor that its savior dresses as a giant creature of the night. But now all that's changed. A new face in town has been gathering a crew of rejects and losers from all across the city, and together they're gonna change this town... as the number one prankster group! Let's put a smile on that face, boys!

MEMBERS

Joker - The dashing and witty leader of this group, he's the guy who's always ready for a fun time! Custom outfit ready to go, he's going to test the laws of this city, physics, and common sense to see just how far they go and how funny it'll be to stretch them there. Did you know that you can just bring an Armadillo on a circus ride? Not anymore in this town, and he's the reason why!

Harley Quinn - Back when Wild Cardz was getting started, Harley was the main collaborator of Joker's, and always had fun while doing it. Her knowledge of psychology is a huge factor in making the best pranks, and she's the one person willing to pull Joker back when his ideas can seem impractical, unfeasible, or just plain disastrous.

Riddler - One of the first to join the Wild Cardz back when it was started, Riddler is every bit the kind of guy you can expect from that. Everything he says to his chosen subject is laced with double or even triple meanings, and only a fool would take his word straight. Of course, sometimes, his attempts at a riddle can be... a bit much.

Poison Ivy - Once a fan of the Wild Cardz, Poison Ivy ended up joining the crew after an accident at work left her with the ability to control plants and one hell of a skin condition. She's a particularly grounded individual, even if she's a bit of a hippy.

Clayface - The one mutated survivor of a really crazy accident, nobody's quite sure if they got multiple personality disorder as a result or was given it by unrelated circumstances, but their newfound ability to shapeshift has led to them being able to switch into six distinct personalities; Sondra, Peter, Matt, Cassius, Preston, and Basil. Luckily, all of them have a sense of humor and are pretty good at acting, so combine that with their shapeshifting ability, and Clayface is just the kind of guy you'd love to have acting in your social experiments.

NOT MEMBERS

Clown Prince - The man who gave Gotham Coulrophobia, Arthur Fleck dressed up in a fancy suit and bad clown makeup, shot a popular tv show host, and led a riot around Gotham that ultimately led to his arrest and asylum. But it seems that the Wild Cardz are causing a stir, and he's not willing to let his image get tarnished without a fight.

"The Gag Hammer Bitch" - Another individual who seems to be benefiting from Gotham's Coulrophobia, using it to psychologically manipulate the masses. It could be said that she's a meaner version of Harley, not that she'd appreciate the comparison.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 23: Prom Queen

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Ladies are meant to look pretty and keep their mouths shut. But Takara the sad clown isn't pretty, so therefore does she have the right to speak? Her makeup drips, and she feels like a fool in front of two handsome artists. But do they think the same way her demons do?

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is Prom Queen by Beach Bunny.

Content warning: For poor body image, self-harm behaviors. The lyrics of the song inserted are references to an eating disorder.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shut up, count your calories

I never look good in mom jeans

Wish I was like you

Blue-eyed blondie, perfect body

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There’s something special about sitting cross-legged on a back porch in early fall, the way the air is still warm and the shade isn’t too cool, and the smell of wood wafts from the boards underneath you. The fading roses that wilt on the bush are perfect for the performer’s homemade flower press, which sits in ties beside her now. Deidara and the siren are idling time by, waiting until her friends (amazing she’s closer to them than he is, how long he’s been part of the gang) are back from initial surveillance and security setup of their new home base. Home base indeed, the artist notes, sticking the tongue on his face out just a bit in concentration as he kneads clay in his fingers. He had expected Pain-sama to pick something more like a cave; surely that’s where their leader lives, with how much time they spend in one when he’s around.

A house, though...nearly a mansion in size, though it feels more like an apartment complex with shared amenities. Just enough room to house the Akatsuki, even if the elbows are bumped a little too much. Yet...he caught that girl, again, sleeping on the couch…

“Takara-chan,” the blonde begins to ask, the honorific used more in a more friendly sense and less cutesy than how Tobi sings it to her, “...What’s up with that?” After a hum in response, her looking up from the blank book he lent her to doodle with, Deidara elaborates. His visible eye flickers between her and his half-done creation, dappled light spotting a ring of blue around his pupil. “Why don’t you just...pick a room? Hell...you could kick one of the others out while they’re gone. I’d watch your back.”

If only because the sight of it would be so funny. Red-faced Hidan getting as close as a man can to exploding, Kakuzu chasing her down the hall with a thread-laced flying fist, Kisame pinning her to the wall with that brick of a sword…

And perhaps Itachi will finally demonstrate once more how he has no mercy.

The traveler wouldn’t die, of course, just...barely scrape by! And Deidara would look all the braver rescuing her from it. But this fantasy is cut short as the woman shakes her head.

“Doesn’t feel right.”

The artist hums once more, tilting his head so that yet more of his face is curtained by golden strands of hair. “That’s all you got, huh…? Nothing more elaborate...un?” he prods with curiosity. But, unfortunately, this time she nods in confirmation. Hum number three comes longer, releasing a bit of his confusion and fascination.

“Well...do mull it over. I’d love to get into your head, un.”

…

Each leaf, whether still green or beginning to brown, sigh together in the pleasant breeze in such a way it sounds like waves. No matter how far she goes, the ocean chases her, caresses her, loves her to death. Though that’s only of her to blame. She puts aside the ethereal dreams that have been coming in and out of her sleep like a tide, considers the addition of the pair she’s hardly known two and a half days.

The trickery Deidara of Iwagakure pulled for more time than not since they’ve met has repeated in her psyche tenfold. The words so sweet amplified, moaned under his breath with touches no one has ever dared to provide her. She’s gotten used to pushing the images of the men from red clouds to the corner of her mind, well enough so it doesn’t interfere with merely trying to fit...fit in like a normal human being as much as she can, as much as a circle can find home in a square hole.

But with this one...it’s harder. He brought up so much about her appearance, lied about her being attractive… It makes it harder to forget. She’s never been called pretty before. It has to be okay that he didn’t mean it. That’s the only answer. No more time letting the feelings of others outside of her control haunt her, not again into this life.

Her eyes raise, trying to take the man in with less of this touch-starved lust and more kindness, sincerity. Though he doesn’t seem to notice her doing so, she notes the way he evaluates his clay is still so...sharp. The brush in her hand loses its path as the woman becomes distracted. Why does his gaze always seem that way…? Her own eyes crinkle in a slight squint, trying to judge that part of his face like Deidara himself is a work of art on public display.

There’s a crinkle of his own, she realizes, and that something hides how softly— indeed, softly— he’s lowered those eyelids down in meditation. What is it that’s deflecting her from that, making him always seem so manic…?

Her stare outlines his lashes until she realizes that it’s that very thing:

“...Oh,” she murmurs aloud. “...Eyeliner.”

“Mm?” he grunts, only understanding she spoke and not yet the comment she made. Despite herself, she goes against her gut and repeats:

“I only just noticed you’re wearing eyeliner.”

… “Ah. Yes.” Perhaps pointedly, he looks up at her, and the suspicion is confirmed as the black above his eyeball appears to thin as his gaze raises. “You don’t have to tell me...it looks good.” Whether he’s patting himself on the back, defying her possible scrutiny of a man wearing makeup, or hiding embarrassment...doesn’t matter. Her response is the same, is genuine:

“It does look good! I…”

She bites the inside of her lip for a split second before deciding to dig up bad memories.

