#FINALLY FREE THE CLOWN IS VISIBLE

[figs-oliomedley]

I FUCKING FIGURED IT OUT, THE CLOWN PICS ARE RELEASED FROM PURGATORY

shoutouts to the customer support lady at Tumblr for the big help :]

guys don’t use 

in your tags guys

having “Discussion -HOPE VS DESPAIR- V3 “ playing while I was doing this was oddly fitting

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art the clown x Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem.

Chapter 2 of How Close Your Soul

General warnings: descriptions of food insecurity and poverty, adult themes, drug use (weed), and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: With unlimited free time on your hands now, you go on an adventure in the city with your new friend. (Alt summary: you smoke a blunt with Art then go to McDonalds)

Your mind races as you walk. You rose early because you couldn’t fight off the feeling of anxiety. No, it wasn’t necessarily anxiety, you were restless. Art lingered on your mind and you were excited to see him again. You knew this was reckless to meet up with a stranger in an isolated alley, but your curiosity had often gotten the better of you.

You had a ways to go still and couldn’t help but be consumed with worry. What if he wasn’t there? What if something happened to him? What if you approached to find him injured or dead? You barely knew him, but the thought of him succumbing to the harsh elements hurt your heart and made you feel guilty for enjoying your own comfort during the cold fall night. As you noticed the frost on the grass your worries grew.

Winding through the alley, you navigate through discarded boxes and trash cans, overflowing with litter. There are syringes on the ground, indicating a spot for partying. They weren’t there yesterday and you hoped no one had given Art any trouble. You pace slowly back and forth as you survey the area.

You looked around, scanning the dumpsters and rows of cans for a sign of black and white. He stuck out in this landscape, yet he was nowhere to be seen. With a small voice you call out, “Art?”

You waited for a response but none came. Turning in place, you continue to soak in your surroundings for any trace of him. Your worries grew the longer you stood there. The spot he had cleared out to sit was still visible, a nest of sorts, but where was Art?

Behind you, you hear glass being ground into the pavement and look. It was Art, stone still with his hands in the air and an overly large smile on his face, showing off his rows and rows of teeth. His smile seemed endless and the gleam in his eye was disconcerting. You felt your worry and excitement change over into something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

He’s wielding a hammer, and he looks thrilled as hell to see you. His mouth manages to stretch even further and his eyes are wide with anticipation. His grip on the hammer tightened as he took a step towards you, to which you responded by taking a step back. This dance continued for a few steps before you stopped. 

Was he going to hurt you? But why would he? Your hands began shaking as he maintained his static pose of intimidating stature. He was merely steps away and loomed over you. He was so tall that he blocked out the sun above and it shrouded his face in surreal shadows. It was as though his face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish entity. 

“Art?” You ask nervously and he gives no response. He doesn’t even blink, and you aren’t sure if he’s breathing. Surely you were not making another poor judge of character. You wring your hands together, “Um... I wanted to thank you for yesterday so I brought you something.”

His eyebrows twitched in response and some sort of fire was lit in his eyes. He was curious. He arm relaxed slightly as it lowered a little. Maybe this was some sort of game? Art was so hard to read, maybe he just had an intense sense of humor. Still, it’s frightening. You swallow hard and continue, “Do... you wanna smoke a blunt?”

He pauses and his smile turns into a grimace. Art is visibly thinking about your proposal. He looks away, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. The man looked back to you, then back to the hammer for an uncomfortable period of time, then finally back to you. He made an inquisitive face and you revealed what you were talking about.

It was one your friend had given you. It was half smoked and hard as a rock, but still did just fine. You wave it a little like a tempting treat and his eyes follow its rapid movement. He finally drops the hammer, grabs his trash bag to drag behind, and closes the small gap between you.

Art stares at what is contained in your hand and you hold it out a little more so he can inspect it. He touches it lightly and his face only became more of a confused scowl. He looked at you then waved his hand in front of his face in a grimace, portraying he thought it would stink. You nod some, “Yeah it’s skunky but it doesn’t taste bad. There’s wax in it. Not like, candle wax... it’s hard to explain...”

You think a moment then look up at him, “Sometimes we just need to catch a good buzz, you know? I thought we could smoke and talk, maybe learn some more ASL.”

He perked up at that and signed his name with curious eyes to which you responded with a smile, “Yeah! Soon you’ll be a total chatterbox.”

You look around for a comfortable pace to sit and scope out a spot atop a dumpster. It looks like it was recently dumped and smelled the least offensive, so you hoist yourself up and hold your hand out for Art to follow. He has a much easier time clambering up the side than you did, but he struggles to heave his garbage bag beside him.

You didn’t ask about it. It was likely his only way to transport his possessions, but it still made you worry for him. It could easily become stolen or mistaken for actual trash. Perhaps you would get Art a proper means to carry his things, but that was getting ahead of yourself. Today your rent was due and you were seven hundred dollars short. There was no way you were going to get that much money in time, so you were doing the next best thing- running away from your problems. This was the present, and the present meant you were about to get high with a complete stranger.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask as you show him the blunt. He mouths ‘oh yeah’ a little too assertively and puffs his chest out. Though he seemed confident you wondered if he’d ever smoked weed before. You were become more and more curious about your friend, “Are you sure?”

He nodded enthusiastically with a smile but his eyes were transfixed on the mysteriously wrapped cigarette. Wherever it went his eyes followed. You patted your pocket and realized you forgot your lighter at home, “Damn. Art, you wouldn’t happen to have a lighter by any chance would you?”

Art holds his finger up in a ‘one moment’ gesture and starts looking through the same black trash bag as yesterday. From this angle you could see inside a little. It was a hodgepodge of metal, trinkets, saws...

Saws?