“...I was never really good at it myself.”

There’s a nice view, now as he blinks, how far up his eyelid the black ink has been painted. As an artist, he knows well the kind of look on her face: admiration. Admiration for that which she’d love to recreate. A fourth hum, but this one is closer to a chuckle. One hand puts his project into his pocket while the other brushes his large yellow bang back, beginning to retie the hair so his face remains fully visible.

His smirk looks so much less lopsided now that it’s entirely unobscured...though the woman can’t say the rest of his face is more symmetrical. There’s a metal eyepiece of two colored orbs where the matching eyeball should be.

“What’s that?” she asks. Oh, Deidara notes, how quickly her attention can be redirected. He pockets that detail for later.

“My scope,” he explains with no complaint. “I battle from afar...display my art from that distance, too. It makes it all the more precise.”

She blinks, trying to imagine herself through the largest lens, the blue one that’s more turquoise-leaning than his natural sky-colored eye. Can it be a microscope in addition to binoculars…?

A question forgotten as like it was made to lock in and out of place upon his head (most certainly was, silly girl), the eyepiece is removed, gently set upon the planks of wood that make up their floor outside. Closed is, most assuredly, another human eye...and it looks so different without the liner. The previous hypothesis is confirmed: his unaltered state is so...relaxed. Mild...

“Perhaps you can practice, un,” Deidara proposes, no tone to indicate how intimate this action has always seemed to her on television. “You’ll have an example to imitate, perhaps teach you how to make the strokes, the shapes you’ve been missing.”

Heat dusts her cheeks, but how can she say no?

Though he leans forward to help and so does she, it still feels as if the woman is practically on the man’s lap as they begin, a brush in one hand and a tin of black ink in the other. The tip of it looks so shaky, so saturated, even after she re-dips the tool as to try to be rid the excess liquid. As she studies the handsome man’s visage, those piercing eyes look up at her, his head tilted down as to aid the angle she needs to work with. It makes her heart flutter.

She swallows back memories of her dream last night and tries to be as close to a regular, acceptable person as she can.

The ink is cold on Deidara’s skin as she attempts to recreate his design. It’s simple enough, appearance meant to be— for the most part— a complete surrounding of his eyeball. But there’s artistry down to even this about him, the way it’s drawn just so, varying thickness and depth to give the illusion of uniformity at a head-on view of the invisible paparazzi. His stare of his one already painted, open eye follows like a mirror each motion between her fingertips, no matter how sketchy, or unsure, or smooth. There is nothing more flattering than to learn from another’s own technique.

The woman’s brow furrows as her wrist gets sore, forcing her to move more from the shoulder than with her fingers. Bigger movements, perhaps, but surprisingly finds it makes for cleaner strokes. She exhales gently, in and out with a prayer that he can’t feel it on his nose, and paints on one last streak from the external corner of his eye to make the wing, like how an artist signs their signature.

Confident, or at least committed to the vision at hand.

A pocket mirror is brought from the inner of his cloak, a click as it opens and tilts his image up for him to grade.

“Mmm…”

And though he always smiles, after studying his face for so long, she begins to have a better idea that this one means something closer to good.

…

Confirmed as simultaneously, the mirror shuts and so do his eyes in satisfaction.

“Well done.” She didn’t realize she was so tense until his response makes her shoulders drop with relief. “I saw how you started to draw from the shoulder, un. It takes control but that’s the ideal way to do it. Good work.” A finger lazily pulls the skin of the lower lid, trying to clean it up. “Though maybe don’t start from the outer corner to the inner for the bottom eyelid next time.”

A nervous smile grows from her lips, the emotion in her chest so careful, so guarded.

“Deidara? Sir?”

The eye she did opens. “Mm?” It sees how forced that grin on her face is...so guilty, somehow, but needing to persist, lest she give up entirely.

“Can...you do...mine?”

Gradually, the left eye widens. A bit of red airbrushes his own cheeks. “Yeah, sure...un.”

The traveler swears that even though her hands are to herself, tying their fingers into knots upon her lap, the artist can still feel her shake. The look he wears...it’s indifferent, she decides, at least to her as the canvas. The bit of pink sticking out of his mouth (the one on his face— mind you it’s hard to forget that one of his hands could open up and lick her cheek any moment. Bluh…) is simply due to concentration, attempting to beautify that which must be difficult to do. The buzzes of satisfaction from his lips are about his handiwork, not her. The woman has to remind herself these things; she must, lest her head get too big, she climbs up the ladder of self-importance only to so easily crash down with a couple of words, as has already occurred in a past life she’s lived halfway through.

And so the woman must meditate not on the man but the process. He uses a fingertip to press the right eyelid down and she abides, closing both. The end of his immaculately painted nail is used to comb the lashes in the correct direction, so lightly and precisely. And then, finally, the cold ink on her skin is so, so smooth, obvious that he’s done this every day of his life. Is she a challenge then, she wonders? Her imperfections a bump in the road in comparison to a handsome face he’s used to…?

There’s a part where a palm cups her cheek and he leans in close, so near that warm breath fans by her nose. Her right eye, now complete as he sculpts the left, cracks open. It glimpses that airy, fresh sky blue, a ring around a black hole that sucks her in. As soon as Deidara’s eyeball twitches to indicate his gaze is shifting, her own eye shuts again, and it stays that way until she feels his presence pull off, and even then not until he gives permission. Even though she doesn’t see, she feels his frown in the last few minutes, the way he shifts from fun to displeasure...

“...Take a look.”

Lashes dipped in black flutter, unused to the weight upon them, as the performer opens her eyes to find that tiny mirror of his right in her space, the only thing she could possibly see first. A stranger sits in his palm, blinking up at the woman with an unfamiliar stare.

“I’d say it’s quite a look on you, un.”

…

Emotions seep in through her so very aware skin and sink to the bottom of her stomach. Does that mean she looks good…? Bad…? Is it sarcasm or praise? Is it simply the most polite way to avoid lying to her, avoid a compliment he doesn’t mean? The corners of the face’s mouth twitch up but just as quickly fall down.

“Takara? Un?”

She pulls back to reality as best as she can, glancing up at her sculptor; it’s clear Deidara is waiting for a reaction. And so, not knowing what the truth is, she must merely be courteous:

“...You’re very good at what you do.”

And as outwardly he smirks to accept the compliment, internally he notes something that the woman has kept hidden in plain sight. It’s hard to miss when you drink in someone’s presence for so long, agonize over details so precisely and in close range.

He needs to talk to Sasori. Hopefully the promise of a future favor can drag the hermit crab out of his new, dark and dusty shell.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe I should try harder

You should lower your expectations

I'm no Quick-Curl Barbie

I was never cut out for Prom Queen

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You look like a doll!”

Tobi’s words cause a blush to prickle the woman’s cheeks. Normally she’ll play along at least a little bit— attempt to match his energy even if she disagrees— but she is painfully silent, perhaps even more so than as he found her like this. She sits at the dinner table, ignoring the cup of tea she had made to ignore the very thoughts overtaking her now. The spoon meant to stir in her sugar is held in front of her face: a tiny, accidental mirror of a mug that isn’t hers that caught the corner of her eye and hasn’t let her go since.