Your eyes widen when he pulls out a blow torch, his mouth stretched in a wide tooth filled grin of glee and accomplishment. He looked so proud to hold it in his hands and his lights lit up when he playfully blew at you with the fire. It should scare you on a deeper level than it did, but you really wanted to smoke.

“Awesome. Do you care if I see it? “ You ask, but he seems incredibly reluctant to hand it over as he hugs it to his chest and furrows his brows in response. His theatrics made it hard to take him seriously or view him as any sort of threat. 

So to the stranger with a blow torch you say, “Art, no offense man but I’m not gonna come outta here looking like creme brûlée.”

He laughs uproariously in silence and slaps his knee. That seemed to have tickled him and you relax a little. Another similarity. Humor. Finally, someone with a sense of humor. Art wipes a faux tear from his eye and obliges, shoulders still heaving sporadically in a fit of voiceless giggles.

You test it experimentally, a small lick of fire coming out the end. You look at art with raised brows and mirror his previous actions by blowing fire at him. He laughs again and offers you one, hardy clap on your back. It makes you feel warm and secure inside. You didn’t know how much you needed that, but you were silently grateful. 

He watched you with visible curiosity as you lit the end and took a deep inhale. You held it for as long as your lungs could stand before exhaling. Unconsciously you hold it out to Art to pass the blunt. Hesitantly, he takes it from you and holds it between the nails of his thumb and index finger.

You snort in a laugh. Who needs clips when you have him? You mime a smoking motion and nod to him, “Draw it into your mouth then hold it in your lungs, but don't—”

Before you could finish he was chiefing it. He took a hit as big as his lungs could expand, held it for half a second, then exploded in a coughing fit. It wracked his body and he held his chest, all of his motions dramatic and theatrical as he figuratively withered and died right in front of you. It was definitely his first time.

You reach out and, after careful consideration, rest your hand on his back and pat as you finish your sentence, “...don’t take a big hit.”

He stills instantly at your touch and you withdraw your hand like you’ve touched a hot stove. Had you crossed a boundary? Were you a nuisance? Did you hurt him? Were you what your boss thought: a predatory creep who preyed on older men? Was that possible?

“I’m... I’m sorry Art.” You offer awkwardly and rub your hands together, fidgeting and picking at your nails. An audible gulp leaves you as you stare down at the ground, too ashamed to look at him. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you’d certainly done something. 

Silence falls between the two of you for a while. It feels like hours as the absence of noise makes your ears ring and only amplifies your transgression. You finally look to him and see him in the same position, still as a stone and just as silent. After a moment you find your voice, “Art... are you okay?”

His eyes visibly shift when he breaks out of his trance and he finally looks to you. Art stares at you, barely half lidded and the scelra bloodshot and red. He offers you a lazy grin and you mirror it, relief flooding you. He wasn’t upset, he was just stoned!

“You scared me there for a minute buddy!” You sigh as your anxiety leaves you and begin to swing your feet idly back and forth. He sleepily watches your feet a moment before mirroring you, keeping your same pace. Art trails his eyes up your body then meets your eyes, the same lazy, blissful smile spread over his face. He takes another, much smaller, hit off of the blunt, holds it, then exhales through his nose. 

The smoke snakes upwards and plumes around him. He caught on quick. Art hands you back the blunt and you accept it gratefully then taking a greedy hit off it. This time, you enjoy it. You savor it and hold it until your lungs feel as though they are smoldering and flaking away. You exhale slowly, watching the swirls and twirls of the white plumes that flow like water in the sun’s rays.

“So, Art...” You begin, passing the blunt back to him, “what are you into? Like what are your hobbies?”

He visibly ponders a moment, looks you dead in the eye and offers you the scariest, widest smile you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of something you’ve seen browsing the depths of horror forums. You heart palpitates as he stares at you, eyes wild and teeth prominent. You had no idea what kind of emotion he was displaying and nervously averted your eyes.

Art tapped on your shoulder and motions upward for you to meet his gaze again. Nervously, you oblige and find his expression has changed dramatically. He’s back to sleepy eyes and a closed mouth, crooked smile. Art hands you the blunt back so he can use both hands to speak.

He makes a single handed digging motion, adding little details like running into rocks and patting the soil down. You smile at him in kind, “You like to garden?”

Art pauses and makes a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand then waves you off. That isn’t what he was trying to say. He taps his chin in thought, this time creating the illusion of digging with a two handed shovel.  But still you do not understand and offer him a sheepish apology and urge him to continue. 

He makes an arch shape near the head of where he was digging, but that only confused you further. You point at the imaginary object, “What is that?”

Art huffed and pointed aggressively to a pebble on the ground. You ponder a moment then offer, “Rock? Close? Uhh... stone?”

He points to you with joy and nods fervently, rolling his hand and looking at you in giddy apprehension to finally guess the correct answer. But nothing comes. You purse your lips, afraid to say the wrong thing. Art repeats the motion, never taking his eyes off you as he dug in the imaginary hole then made a pulling motion at the air and loading up his pockets. 

You look at him, desperately trying to understand but the concept continues to not only elude you but become more confusing with each additional gesture. You want to know, but if it isn’t gardening what else could it be? What other activities involve digging holes near large stone objects at the head and rummaging through their contents? The only thing that kept coming to mind was digging up buried treasure and you knew that isn’t what it was.

He shares your frustration and sighs in silence. Art throws his hands up and draws a distressed question mark in the air over and over again. You didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. And your confusion made his confusion grow. Your eyes widen and to ease the pressure you say, “I think we’re too high man.”

Art’s eyes widen and he seems briefly alarmed before relaxing all at once and nodding along with your remark. He smiles at you and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead and lifts his hat to you in a polite gesture. You weren't going to stop trying to learn about your new friend and decided to do a rewind.

“Let’s get to the spelling. So, Art, what does the letter of your hobby start with?” You never thought your limited knowledge of ASL would come in handy when smoking a blunt with a clown, but this life was truly full of surprises.

He drew a G in the air and you repeat the sign for the corresponding letter. He mirrors you then draws several more letters in the air. R... A... V... E...

“Grave?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on you, “Oh! Do you work at a cemetery? You tend to the graves?”

This simply cracked him the hell up. He laughed and laughed, holding his hands over his mouth in a wordless giggle as though he were bottling up some big juicy secret. After a moment he nodded with a smile, mouthing 'sure'. That explained some of his strange behaviors. Dead people didn’t talk and neither did he, so they already had more in common than the living. You, yourself, had felt more of a relation to the dead than the living, as well, and found his profession interesting. 

Before you could ask him any more questions he gripped his stomach, brow knitted in confusion. He looked to you questioningly, lips parted as though to speak. He was mumbling something voicelessly but you couldn’t hear nor read his lips. You try to placate him.

“It’s called the munchies, it’s normal.”

But he wouldn’t stop staring at you. His stomach audibly grumbled and he swallowed hard. He was looking at you in a way no one ever had before. He was looking at you like YOU were food. You’re high; you’re feeling bold and joke, “Bro if you’re gonna cannibalize me go ahead, with the week I’ve had I’m ready.”

He stops and laughs, his eyes crinkling into slits as he gets lost in a fit of giggles. His hand didn’t leave his stomach as he rubbed it absent mindedly, still staring at you with wolfish hunger. His stomach gurgled again and he winced some. He hunger was clearly a step above regular munchies.

“I’ve heard people taste like pork...” Your stomach growls at the thought of slow roasted meat, so tender it fell off the bone. You’d always had a fascination with human meat, and one of your current friends had dabbled in cannibalism in their childhood so it wasn’t too far fetched of a concept. Art did not strike you as a cannibal, but if he was that strangely wouldn’t bother you, at least not right now. Maybe you really were too high. 

Without warning, Art slides off the dumpster. His trash bag lands on the ground with a loud, metallic thud, and then he extends his hand out to you. His hand is filthy, his gloves stiff and stained with dirt and some sort of bodily fluid. You weren’t sure what it was, but logic escaped you right now.

You took his hand in yours and allowed him to help you off the dumpster. With effort, you awkwardly slide down and begin following after him like a puppy. At first you struggled to keep up with his long gait but he slowed down so the two of you could walk side by side.

“Where are we going, Art?” You look up at him and ask curiously. He smiles down at you and makes an M in the air in the same shape as the iconic golden arches. The idea of a hot, greasy, barely edible hamburger made you so hungry you nearly dry heaved right there. But then it hit you, “I don’t have any money.”

He waved you off and rubbed his fingers together then pointed at himself smugly, showing that he had money and was paying. But could you really allow him to do something like that? You open your mouth to protest and he holds his finger to his lips to shush you. You relent. Art is going to do what he wants, and if he wants to buy you a cheeseburger then so be it. Perhaps the pair of you could have a symbiotic relationship. You were interested in compiling resources, so this was just part of it.

The walk there was short but simulaneously felt as though it dragged on forever. From the parking lot, you could smell the grilled beef and frying grease and it made your mouth water. It seemed to have a similar effect on Art as his stomach produced a low rumble of its own. With a flamboyant display, he holds the door open for you and makes a sweeping motion with his arm for you to enter. You titter in playful bashfulness and enter. The restaurant is warm and the delicious smell of food envelops you like cartoon smoke.

But people are looking at you, whispering and giving you ugly stares. They’re all pointing at Art and hurried murmurs emerging: ‘is that him?’, ‘what horrible taste’, ‘appalling.

Appalling? 

You realize they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about Art. You look up to him. He pays them no mind. His mouth is agape as he strums his chin in thought, voicelessly mouthing to himself as he read the menu. You already know what you’re going to get and stand beside him patiently. You give him a few moments then tug on his sleeve to get his attention, of which he obliges.

“Which number do you want, Art?”

He ponders again before holding two fingers up, indicating he wanted the same thing you were getting. You smile, “Great minds, yeah?”

Art offers a small chuckle and nods, lingering behind as you approach the counter. The cashier seems off, uncomfortable, and scared. You were familiar with stares of the ignorant, but this seemed different. She seemed petrified.

“Are you okay?” The cashier whispers. 

You look around and everyone is staring at you. You eye her nervously and offer a wary, “Yeah...?”

“Are you sure? He’s just... he’s just a guy in a costume, right?”

You look back at Art, who is enamored with the toy display, his face merely inches from the bright and colorful beanie babies contained within. You’re too high to deal with this kind of dumb shit right now. Why was everyone looking at him like that? And why was everyone being so mean about him? He was just a guy in a clown costume... wasn’t he?

Art looks back at you and gives a friendly little wave before resuming fawning over the toys. There’s no way this guy was some kind of depraved murderer or demon, he was just a guy in a suit. He was weird, like you. You both had a similar sense of humor and people just didn’t get you. So what if he liked to dress like a clown? You thought he was brave to be who he was and admired how easily he brushed off other people's abrasive attitude.

You look back at the cashier, “Yeah it’s just a costume. We’d like two number twos and we’ll be getting that to go, please.”

With shaking hands, she types in the order. Art is by your side, digging through his trash bag before withdrawing a wallet. He flips through the row of credit cards then hands one out to the cashier. You lived off credit cards for a while too so you thought little of it.

She takes it, trying her best not to make contact with his hand and swipes it. It was approved and she slid it back across the counter, “Thanks we’ll uh, we’ll call your number as soon as its ready.”