“Tobi…?” she murmurs, so soft the masked man can taste her anxiety in the air between them. He tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders, exaggerating a bemused response.

“Er— yes, Takara-chan?” The response is quick now that she has permission to speak:

“Is that a good thing?”

“I—” Oh, the man behind the swirl has a decent idea that there’s no right answer to this. ...Well, there is, but it might not be what she wants to hear, and so he flounders. “...Uh...hmmm….”

Fuller lashes blink up at her from the warped metal between the pastel jester’s fingers. She wants to frown, he can tell— at least unconsciously— but each time she does, its spotted by her own judgment in the spoon and returns to something more neutral. But neutrality forced therefore, ironically, becomes anything but.

“...I don’t think it’s a bad thing to look like a doll, Takara-chan.” Tobi chooses his words wisely, one at a time. Then a concept hatches in his head, and he runs with it: “Sasori-senpai might like it!”

Finally, the hypnosis is broken, and the woman pulls away from her own scrutinizing leer. It’s all too innocent the way she brings her attention to him, Obito notes, and yet not at all. Just like him, many contradictions at once, and yet they are all true. Fascinating…

“What do you mean?”

“He plays with dolls all the time! And he makes them!”

“Dolls…?” Her brow raises. “Wait… You don’t mean that giant spider-mask thing, do you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but probably yes!”

Her mouth becomes a straight line, pondering the monster that is still gaped open at her front door. “...Hm.”

“But...he makes prettier ones. Ones that look like people. Deidara-senpai says he doesn’t like them much, but I think he likes them a lot! Just doesn’t want to admit it. They both think they’re the better artist!”

To this, the fellow clown puts her fist over her mouth, hiding how she’s chewing on the inside of her lip until she finally knows what to say to all this:

“So.” She follows slowly, trying to carve the path Tobi has laid out for her to raise self-esteem. “You think. That other guy will be ha—” Not happier, that’s too hopeful. “—Tolerate me more if I—…?”

Phrases repeated ad infinitum haunt her again. Even if she hardly bought beauty products, the advertising works. She’s still thinking about them, even after low self-image helped her die. Dying wasn’t good enough; the smiling, airbrushed faces still want her to be beautiful, just like them. The logical part of her brain knows better...but…

Hidan isn’t here to bolster that one up, to tell the chemicals to stop, or utter any other such phrase that could boggle her so badly that she’ll return to a state of consciousness closer to present and normal. Tobi senses her silence, and he makes a big mistake in reading it. He can’t help it; after all, the little boy with goggles only ever wanted to be wanted. So he accidentally speaks insidious, venomous advice:

“Maybe if you look like one...it’ll...help?” It sounds so unsure, but it only takes the barest hint to justify what she already is thinking.

She doesn't look pretty. Not like Deidara does. But perhaps being a doll is close enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If I get more pretty

Do you think he will like me?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What’s wrong?”

Deidara’s mouth stretches into a thin line as he chooses his words to this question wisely, following a gap of time today since he and the performer played dress up together. “Hnnn—” he hums, tongue to the top of his mouth. He isn’t a very convincing liar, not when it’s on the fly like this. “—Sasori asked to see you.” Yeah, that’s it. Nothing to do with Deidara, not at all! But that answer just makes her heart skip an extra beat as he guides her up the stairs to her doom.

She hardly recognizes this hallway, just below the attic, now that the redhead has thrown everything out the hole he crawled up into. It reminds her of the crowded spaces of a hoarding relative, things simply moved aside and therefore out of mind. They look so...different in the light, no longer vague backdrop skyscrapers for the critters that shared her room with. She frowns a bit, unconsciously bringing the crook of her index finger between front teeth—

“You.”

Me?!

Her heart downright stops as she sees a face in the gap above, shadowed within the attic entrance. She looks side to side; Deidara is no where to be seen. Oh my god.

“Yes, you. No one else is around to waste my time.” It cannot be overstated...how soft Sasori’s voice is, and yet it is not kind. And looking above, through the planks that make the layer between them, somehow that look of boredom that pins her like a butterfly to cork board is so far apart from the one Hidan wears. The reaper’s demeanor is always like he’s hungry, searching for more, waiting to do something better. In this brief time they’ve known one another...the woman can still tell that the way this other artist carries himself is more...indifferent.

And she knows the age old adage of an indifferent god being scarier than a passionate one.

She’s not even worth the effort to wave up; the hermit merely slips back into the darkness, and the stillness tells her to obey. The fears are swallowed but the lump in her throat doesn’t disappear. Hands climb back up a passage she’s taken every day, and yet it is more nerve-wracking than it ever was before.

Every time before, she felt so big in this space she claimed as queen of the hill, siren of the mice; the boxes and old furniture and forgotten keepsakes crowded like a busy subway, made her squeeze to fit until she wiggled her way into the corner she called a bed. She’s not used to not only inches of spare room ahead of her as she crawls onto the landing, but these feet and meters. They feel like miles. Miles of empty space between her and a figure ahead, hunched in a bundle of black night and red clouds, back facing her, distance vaster than ever with a curtain now draped over the lone source of direct daylight. Seemingly with a snap of his fingers, a flame flicks from his sleeve and a lantern is lit, only now revealing a small footrest propped up in a corner she has not explored. It rests beside a vanity repurposed into some sort of...tool display. Screws and hammers and scissors and scalpels and forceps and bone saws and RIB SHEARS—

...This is kind of like how those torture movies start, right?

“Sit.”

The skin around her body, for once, feels like what it is: its own organ. It prickles and writhes around her, making her so very, very aware of each and every square inch and the delicate flesh that lies underneath. The brown eyes stare, so lusterless and impossible to read.

So still that somehow, it’s all the more intense.

A shriek sounds as from across the room, somehow and suddenly, the woman is thrown at him; surely, she can tell in this split second, that is she is flying right at him and they are about to CRASH—

...But though it is not necessarily gently, she is oh so smoothly seated beside him on that little green footrest, no harsh crash to be found. Blue shimmers, lines thin as spiderwebs are iridescent, nearly invisible, as the she spots them wrapped around her arms and ankles. “What-?! HNCK—” Words interrupted physically at the source, gripped by underneath and around the jaw. Sasori has no qualms about getting right in her personal space, noses nearly touching as fingertips with exaggerated joints hold her cheeks. He begins with that which he dislikes most, and it is the first time she sees this puppeteer emote at all whatsoever:

Disgust.

The tip of his index finger pulls down the stranger's bottom lip, just as Deidara suggested he look after studying her face for so long. The blonde said every time she talked, he saw something: markings hiding inside her mouth. Sasori fails to ignore the saliva that sullies his perfect form as he lingers at this spot only just long enough to confirm or deny this suspicion. He sighs under his breath, wiping his hand on her sweater. “Living humans...so revolting...so wet…”

If he sees the big eyes begging for either answers or for him to stop, he dismisses them gladly. Onto the next matter:

Her jaw drops loosely as she watches the hands— hands, hands, phantom-like hands, pale and ghostly floating in the dark and out of black sleeves— linger downward. Finally seen in the background, amid the corners of her sight and the little glow the flame gives, are body parts. Faces and eyes and arms and gaping maws. But the hands over her keeps moving, and she cannot ignore. Past her neck. Past her collarbone. Breast. Stomach. They find her lap. He reaches down.