She can’t take her eyes off Art as she backs away and retreats to the kitchen. She is talking to what you assume is her manager, pointing and motioning to the pair of you. Seriously? What was her problem. Part of you wants to confront her and tell her to mind her own fucking business, but your anxiety roots you firmly in place.

This display is not lost to Art. His lip curls into a smirk as he returns to the beanie babies. You join him and admire them. You loved stuffed animals and your eyes glitter with wonder. You’ve never seen any of these before, all small little animals. There’s a turtle, a red panda, a giraffe, a hedgehog... so many wonderful little creatures.

“Wow...” You breathe out, “I wish I’d gotten a happy meal instead. I’d love to have these.”

“Number six forty three!” Comes a voice behind you. That’s your number. You happily scamper over to the counter to retrieve your bag and drinks.

“You ready, Art?” You call back to him but he says nothing. He looks at you, then back to the toy display. Without warning, he strikes it again, and again, and again. The hard plastic cracks and crumbles from his blows and it is not long before he is loading up his trash bag with every beanie baby in the display.

You were so dumbfounded by Art’s actions you weren’t sure what to say, or do, so you did nothing but watch and stare. This is something you had fantasized about many times as a child, eyeing the coveted toys in the case your parents could not afford, but you never had the strength to execute it. One by one, each beanie baby was snatched up.

“Sir! Sir you can’t--” The cashier is cut off. He looks back at her with a wide, toothy grin and sizes her up. Even a hardened veteran of customer service isn’t immune to his intimidating stare. He holds his threatening stance a moment before looking back to you and grabbing your hand. He practically drags you out of there, an entire audiences’ eyes on you as you make your dramatic exit.

The further you get away the more the situation sinks into you, and so does the ferocious anxiety. What was going to happen? How was he being so casual about this? Did he regularly steal from their toy display, is that why they were looking at him like that?

As you both tuck behind an old gas station your anxiety finally breaks. Oh no...

“Art what if we get in trouble? What was that back there man? What...”

He shushes you and rests his hand on your shoulder. This time, you still and look back at him. Though stoic, he seems weirdly reassuring. You had just knocked off a McDonald’s and stolen twelve beanie babies. TWELVE. 

“What if we get banned from every McDonald’s? What if we go to jail.” Fear washes over you and it multiplies with the influence of weed, “Art I don’t wanna go to jail. We have to take them back and apologize... no we can’t do that, we’ll be arrested... What if they’re looking for us... Art! What if they’re--”

Art shushes you again and rubs your shoulder gently. He gives the ‘ok’ sigh with his hand and pats you. He begins to walk away but stops as he realizes you aren’t following him. You’re too anxious and a prisoner in your own mind. This is too scary, it’s too intense. Your rush of adrenaline had quickly turned over into a full blown anxiety attack.

Your heart pounded so hard it made you see spots and you struggled to stand still. You began pacing, wringing your hands as thousands of thoughts burst into your mind all at once. What if this is it? You’ve lost your job, you’re going to lose your apartment, and now you were going to jail for stealing stuffed animals... at least this way you’d still have shelter and three meals a day...

There was a warmth against your back. You start and look up at the source: Art. His hand is between your shoulder blades. He makes no motion to move but stays there, silent and strong as his large hand offers you a tether to the moment. You say nothing and just focus on the feeling. His touch felt so deliberate and affirming, it felt meaningful and stilled your trembling. 

You wanted to lean into him, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate that. You look at him questioningly and, is if he read your mind, moves his hand to your shoulder and draws you near to him. You remain this way for a while. He holds you in silence, hand gingerly rubbing up and down on your arm and occasionally patting as he tried to comfort you.

It was working. You hadn’t felt this secure since you’d been in His arms: the former object of your affection who now made your heart ache and your stomach sick. You are touch starved and his affection makes something inside you melt. You nuzzle into his chest and he allows this, moving his hand to rest on your head and gently smooth your hair. 

Your hands are too full to reciprocate the hug, but you do your best to return the affection by leaning further into him and he obliges  by holding you closer. The pair of you remain this way for some time. There are no police sirens, no angry mob, and no cashier chasing after you. All of your worries were limited to your mind and, gradually, you relax. Slowly, you pull away from him and offer him a kind, but slightly strained, smile.

“Art... I mean this in the nicest way possible but... You gotta take a shower man. Do you wanna come over to my place? I have body wash and stuff you can use.”

His eyebrows fly to the sky and his mouth forms into a large O. This expression is brief as a wide smile takes its place. He nods happily, his little hat bobbling, and you mirror his smile. You felt good that you were able to help someone out and reciprocate his aid. As the pair of you made your way home with McDonald’s loot, you begin to wonder if this will be the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

[marysdonuts]

Tom and Jerry

school clown!Hoshi x top student!reader

Synopsis: After crossing the rubicon with your annoying classmate Hoshi "relationship" between the two of you improved. However you bump heads once more at Mingyu's game night party

Warnings: plot with smut, enemies to lovers, high IQ (f.) x low IQ (m.), slight angst, Mafia game at Mingyu's house, classmates, semi-public, banter, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), brief mentions of other members, crack, Hoshi acting cray during the game, (no questionable fashion choices mentioned)

WC: 1.2K

Status: part 2 (ongoing), read part 1 here

masterlist / requests / taglist

Why should it be awkward after fucking your arch nemesis? Well, isn't that what all the books and movies want us to believe?

- The female lead got into dragged out moral battle with herself after giving in to the detestable male lead.. Making audience yawn. Questioning if this is who she really is, questioning God's intentions - ultimately running away never to return again. Revolutionary.

In reality things didn't have to be so black or white. There was no need to go thru the emotional rollercoaster of blaming it on your childhood trauma or turning it into religious guilt. Ultimately, we were put on this Earth to have fun. Why beat ourselves up for doing something that we actually enjoyed?

Living in the grey area had its perks.

Improved relationship with your desk-mate Hoshi was one of them. The steamy encounter in locker room visibly dissolving tension between two rivals.

You were in higher spirits than usual.

Well that was fun, didn't think he had it in him. Why was I acting like a bitch before? Guess I just needed the attitude fucked out of me. Kekekekekek

"What are you scheming down there, hm?" walking in Soonyoung saw you hunched over the desk cackling like an anime villain planning to take over the world.

"Wouldn't you like to know." pushing up non existent glasses reflecting the light for dramatic effect.

"I would love to know." towering over you

"Pfff, you wouldn't understand even if I told you!!" springing up the chair, sticking your tongue out at him

"See you at the game tonight~"you spiralled out the classroom in a way that resembled category 5 hurricane. Leaving Hoshi flabbergasted.

"Wasn't I supposed to be the crazy one?" rubbing his chin in disbelief, your wicked laugh echoed thru the halls

//

And exactly what game were you talking about?

Of course the quarterly Mafia get-together. You've been told that everybody gathers up in class president Mingyu's house once every three months. It's your first time attending.

Please, please, please give me a role! I can't stand being a boring citizen - eyes shut, you prayed as the host passed behind you. Tapping you on the shoulder.

"The mafia has been chosen."

silence

"The police officer has been chosen."

silence

"The doctor has been chosen."

//

You killed the doctor first. Something in Seungkwan's proud eyes gave him away. He liked to play the saviour and once again it got the best of him.

"Why am I always the one getting killed first?? Why do you hate me soo much" pouting, hands crossed on the chest

"That's what happens when people had enough of your shit. Bang, bang, bang!" Hoshi collapsed in front of Kwan, seemingly coughing up blood "better keep your head down next time.." clinging to Boo's ankle before theatrically releasing his final breath. Freezing on the floor.

"You! Shut the hell up!" kicking his foot, trying to free himself from Hoshi's iron claw

//

Citizens were dropping like flies. Only making the sinister look in your eyes grow bigger and bigger.

And so did Hoshi's craziness.

"it's MINGYU, HE'S THE MAFIA!!!" pointing at Mingyu, shivering in the corner, probably questioning why he invited this madman in the first place. He was voted off.

"Everyone, WAIT JUST LISTEN TO ME...!" human sized worm was now wriggling in Joshua's direction

With every nonsense spat from Hoshi's mouth, you could feel your braincells dying.

"MWAHAHA, YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T NOTICE THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYES, CHAN?? CAN'T FOOL ME!!!" backflipping to the opposite side of the room, attacking the youngest

Idiot. Can't fool you now, huh? We'll see 'bout that.

"What a big mouth you have over there, Kwon," raising to your feet, cackle of devil ready to deliver divine retributions "would be a shame if someone shut IT." you shot your thumb down making all the remaining civilians vote in unity. Crowd vailing.

Heh, so this is how it feels to be a roman emperor - sentencing slaves to their death for entertainment of the colosseum.

//

Not long after you were the sole survivor

"Mafia WON! Standing ovation for the lady!" clap clap clap host crowning you MVP of the game.

"Thank you, couldn't done it without you." palpable wink in direction of the fuming hamster, now seeking comfort between Mingyu's humongous man-titties. Once enemies now reunited in shared hardship

Misery loves company, doesn't it? Chuckling to yourself

Hoshi Kwon (19) left the mortal world behind right then and there - figuratively speaking of course. Utterly humiliated by you, again. He was supposed to SHINE! He was supposed to find the mafia! Finally got a role of policeman but every guess that he made tonight was incorrect

"You win. For now." darkness possessing his amicable face

Familiar knot taking shape in your stomach

//

DU! DU! DU!

Heavy knocks on the bathroom door

"Just a moment!" drying your hands

DU! DU! DU! DU! DU!

"Hey! I said I am coming..!" swinging the door open

"Oh? I wondered when you'd show up." smirk looming up your lips as Hoshi shoved you back inside

"Smart girl. Wanted to see me that badly?" there was nothing sweet about the way he closed the door shut

"At least one of us," shooting back "are you here to serve your sentence?" tracing finger on his lips

"Didn't you say somebody should shut my mouth? Then, sit on it."

Ah and there it was the residual craziness clouding his judgement. Ain't gonna argue with a dude that has big brown eyes. Whatever you say, beautiful.

You weren't wet yet but it wasn't hard to guess that in exactly two minutes you will be

"Hahah- what?" you were just joking, didn't expect to actually do it here. At house party? Is there a cliché more american? Neither of you were an american but you'd rather be caught dead than doing something so mainstream.

"Did I stutter? You always talk a big game in public but I want to see how brave you are now." hot breath already caught between your thighs, hungry kisses biting at your soft flesh making you whine. Guess they didn't call him tiger for nothing

"We are in Minguy's bathroom.." voice disappearing into thin air the moment his starving mouth made contact with your, now wet, private area

"And? didn't seem to mind the locker room last time" Hoshi's swirling tongue rolling over THE spot of your clit

"s-shut up, you idi- OOOOH" a cry hardly appropriate for friendly game night. The sensation making you drunk on his expert movements.

"Oh? I didn't know top students had such a dirty mouth" working harder and more relentlessly than before, the train of needy moans couldn't be stopped anymore.

And there you were. Once again with a good for nothing dude between your legs. Making you feel things nobody before him managed. How does he know exactly what you liked? Was it the environment? First the locker room now friend's house...A combination perhaps?

Taste of forbidden fruit is not easily forgotten,

but who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers trope?