One of her own hands there is taken up, and as if she is merely an object, the man wordlessly brings it over her shoulder so the knuckles face him. The press of his thumb upon the round muscle that controls her own forces the woman’s palm to stay open, and he tilts the hand in different angles to examine the next detail Deidara noticed, looking over her shoulder this morning to observe her attempts at art alongside him. The cuticles are red, puffed and shredding at the edges of the nails. Even now he can see her instinctive motion to continue tearing at them, trying to resist his restriction in order to carry out her stress in physical manifestation. Already hooded eyes narrow even more, and he hums in disapproval.

“What a fool the brat is…” he murmurs, voice caressing behind her ear, somehow, though he still lurches ahead. “You have no disease.”

One hand lets the other go, and it falls just as floppy and loose as the jaw before, having no control over her own body whatsoever.

“Not one that medicine can fix...maybe a poison.” The eyes are shaking in her sockets, so he continues and explains. A tilt of his head makes those blush locks of hair look so silky. “How awful of you… I suspect you don’t keep a spare body.” The brows raised in disbelief now curl in confusion. He feels her breath on his face as she gasps and he hates it, abruptly backing away in one seamless motion. “A word of advice, girl…” he hisses, feathery as can be. “Take care of the body you have. It can’t be squandered.” More flatly his voice delivers the most terrifying thing someone has ever told her:

“…I don’t want the extra work of repairing you after you’re dead.”

And just like that, without looking where to, he points with the full length of his arm, back to the little hole she writhed in from. She looks between it— the small slit of light— and him— the unblinking eyes that are slicked in the secondhand sunshine from below. Her gaze is right on them as he speaks her sin:

“Don’t waste my time.”

And like the zombie she is, her scarred and cut body carries itself out, her soul guiding from somewhere outside of it. She will remember how, so very strangely, his fingers were plush less like living flesh and more like ballistics gel.

When she is gone and out of his sight, Sasori takes in the sight of his dolls and sees if he really can imagine her among them. The words he said that was terrible to her was meant to be wonderful from him. To be a doll is a glorious thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dissect my insecurities

I'm a defect surgical project

It's getting hard to breathe

There's plastic wrap in my cheeks

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So what on earth are you supposed to tell yourself after a day like this?

She doesn’t know. Her stomach churns and twists and hurts, its owner having hid past dinner time, passing around corners and moving room to room as footsteps near her hiding place. The day is finally over, though. The woman sits on the couch that is her new bed, self-aware palms pressed into the cushion at her sides. Every bit of her is so felt. The quiver in her lips, the pulse that runs through them carrying on till it fills and shakes the rest of her from her head to her toes.

The performer feels sick, perhaps inevitable after fighting off stage fright for so long. A small hiccup of a sob vibrates the back of tongue, and the back of her hand rubs the corner of a watery eye. As it pulls back, a black smear paints it, making it so easy to imagine herself now, a clown with makeup ruined by tears.

Inevitably, it makes her cry harder, bite her bottom lip tight in hopes no one will hear, ignoring the taste of blood.

“Takara-chan?”

She sharply turns her head away to save what little face isn’t melting away. It’s the last voice she wants to hear right now. Deidara stands in the opposite direction so she does not see yet the state he is in. A mouth struggles to speak without trembling:

“Y-...yeah? What...’s up?”

The blonde’s lip purses, half behind fully loose hair even longer now that it isn’t caged behind his head. Well, this isn’t what he expected to find tonight. “...You okay?”

She nods too enthusiastically— urgently, even. A grip on her shoulder makes her freeze, but the shake it gives is mild, a worried smile reaching forward far enough to make her see it. “Hey, heyyyy…” the artist soothes, “What’s wrong? Come on, you can tell me.”

Why he could care is beyond her. Maybe it’s just pity, just courtesy, and so she responds in kind. “I’m...I’m fine—”

“...But you’re not.”

Oh.

Deidara is sitting beside her now, mouthed hand drifting away so he simply basks in her presence, allows the woman to feel his. “Come on, you’re even messing up the eyeliner I took so long to do…! Have a heart, why don’t ya?” The tease is bittersweet...but the logical part of her brain reminds past the drowning emotions that it is meant to be more sweet than bitter. She abides.

“I’m...I’m sorry…” she manages, gaze still low, his hands and lap now in the space her eyes decided to fix. The strange appendages themselves seem to grin as the palms motion up, asking the woman to look him in the face; the smile there is lopsided and his hair is down. The black ring around his eye is impeccable, but of course its the one he already did himself.

“Come on, lady, it’s okay! We all gotta cry it out sometimes, I suppose. Question I have...is why you are tonight of all nights...” His head tilts, and she wonders if his hair is as soft as it looks as it drapes over the shoulders of a green tee shirt. “You miss ‘em?”

...It takes a second for her to follow. Truth be told...she had entirely forgotten that her friends were supposed to be back already. Too tired to lie, she shakes her head, even though its tempting to blame them and push the truth away. “I…” There’s no way she can say this without being mean, being selfish and petty. Her eyes squeeze shut, gray-tinted tears staining the trails down her face. “I…”

She can’t say it. At least not until a thumb brushes the liquid away. To Deidara, it’s like playing with watercolors, and he admires the way the ink tints her flushed skin. Her eyes open and, to her disbelief, the smirk on his face, even while accompanied with a concerned curl of the eyebrow, seems genuine. “...Yeah?” he coaxes. It was never expected for the man who lied to her face about being pretty to try to be so nice to her now. Maybe he’s just a good liar, and so she tests the water, pushes the boundary:

“I don’t...think...I could ever...be...pretty.”

The brow’s furrowing deepens and his smile widens at this absurd thing the performer just said.

“Does it matter?!”

The breath hitches in her throat. She knew it. She fucking knew it, she’d never be—

“Even if you don’t think so...it just is. You are. Facts don’t change even if you don’t believe in them, un.”

This is such a roller coaster of emotions and twists that she’s mute, having no idea what to say to that. Turns out this is advantageous to the sculptor, shaping this situation into what he wants it to be. “The way your emotions are so fleeting...how well you speak without words...it’s envious, you know. The way you carry yourself?” He huffs, and it makes her heart do loop-da-loops. “...No wonder Kisame calls you a princess.” The sky blue becomes partially hidden, an eyelid lowering as he turns up the charm to impress the charmer. “It’s an earned title, un.”

But surely...surely this isn’t something so specific to her, she sourly hopes…!

“Do you think everyone...is pretty?” the woman reaches. The blonde man rolls his eyes up in retort.

“Well, yeah! But. Doesn’t make you less so, un. I might have been buttering you up, but I don’t need a scope to see that.”

…

Oh.