To be continued

[akataiii]

PPB & HS (Dabi x Female! Reader)

“FUCKK!”

Dabi startles awake from his nap on the couch of the League’s hideout, blue flames flickering alive in his palm and eyes darting around the room to find whatever it was that woke him up. 

“I'm so done!” He hears again, less loud than before but still at a relatively high volume. Enough to induce a headache.

Dabi allows his flames to die out, dragging a hand along his face in exasperation. Still, a tiny voice in the back of his head nags at him to get up and go check it out. He knows who the voice belongs to, after all, and he is loathe to admit he's always a tiny bit worried when said voice is in distress.

After hearing another frustrated yell, Dabi hauls himself off the couch with a grunt and makes his way up the stairs to the top floor of the hideout.

Bless Shigaraki’s thought process when he decided to move the hideout from the bar to an abandoned motel. The bedrooms were a much-needed upgrade from them sharing the cramped living room-esque space of the bar to sleep.

Dabi reaches the door he's looking for, hearing another angry yell from inside and letting out a resigned sigh. Whatever he finds behind this door��he will deal with it like the responsible adult that he is. He will not engage in any childish behaviour like baseless bantering, petty insults, unnecessary taunts etc, etc.

With a final sigh, Dabi swings the door open, ready to offer his support and—“Oh. My god,” he says before he can stop himself, the hand not holding the doorknob coming up to cover his agape mouth.

Y/N swivels around in her seat, eyes already narrowed and glaring as a forewarning. Dabi tries his best—really, he does—to not laugh at the absolute abysmal horror that sits atop Y/N’s head. 

Her hair was already naturally frizzy on a good, humid free day, but come rain and the morning after, and she turns into some kind of Persian cat that got thrown into a tumble dryer. Just her luck that there happened to be a nice rainstorm the night before.

Y/N notices Dabi desperately trying to hold back his laughter, and she raises a hand, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Don't you dare,” she warns, eyes narrowing into thin slits until her pupils are barely visible.

He loses the battle. After the first snort makes it past Dabi’s lips, he's done for, dissolving into a fit of laughter that has his stomach aching and has him believing he ripped out a staple or two. 

“I didn't realize you were leaving villainy behind to pursue the life of a clown,” he manages to taunt through his first bout of giggles, doubling over when Y/N lets out the most offended scoff he's heard from her yet.

“Fuck you. It's not funny!” Y/N calls out from where she's sitting by the vanity, an array of hair equipment laid out on its surface.

Dabi attempts to tell her that, ‘No, it's not funny, it's fucking hilarious,’ through his giggles, but he's unsuccessful as his body is racked with another laugh every time he tries to get the words out.

“Dabi! Stop laughing and get over here!”

It takes him several minutes to finally stop laughing and make his way over to Y/N, towering over her and the mop on her head that's supposed to resemble hair. 

He almost starts laughing again.

“Okay. So, how exactly am I supposed to help?” He asks, watching as she stares back at him from the mirror.

“I don't know? Just—try something! I'm done struggling,” she answers, letting out an angry huff and folding her arms across her chest with a pout on her lips.

Cute, Dabi thinks, letting a smile graze his lips as he focuses his attention on her very frizzy, poofy hair. He runs an experimental hand through the (h/c) strands, pleased to find that it follows a smooth course.

“Good news,” he pipes up from behind Y/N. “There aren't any tangles, so I should be able to brush it down.”

“Hah,” she barks out a laugh. “What do you think I've been trying to do for the last hour of my life?”

Dabi rolls his eyes at her dramatics, holding a hand out in front of her. “Just hand me the brush,” he instructs, and the item is forcefully placed in his outstretched palm.

He takes his time running his hands through her hair and brushing through the (h/c) strands, admiring the way it has a certain shine to it when the dim lighting in the motel room hits it at just the right angle. Appreciating the way Y/N relaxes into his touch instead of flinching away from it like she did all those months ago when she initially joined the League.

Alas, even with all the gentle care and tedious brushing, Dabi has no luck taming this tumble dried Persian fur, and he lets out his own frustrated sigh.

“A valiant effort,” Y/N comments from her seat, taking the brush back and earning her a flick behind her ear from Dabi.

After a few moments of pondering, and a few moments of eyeing Y/N’s hair, he gets another idea. 

“Hand me the straightener,” Dabi orders, hand already held out and ready as he continues to study the frizzy hair in front of him.

While frizzy, yes, Y/N’s hair usually laid flat and straight when tamed. If he could just run the brush and the straightener through it, it should be fine. He's had plenty of practice helping Fuyumi straighten her hair, so he won't be going in blind.

“Hate to break it to you, Hot stuff, but there's no straightener here,” she says after a few seconds.

Dabi dips his head to scan the items on the vanity from over Y/N’s shoulder. There was a brush, hair ties, bobby pins, and a spray bottle with some whitish concoction in it all displayed on the surface of the vanity. No straightener, or curling iron, or even a hairdryer in sight.

“The fuck?” He scoffs. “What kind of motel doesn't even have a hairdryer?”

“This one, apparently,” Y/N answers unhelpfully, and Dabi shoots her a deadpan look that screams, ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

He straightens back out and paces back and forth in the room, mind going through ideas and other possible solutions. Surely there was something he could do, right? 

Out of habit, Dabi starts to snap his fingers. It's an action he started doing as a sort of stim, usually pairing it with a little heat from his quirk to ignite tiny blue sparks. It kind of reminds him of a sputtering lighter. Barely hanging onto life but still trying its very best.

After around the fifth spark, his skin starts to feel the heat building up, the healthy skin of his fingers able to feel the burn from his Quirk. Dabi stares down at his stitchworked palm, and it's then that he gets his brilliant idea on how to tame Y/N’s hair. 