Her face hurts from blushing so much from sunrise to sunset. Perhaps the heat has made the tears evaporate by now, as she no longer feels them. Merely exaggerated blackish marks put there on purpose for the drama, so a far away audience can tell what she’s been feeling.

“Now...with that out of the way… I actually came to propose something.” Deidara doesn’t give enough time for her to interrupt; his word, as it should be on subjects of beauty, is final. “Since you won’t go into a room to sleep...we’ll hang out here. Together.”

…

He waits. Yes, she is allowed to speak now. It comes out sputtered and quick as she goes off the rails.

“W-w-w- what? Why? Wait—” She feels her own hair drift as the woman cranes her neck forward, is if looking closer at him will force this to make more sense. “You...really?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he half lies, and again, somehow, it is intuitively known he is winking despite the one visible eye. “Think of it...as a sleepover. Until we can figure out a way you’re worth a bedroom of your own...well…” He shrugs, the action an explanation to himself as much as it is for her. “...You won’t necessarily have to be all by yourself.”

It’s so flattering that she doesn’t know what to say at first. This man waltz in, sees her ugly-cry his art away, tells her she’s pretty, and says he doesn’t want her to be alone. This is a lot to take in, especially from someone that she hasn’t even known for a full week.

And yet.

And yet.

...He seems like the type. The type to dive right in, not mince points. Not unless it’s meant to explain what he’s doing, what really matters to an artist who defines the divine by the fleeting. For someone who thinks art is best brief, he sure does pour over his words, laying them low and slow like tilting your head back and trickling fine wine down your throat.

...Anyway. Not to mince points. Not when it’s so obvious that it doesn’t need his dissertation. Cautiously, the woman steps into his ring, shy eyes gazing up at him, unwitting how hypnotic they are in their own way.

“...You sure you want that? You don’t have to…”

“Don’t worry,” he promises, allowing a second to pass in order for her to drink in his certainty. “I want to.” He could spend all night solving a puzzle; he could spend every night solving the mystery that is this siren. Deidara watches her, wonders how on purpose it is that she coyly glances to the side, hums under her breath. The answer she provides is less a decision and more permissive, as is her way to avoid blame even for something that is good:

“...If you’d like, then.”

And that’s how the end up spending the rest of moon’s hours, starlight guiding Deidara’s hand as it holds hers tenderly, painting his slick, black polish onto her scarred, torn fingers. She worries it makes her injuries look redder, more visible, but he waves the concern away. Everyone will be too busy seeing how nicely he’s done them, the man insists. His own fingers outstretch in demonstration next to hers, teaching them how to show off the matching color. He waits, waits, until the muscles in her hand twitch them unsurely into a matching pose.

“See? Looks good on you! Though...I should tell you a secret.” The traveler grunts questioningly, a rising blink finding him so sure, as the man always seems to be. “You’re always going to look good as long as you’re having fun, un.”

And though you hear stuff like that over and over...it really only makes sense once you’ve lived it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Teach me how to be okay

I don't want to downplay my emotions

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There’s a soft snore in her ear as the performer wakes in the middle of the incidental slumber party, the swirly masked man having joined in later on and wore them all out (seemingly to Deidara’s annoyance) until he curled up next to her feet with a pillow. She lays now, head above Tobi’s, upon the couch where she’s been since the scorpion overtook her home. A shift, a rattle in the air, and one eye cracks open.

His back to her again, the woman sees over Deidara’s sleeping form as Sasori holds up cracked lenses that glow pink onto blemishless fingers. Indeed, underneath his skin, it even seems as if he lacks veins to carry blood— just pure, doll-like flesh. Slowly, the puppet’s head turns like it’s on a hinge, so perfectly smooth without needing to adjust his neck or shoulders. Brown eyes look blue next to glass so vibrant, midnight seeping over him until the man drifts into the background. They look right back. Maybe they don’t see her. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

She watches him once again slip into darkness, fading away with her rose-tinted glasses with no explanation to be found. The phantom hands will visit her dreams tonight, alongside the sculptor’s sweet nothings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

They say beauty is pain

You'll only be happy

If you look a certain way

I wanna be okay

I wanna be okay

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[voraciouspangolin]

This is all from a post from last year, and it's not totally what I believe anymore, and it's not totally relevant... but I think it'd contribute to the discussion:

He wears dresses in the Pretentious Fancy French way, regardless of gender, I think. I don't think Spy particularly cares about his masculinity. At least, it's lower on his priority list of physical appearence. Like, he doesn't care about being manly and masculine as much as he cares about being presentable and pristine.

He's a clown. A jester. He preforms and dresses up as other people. It's his job. Gender and appearence has long since become a catalyst for his espionage. I think he enjoys preening and dressing himself up in his free time, because in a way it helps him reconnect with himself. It allows him to express himself in a way that his line of work doesn't allow. He finds peace and rhythm in assuming new appearences. It's meditative, in a way. On assignments and missions, he needs to perfectly and strictly disguise himself into someone else. He needs to conform so extremely. One single mistake can end it all- he must rid himself of all of his own quirks, all of his personal preferences and habits, and rework them into the mind of whomever he's trying to embody. But, when he does it on his own... it's a taste of freedom for him.

It's like coming home from a long day and unhooking your bra and taking in that first deep breath, and then relaxing your posture. But for him, sometimes that deep breath involves putting more clothes and uncomfortable garments on, instead of ridding himself of them.

In a way, the Fancy parts of him are almost... necessary. In that it's one of the only consistant things he has in life. He finds comfort in material possession and indulgence. What else can he do with his money, other than improving and upkeeping and expanding upon the very items he needs in order to do his job? He has founded a sense of comfort in the things he requires for his survival. The things he requires for his job.

Because when he dresses himself, when he gets ready in the morning in that days outfit- When he irons out his clothes, covers the identifiable scars and marks on his skin, adjusts the collar of his dress shirt- Perhaps he can just barely feel glimpses of what might just be a personal identity, completely unchanged by his line of work and owned by him alone. It is routine, it is something he has done for years and years. It is consistency. Dressing up and acting is the only shred of consistency he has. He can't afford any other kind of habit. Wearing other peoples' identity, and more broadly simply dressing up; these are most available to him, they are always there to catch him when he falls.

And I think that because of that, he doesn't particularly care what he dresses up as in what little free time he has, so long as it is of his own volition and desire. Whether that be fancy suits or skimpy dresses, wigs or makeup. I think he takes part in the act of dressing up because it rips away the stranglehold that dressing up has on him. It reclaims the medium of dressing up as his own.

It allows him to be more than a vessel that operates solely on the will of a higher authority in the form of a contractor. Dressing up is respite, the intimacy of pampering oneself in the image of one's own ideas briefly remedies the alienation one experiences from affording yourself so completely and entirely for someone else to use.

Because no matter what he endures, no matter how much he might be tortured, he will always remain as put together as possible. That is the one thing they cannot take away from him. They can break him, take away his spirit, strip him of whatever information he may possess. A man in captivity who grooms himself when he can is better off than a man who doesn't. In such a cruel and cold environment, doing such things helps ground oneself. It reminds you that you're human. Splashing your face with cold water in the morning. Stretching your limbs and body out. Meditating. Shaving your stubble with a tiny razor. It's all seemingly small and insignificant and ridiculous- why worry about your posture and cleanliness when you're literally locked away in some concrete floored dingy cell? You're likely to be tortured or neglected, why bother?- But... I think that it's more than just being stuck up and prissy. It's more than believing himself to be of superior, more refined tastes than everyone around him.

It makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he has an identity of his own. A solid part of himself. A core.

It's an outlet for him.

It's part of home for him. Fancy suits and cigarettes and wine, fine art and the like, it's familiarity for him. Faint nostalgic wisps of what was once his home. Things that remind him of his past, in France. He doesn't have a home, at least, not anymore. He can't. He can never settle down, he can never trust anyone fully, he can never reveal himself in his entirety. He can never be vulnerable. He must remain constantly vigilant. Even his own personality and identity is not his own. When you entirely assume different personalities and appearences, the line between "you" and "on the job", between "you" and the weeks, months, maybe even years spent being someone else becomes blurrier and blurrier. You lose yourself. You are nothing but a growing fractal made up of the shards of lived experience from your disguises. He must remain constantly vigilant. But by god, will he look good while he's at it.

When home can never be a house, sometimes home is a cigarette. Sometimes home is pinstripe suits and kid leather gloves. Sometimes home is the anonimity of dressing up into someone completely new and hitting the town to mingle with common folk. Sometimes home is an expensive dress and rouge. Sometimes home is nothing but the small rituals of self grooming you diligently cling to, like a dying man who gave up on his dreams when he was young.

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene and do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why has Spy joined Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he's not even French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that first my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly abd disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[charliedawn]

Imagine being a nurse at a mental hospital for very dangerous individuals.

(This is an interview done from the inside by yours truly. We are going to enter St Louis asylum. The images that follow are not suitable for children. You have been warned. Also, none of them have powers. The hospital is the only one that can contain them and also, takes away their powers.)

Brahms Heelshire:

Fun fact : Brahms is very very shy. He will not cause any trouble..unless you touch his doll, then he will rip your head off. He tends to stay away when you enter his room, only watching you from afar, observing you. You're actually the only one he has allowed to touch the doll, as you are very gentle with it and know that it is very dear to him.

Friends/Allies :

Michael and Jason. The big silent and respectful gang. They would just sit together on a bench and observe everyone around. They like doing nothing. Doing nothing is good.

Enemies :

Number 5. In this case, it is the contrary of opposites attract. Number 5 is an old man trapped in a kid's body and Brahms is a kid trapped in a man's body. They usually don't get along and it normally ends with a fight.

Number 5: " Grow up, Brahms ! I'm the daddy here, you have to listen to me !"

Brahams : *grunt of annoyance/ignores him*

Michael Myers :

Fun fact : He's sleepwalking. You never know how he does it, but each night he succeeds to break out of his cell and wander in the corridors until morning. You tried to tie him up but, that doesn't hold him either. This is why your co-workers (those traitors !) voted you to be his personal watch guard: stay at night to make sure he doesn't wander too far, kills someone or hurts himself on accident.

Friends/Allies : Everyone. Actually, he is one of the most popular men in the asylum. He doesn't talk a lot and knows how to listen. As long as he is out of knives, you could even say that he is pleasant.

Freddy Krueger :

Fun fact : Freddy is in fact a lot less disfigured than everyone thinks he really is. He only shows his real face to people he really trusts. Some nurses bring him some makeup early in the morning, so that he can "blend in" with the others. This is why it is a surprise when he shows you his real face the first time. He also really likes gardening. This is why you had agreed with the hospital to let him have a small garden, he is usually very calm when he is surrounded by plants.

Friends/Allies : Actually, he likes the clowns, mostly the older ones. They make him laugh and he has good conversations with Pennywise or Arthur sometimes. But, mostly ? Spends his time in the garden.

Enemy : Jason. Don't put those two in the same room with one another or you'll end up with a bloodbath. They are like a cat and a dog. Freddy likes to tease people and Jason is someone that will take everything personally. This is why he is Freddy's favorite victim.

Jason Voorhees :

Fun fact : Jason is clumsy. Not a big surprise with his height and rather blunt nature, but he certainly is very self-conscious about it. He is also very stubborn. He wouldn't ask for help. Once, he got stuck in the laundry room for three days..You eventually found him, but he still wanted to solve the problem by himself. At least, you succeeded in helping him untangle himself when you had assured him that he would get some chocolate as a reward.

Friends/Allies :

Penny, Michael and Brahms. They have the same child-like mentality as him. They like to play together, mostly hide and seek or tag. They are children in these moments and the best to do is to just leave them alone or join if they ask you.

Enemies :

Freddy and Pennywise. He thinks they are very mean and have a very dubious sense of humour.

Freddy : " Hey, Jason ! Can I borrow your mask for a second ?!"

Jason : *grunts in disapproval*

Pennywise *stealing his mask from behind him* : Too slow, big guy !

You would then see two laughing devils run around with Jason's mask as he runs after them with murderous intents.

Penny :

Fun fact : Loves water. Penny normally acts like a cat, but when it concerns water..You have to be prepared for him to stay in the bathtub for hours on end. However, you are always surprised by the fact that his makeup isn't ruined afterwards. Some of the nurses say that he either tattooed his make-up or is using a very special waterproof brand..

Allies/Friends : Pennywise/Brahms/Jason.

Penny is very attached to his older brother, and even if sometimes they argue, they eventually make it up to each other. He also likes to play with Brahms and Jason.

Enemies : The Joker. Self-explanatory.

"He's mean. I don't like him. He always says that I stole his style..I want to eat him."

Pennywise :

Fun fact : the master of failed escape plans. You once caught him trying to dig a tunnel from the bathroom to the outside..with a spoon. However, when you caught him, he didn't seem bothered. He was almost waiting for you.

" Oh no..I got caught. Meh. Better you than any of the others."

Friends/Allies : Penny and Freddy.

He likes Freddy as they have the same sense of humour and like to make fun of Jason together. You can almost see them plotting with little horns above their heads, cackling. And of course, he loves his brother. He would never admit it, but he would be lost without him.

"Come here, kid ! Stop hanging out with those weirdos !"

Enemies : The Joker. Hates him as much as Arthur hates him.

"What a joke ! You aren't even funny ! You killed thousands of people ?! I killed millions !"

The Joker :

Fun fact : Loves to hear your jokes. Most of the nurses around here don't joke much before stuffing him with pills so, he always smiles when it's you. You are a sunshine in his sad day. You always try to mix his pills with something sweet, as to not make him suffer the horrid taste. He appreciates it and his mood always brightens when you enter his cell.

Friends :

He likes Jason. Mostly because he can laugh at his clumsiness and because Jason will never be able to understand his jokes. Also, he finds him endearing in a way. (You suspect them to have secret tea parties.) He also talks with Freddy sometimes. But not enough for them to be called "friends" really.

Enemies : The Penny Brothers. Surprisingly enough, he absolutely despises the Clown Brothers. Everytime he sees them, his smile falters and he enters into a blind rage.

Joker : "Copycats ! Couldn't even get their own style ! Honestly ! They are pathetic and uncivilized !"