He stops his pacing to stand behind her again, placing two warm hands on both her shoulders respectively, and catching her gaze in the vanity mirror.

“How much do you trust me?” He questions, earning him a quirked brow in return.

“Depends,” Y/N answers, skepticism shining through in her tone. “Why?”

“Just—I'm going to need you to trust me this once,” he says, removing one hand from her shoulders to ask for the brush.

Y/N’s eyes cycle between his hand, the brush, and his eyes, eventually signing herself over to fate with a pained sigh, and handing him the brush.

“Better not ruin my hair any further,” she mumbles, and Dabi snorts in return.

“Doon’t worry, Princess. Nothing I do can top the mess you made,” he teases, narrowly avoiding the hand that comes up to smack him.

“Enough chitchat. Get to it,” she orders, resuming her pouty pose from before.

“Mhm.”

And so, Dabi puts his plan into action, gripping the brush with his left hand and creating a peace sign with his right; he starts the familiar process that is straightening hair. Granted, it wasn't as familiar given he was doing it with his heated fingers instead of an actual straightener, but the motions were all still the same.

It takes a solid 30 seconds before Y/N starts to question Dabi’s actions.

“What are you doing back there?” She asks, trying to spot what he's doing in the mirror.

“Stop moving,” Dabi scolds off handedly, and Y/N stills with a frustrated huff.

He laughs at her childlike pout, moving onto the next section of hair. “If you keep squirming I might make a mistake,” he says a few seconds later, earning him a sideways glance from the mirror.

“Dabi. What are you doing?”

He has to fight back a chortle at her wariness, instead running the brush through the now-smooth section of hair.

“Don't worry your pretty little head,” he quips back, pleased when he earns another frustrated huff from Y/N.

He works in silence for just about 2 minutes before there's an audible gasp that has his heart doing a backflip straight out of his ass.

“Are you straightening my hair with your fucking Quirk!?” Y/N asks, affronted. Her eyes are practically bulging out of her head where she's caught sight of Dabi's fingers clamped down against her hair.

“Maybe,” he fires back, if only because he's never been able to give a straightforward answer in his life. Maybe also because he's a sadist and enjoys seeing the panic flashing through Y/N’s eyes.

“I swear to fucking—Dabi if you burn my hair off—” 

“Didn't I tell you to trust me?” He cuts her off, and she sputters weakly in protest. “It's been working so far, no?”

Y/N takes a moment to scan her head of hair, which now lays mostly flat against her scalp, save for the few sections Dabi still has left to straighten.

She pouts for the umpteenth time, unable to argue with the visible results. “Just don't burn what's left,” she mutters, wanting to get the last word.

Too bad for her, Dabi is a certified yapper, who always has something to say, and doesn't hesitate to say it, even when it's uncalled for. He always gets the last word.

“I won't burn your new job wig,” Dabi teases, referring back to his earlier statement about a clown profession.

“If you burn my hair, I will never steal you a chocolate bar ever again,” Y/N says, casting him a threatening glance in the mirror.

Dabi does not get the last word that time.

—

“All done,” Dabi says, running his hands through Y/N’s now-flat and straight hair one last time before allowing her to do it herself.

She makes a show of turning her head from side to side in the mirror, nodding slowly as she insepcts each part of her hair in close detail. Her contemplative hums fill the air, eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

“Hmm,” she hums a final time, straightening her back and flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her (e/c) gaze catches Dabi's in the mirror, and she has a large grin plastered on her face.

“Did I meet your demands, my lady?” Dabi questions with a teasing lilt in his voice, knowing Y/N wouldn't be mad at it this time around.

“You did,” she says, eyes softening at him with gratitude as she tilts her head to the side. “You even earned yourself a new title.”

Dabi chuckles. “Oh yeah? And what might that be?”

“You've upgraded from the term ‘favorite comrade’ to ‘personal portable hair straightener,’” Y/N says, eyes shining with mirth. “‘PPHS’ for short.”

He can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, falling back on the edge of the bed behind him when his knees grow weak from the laughter and having stood for so long. 

“I was hoping to reach the term ‘boyfriend’ before all that,” Dabi shoots back before he can stop himself, words leaving his lips and spilling the feelings he's kept to himself for so long.

Y/N doesn't reply with the expected shocked words, ‘You like me?’ Instead, the grin still painting her face seems to double in size and she's sitting on Dabi's lap before he even has the chance to blink.

“Maybe I can tweak the term a bit,” she says, grin turning playful. “‘PPB & HS.’ Personal portable boyfriend and hair straightener.”

His hands find their way around her waist and he pulls her in closer, gazing up at her ever so slightly and beckoning her down in return. 

“I can live with that,” he replies, eyes subconsciously fluttering shut and face drifting closer to hers, the actions of a starved man whose appetite can only be satiated by one particular thing.

“Good,” Y/N whispers before her lips connect with his in a searing, passionate kiss that shows just how similarly starved she's been. It's warm, and pleasant, and so good. It's everything so opposite of the villains they present themselves to be.

And Dabi hasn't been able to feel this satisfied since Toya died on Sekoto Peak. He's only ever wanted to burn everything that reminded him of who he used to be. He still wants to burn his family, and the society that brought the pain upon him.

He wants to burn heroes and everything they hold dear. Hell, he wants to burn it all. The world and anything in his path to lessen this raging hatred inside of him.

But with the lips moving hungrily against his, and the hands running needily along his chest, clawing at his shirt and grazing the staples that hold together his skin, Dabi knows that there is one thing; one person in this fucked up world that he will never want to burn.

[p0rk-guts]

He's finally done I think. WOAW! Radio demon time!!!