Fun fact : Number 5 has a very destructive behavior. He will destroy everything in his room with everything he can get his hands on. However, he is also very smart. Never underestimate him as he is also loaded. He managed once to get his hands on a baseball bat and smash his aquarium with it. Fortunately, you managed to save the fish.

Friends/Allies :

None. He doesn't like anyone, but will still be able to stay with Michael as he is quiet and is a very good balance with Five's very nervous nature. Michael is a tree and doesn't mind hanging around the boy.

Number 5: "You see, Michael, you and I are reasonable individuals. We can communicate. You're the only one I can trust among all of those crazy people.."

Michael : *silence of agreement*

Number 5 : " See ! I knew you would agree !"

Enemies :

Everyone else. He finds everyone else idiotic or not worth his time.

BONUS: How they feel about you ?

Brahms : N..Nice..*blushes and takes his doll as an emotional support*

Michael : *silence of approval and slight smile under the mask*

Freddy : "What a nice piece of a..! I mean, very cool and understanding. They..They aren't going to see that, right ?"

Jason : *nods vividly while munching on some chocolate bar you managed to get him*

Number 5 : "Interesting, I guess. The only person that I can have a civil conversation with."

Joker : *smiles* "Very thoughtful. First nurse that lasted more than a year around here. Impressive. And that's coming from a serial killer."

Pennywise : *grumbling* "The kid likes them. That's enough for them not to become my next meal. Nice enough I suppose.."

Penny : *drools and smiles widely* "I like them ! They play with us sometimes ! I don't really want to eat them..Plus, I like them when they read us bedtime stor..!"

The whole gang stops Penny from talking too much. You are not supposed to read to them bedtime stories after hours. You could get in trouble and plus, it's embarrassing enough as it is. If someone was to discover that they actually love your bedtime stories..They wouldn't last the day. 😂

[iamseagoat]

Rating Clown Emojis

Apple: Right off the bat this man gets a 2/10. I HATE him. He is not cute. He looks dirty with his off-white greenish yellow skin. I can't figure out why his eyes are so wide or why he has white makeup around his eyes AND in between the blue. Very strange. And his hair is SO short :( which defeats the point of clown hair...

Samsung: VERY similar to Apple's which is a shitty choice of design to copy in this case. Sorry not sorry. He is slightly better though in that his eyes are round and make sense, the white clearly looks like sclera and the blue is the only makeup around them. His skin isn't dirty either, he actually has a nice rosy blush all around. So, although they copied a bad design, they did make him palatable. This man gets a 6/10 for being a normal clown who needs to grow his hair out.

Twitter/Discord: Another instance of a plain design but given as this is their style it is passable as an offense. His hair is blue and is the first of the bunch to not have red, so he gets style points for that. His cheeks and smile are cute. He looks very polite. There is just not much else going on for him unfortunately. Was a 6 until my friend pointed out he's asymmetrical and now I can't unsee it. It's not hard to make a flat design symmetrical! FUCK! 4/10. Fuck you twitter.

Google: Cutie! Clean design and nice makeup! Only white and red aside from his striking black eyes and toothless mouth which makes for a striking image. The new version is softer and more huggable than the old one. Honestly want to give him a kiss on his little head. Good boy, 10/10. As for the old/android version: also good but for different reasons! A little rougher around the edges, this clown has lost an eye. But he's still here to make you smile!!! A bit creepier than his little brother, but that just makes him look nervous to me. 7/10.

Facebook: Overall, looks like Chuckles the clown from Toy Story 3 but actually happy. Old version was originally preferred for its flatter image. It made the makeup more appealing and interesting in shape. New version is similar but more high quality. Almost too shaded in some areas. No real need for him to have the red lipstick around his mouth at this point bc it's so thin. New version is probably a 7/10. Still a good boy but not preferable to the cuteness and shapes of the original which I'd give a 9/10.

Microsoft: Microsoft makes some freaky looking clowns! These are just not cute boys. More like the clowns you'd see in a horror movie before they go through the traumatic event that leads them to start their murder spree. Much like Apple's and Samsung's, the hair on both of them is SO short!! What's the point of cute red clown curls if they're barely seen? New version gets a 4/10 for very lazy design. Pink lips are a strange addition and they gave him literal evil eyes. Old version gets a 5/10. Slightly better than the new one but really nothing outstanding. Just a guy. I do like his eyebrows - only one or two other emojis use eyebrows on their clowns and it makes him more expressive.

LG: Looks almost like a mix between the two Google clowns. The long-lost brother perhaps? There really isn't too much to say about him. Looks nice, if not a little awkward bc of his tiny eyes and big goofy grin. 7/10.

HTC: No idea what HTC is but I don't care. This boy is interesting and unique! Blue star makeup around his eyes, a big ol' nose and a clear definition between his makeup and skin. Nicely done. I wish they had done something more interesting with his cap- maybe even just changing the color to blue to match his eyes. Or changed the hair to blue instead. Something to break up the monotony at the top of the design. 8/10 though, he's a fun boy who knows how to entertain for sure.

Skype: This palette is very strange...why did you put an Instagram filter on my boy? His eyebrows almost blend into his skin but are just off enough to be unsettling. Like. Clearly, he dyed them that way on purpose, but why? Nothing too special otherwise. Looks almost identical to the others we have seen with red hair except he has no eye or cheek makeup whatsoever. His nose is very shiny though. 6/10.

JoyPixels: NO CLUE WHAT JOYPIXELS IS BUT THIS MAN HAS GOOD MAKEUP SKILLS!!! The points on his eyes!! The rosy cheeks! The white inside the red of his lipstick is a unique choice too! And another for the blue haired boys!! Overall, this man has his techniques and WILL beat everyone else at the skill competition. 9/10 only bc I am still not a fan of the off-white skin color.

OpenMoji: This man scares me actually. And more so than the clowns that are actually supposed to be creepy like Pennywise. This guy just fucking STARES at you. He has no soul. And the dark, thick outlines around everything make it all worse. Why aren't they around his nose and eyes????? I just don't get it. Don't think I want to. 0/10. Please get him out of my sight.

Emojidex: A FUN GUY!!!! I will invite him to every party. The dark outlines work better here bc it is only around his head and hair. Only the second clown here to have defined teeth too, except his is a fully closed grin. And he has some very pearly whites! A little heavy on the eye makeup, covering the black strikes with a yellow star and blue circle but not too annoying that it takes over the good things about him. He gets an 8/10!

Emojipedia: Last one! And unfortunately, it's not ending on a good note. This could have gone so well? Like I see where they wanted to go...but they took all the bad things from Apple's design and mixed it with the blue haired gang to make this moldy purple monstrosity. His face would be perfectly fine if they hadn't made his mouth and eyes HOLLOW. Like. Thats NOT a living clown. Thats a husk. He is actually soulless and decaying. What did you DO to him?!?!?! 1/10 only bc I'm afraid whatever currently inhabits his body will come find me if I give him a 0.

[robinsceramics]

@mrsjdavis ouch, but yeah, pretty much! I modeled him off of a hobo clown, Weary Willie (as played by Emmett Kelly), a lovable loser character. He's always melancholic. I love him so much <333

image descriptions: a set of photographs from a book showing a middle-aged man putting on battered shoes and clown makeup to give him a sad expression, and then him in full clown costume looking sad while surrounded by roses. The caption of the man putting on his clown face is captioned "Emmett into Willie", and the clown in the roses is captioned "unlucky at love". The images are from Emmett Kelly's autobiography, CLOWN: my life in tatters and smiles.

working on A Guy <3

He's going to be a hobo clown when I paint him! But for now, he's just my attempt at a good face.

image description: a gray clay mask of a man's face. He is looking up with a pathetic expression. He has heavy cheeks and wrinkles around his eyes, and fluffs of hair stick out from under his cap.

[spunsugarmusings]

MST3K's "The Final Sacrifice" Starter Pack

“Ugh, nature smells!”

"I forgot the Liquor Stores close at eight!"

“I haven’t read Tolkein in almost a week!”

“Wow, a whole ‘nother city to fail in!”

“Time to settle in with the Book of Mormon.”

“Aw heck, I can’t believe the ancient city kicked us out already.”

"I sensed that with my hair, my hair is an intricate system of nerves constantly processing information."

“We’re gonna make you drink something other than beer!”

“I solved Myst in ten minutes, why can’t I do this?”

“Well, I better get back to my grave; sun’s been up an hour, I’m startin’ to disintegrate.”

“Here’s the plan. My army of trained rats will lead the charge and my scabies will protect our flank.”

“No wonder Dad lost his money, he invested in lemon mines!”

“I’m losing track of the crappy vehicles here!”

“Say what you want about the filthy, grizzled guy, he does a good load of laundry.”

“I wonder if there’s beer on the sun?”

“You shot me in the butt! What the hell?! You shot me IN THE BUTT!”

“Another human being! Oh, I’m in for a beating…”

“Is he a door-to-door executioner?”

“Don’t worry about me, boss, the hair on my back is keeping me warm.”

“Can I discipline you?”

“Well, if I’m going to be a ventriloquist dummy, I’d better learn how to live in this trunk.”

“Is he a makeup-less clown?”

“Oh I’m glad I don’t have any friends, cause then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

“God bless mommy, and daddy, and grandpa, and all of my evil henchmen.”

""Of course the clock is set to Miami time."

“Have you always been a hopeless drunk?”

“My glee club will be looking for me!”

"Well, swing choir ain't going to rehearse itself!"

“Now, is this touching or boring?”

“I’m in no particular hurry, the cult’s got their schedule, I got mine.”

"Nobody leaves the World Wrestling Federation!"

"So we're just watching someone fritter away their afternoon."

“I made you some trail mix outta rat droppings and hair.”

"The sides of his heart are blowing out like old tires."

“Auntie sent her jack-booted thugs to make him lunch!”

"Know him? He was delicious!"

“That’s an anagram for “direct to video”!“

“Let’s go get a couple of bullwhips and pose for Mapplethorpe.”

"Man, he was made in the image of an egg noodle."

“This is just like when they bury me every week at school.”

"He exploded before they could shoot him." "If women don't find you handsome, at least you should be handy." "Oh, this is where they get all the stuff to put in T.G.I. Fridays." "I have no sense of proportion, I'm a disgrace to my uniform!" "Go to Hell! Or at least Edmonton."

[colettevbellerose07]

Mon amour est à toi

Warning: poor body image. So much fluffy comfort OMG!!!

Teen!Truman Burbank x teen!Alt!Insecure!Plus-sized!reader

-I was hired to be a extra student in Truman’s mathematics, English, and French class. Truman showed a interest in the language and few episodes back before sophomore year for him. I was one year younger but that’s besides the point.

-My click was supposed to be the rebels, god if only I was this cool in actual school. I would have so many friends.

-I walked into the Math class It was first period. Math. At 7:00 in the morning. Sheesh it’s already hard enough for me.

I took the sit furthest away from Truman’s camera. I’m not camera shy I just don’t want to be noticed by Truman.

Speaking of the devil here he comes. Okay since he’s not sitting next to me I’ll start my real homework. Damn Geometry ain’t my strongest quality.

“Hey watch you got there?” Truman said smiling while sitting next to me! “Oh just uh well um my.” I stuttered not knowing what to do with all the cameras on me. “It’s okay to be nervous newbie. Just please don’t be mean to me.” Truman said scratching the back of his head with a nervous smile. Oh right rebel kid. Class clown. Okay you got this y/n! You got this! “I don’t know do you have anything valuable?” I said with a sarcastic tone looking at his backpack. “No I don’t. Sorry.” Truman said inching away. I chuckled. “I’m kidding!” I said with a devilish grin. “You’re way to cute to steal from.” Truman’s face turned bright red. He is going to be great to fool with.

The class started and I played the part. Asking obviously stupid questions, Sly remarks but, this isn’t me. I don’t dress like these or act like this in real school.

After class I heard leather foots steps down the hall. Agh I wanna go on break! Who ever this is it better be good!

“Hi, um I was wondering would you like to eat lunch with me, Since you.. don’t have friends?” Truman said grabbing my shoulder. Strong y/n, rebels don’t need anything or anyone. You are mean! You don’t care about anyones feelings, including Truman’s feelings! “Okay, sure, I don’t have anything better to do.” I looked up at him with my dark blue eyes looking at his deep brown eyes. His eyes were bright and welcoming while mine were raccoonish and heavy. I was short, he was tall. I was vulgar and experienced, he was innocent and naive. Was I? No. This can’t be. The lion fell in love with the lamb. No it’s far to early to be love. *RING* “Oh sorry newbie I gotta go It was nice uh.. talking!” Truman said running to his next class. Good lord he is going to be the end of me.I walked to the cast room. I had so much fun, I hadn’t realized it was almost time for “school lunch” I quickly grabbed all my stuff and ran. I was running so fast I didn’t want Truman to think I ditched him. He would be so sad if I did that! I ran with intent I closed my eyes. When. *bam* I ran into someone. “Oh my god sorry I was running to Truman. I don’t want him to be mad at me if He thought I ditched him.” I said against who I thought was Marlon, slightly crying from the fall. “Oh no don’t cry, I wouldn’t be mad at you.” Truman said rubbing my head gently. I raised my head to look at him. “My makeup is all ruined. I don’t look pretty anymore.” I sobbed putting my hands on my eyes. What is getting into me. “Hey, y/n don’t say that-“ Truman said trying to tame my emotions, but It failed. “I’m fat and no one likes me here, I’m so much different than everyone I don’t know why I came here!” Was there truth in that sentence. yes. was I thanking every god know to man that I hadn’t gotten to personal. Yes! “Y/n I didn’t know you thought about yourself like that. Truman said sitting us up. Slowly removing my hands as he looked at me. Scanning my face with a look. Oh how to describe it. Only a look a mother would give child. Such blind adoration. “Tu es si belle pour moi.” He said looking into my eyes. Ya know we barely know each other but I feel like I’ve know him forever.

“Really.” I said with a small voice crack. “Oui.” Truman said trying to get me to smile. “Let’s go get some lunch y/n.” He said sitting up and bending down to grab my hand. I grabbed quickly. So much for Rebel!