Okay time for comparison + breakdown rant ^ - ^ another SUPER long one I had a lot to say about this silly guy

ALRIGHT. So. Atp all that can be said has been said about Alastor but I'll gloss over it anyhow. Grossly historically inaccurate hair and clothing. Invisible deer theming. One of the main reasons he's got one of the most clowned on designs in the show is bc he's a pretty good representation of the worst it has to offer. He's absurdly red and has the waspiest waist in town. Also gotta zero in on the coat for a second bc I find it incredibly stupid that he went to that tailor bc of his coat being ripped and then left the shop with the exact same torn coat on oh goddd that felt like a complete joke who wrote this

Also his "redesign" was pointless. He stayed pretty much entirely the same except his colors got pinker and grosser and now he has this?? White trim on his lapels??? Even less 1930's accurate and it only serves to hurt the pallate in my eyes. It's the only spot of white on his entire design, it doesn't appear anywhere else so it throws it all off. And it's so bright. Is it supposed to be a focal point?? His tits????

Anyways onto my guy who I love so very deeply. I'm pretty sure sepia film was outdated by the 1930s but I gave him a palette inspired by it to emphasize how dated and stuck in old ways he is. Added blood red accents bc. Well. Cannibal murderer. Also bc I redid the sin colors so red is wrath and it seems like a fitting sin to pair him with.

After looking into 1930's men's fashion a tiny bit (thanks anon, this video was helpful!) and gave him a double breasted coat but wider and pointier so he looks a little less like just some normal guy and really emphasize how prideful and egotistical he is. "Ooo look at me I'm super big and imposing and powerfulll". I think it's a fun character trait of his. Definitely keeping it.

I liked him wearing gloves bc I feel like he wouldn't like getting his hands directly dirty and would always be covered when committing his murders. Maybe he's a germaphobe even. "I can excuse murder but I draw the line at dried blood on my skin". Also the gloves being white would contrast really well with blood so. Love that

I gave him a long tie to free him from the Vivziepop bow tie uniform and a fedora to add to the 1930's vibe and serve as something that can occasionally obscure his face in shadow. His glasses are also opaque and I imagine his eyes would rarely be shown if ever to make him seem more inhuman and off-putting, disconnecting him from personhood a bit. Wanted to add to that with his smiling mouth never opening and just being a static grin that can only occasionally widen or lessen, his voice cracking out of his "speaker" with fuzzy radio static. Seen multiple ppl use that idea and it always eats

I love Alastor's silly theatric nature (primarily in the pilot) and I'd probably keep it, but I'd add a layer of uncanny-ness to him where when he's not putting on his silly jovial facade, he gives off an unnerving vibe. Trying to appear approachable and charming and pleasant to lure people in before he's revealed to be less than human. Loveee thattt

I love Alastor being a deer. Predator becoming prey (animal) + "prey animal" lulling people into a false sense of security before striking. Love it. We should be CAPITALIZING ON IT❗So I gave him deer like legs, visible deer hooves, and more readable deer ears + the ham radio tower antenna antlers (sorry 4 calling them horns 💀)

Tried to make it a little more obvious that he's a mixed man of color by giving him dark wavy hair and the faintest hint of lip definition Viv uses in her style. I think it works. He's still not dark skinned tho

LASTLY the mic. Also not an original idea as I've seen tons of others turn it into a carbon mic but turned into a pentagram shape and I love the idea a lotttt so I joined the crew.

AND THAT DOES IT!!!! hope u like him as much as I do hehe. Just 1 supplemental doodle this time sorry :/ showing off how his face is probably obscured most of the time. He's. So hard to draw. I'm just bad at men but I'm tryinggggg guys

Alsoooo I've already finished the drawings for Niffty, Angel, and Husk! Once I've finished their breakdowns I'll add em right to the queue, and then I'll make a post with all of the main 6 together :3

[crimson-lair]

MBCC DATING SIM

Reasons to Date Cinnabar

Cinnabar was not expecting the letter she received from Chief, requesting her to go on a blind date. She was flustered and slightly nervous at the thought, not knowing what to do with it. But it's her duty to do as she told.

She showed up at the designated meeting spot, her hands trembling slightly as she shuffled through her pocket. She finally found the small, black envelope with her name written in bold letters on the front. With deep breaths, she slowly opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper, her heart racing with the anticipation of what was to come.

As she scanned the paper, her heart fluttered as she read the title: "Reasons to Date Cinnabar." She felt her face turn beet red, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She didn't need a mirror to know that her blush was visible from a mile away.

Reason No. 1:

You get a free horse-riding coach!

Things had been happening rapidly, Cinnabar didn't know how she got here with you. Maybe it's the will of the writer? The letter had mentioned that she can be a horse-riding coach even though she had never shown her riding skills since her arrest at MBCC, so she was confused as to how Chief knew about this.

But now that's not the problem. Cinnabar was panicking inside at the moment. Did you accidentally hurt yourself? Then why do you have a nosebleed even though she just simply offered her hand to you? She had never experienced anything like this before and was at a complete loss for words.

YOUR POV:

Reason No. 2:

A sense of safety that's off the charts. There is no need to worry about Corrupters anywhere you are.

"Rest assured, we're safe now."

Cinnabar was relieved to finally be out of sight of the Corruptors. She let out a deep breath, feeling the accumulated sweat dripping down her body. It was true that she had been doing this countless times as a guard, but the discomfort never fully subsided.

With a sigh, she turned around to check on you, and her concern quickly turned to shock as she saw blood streaming from your nose again.

Why are you having a nosebleed again?!

YOUR POV:

(Please imagine that she's oiled up sweating a lot.)

Reason No. 3:

Cinnabar would always know how to comfort you. If you ever cried, she would surely wipe your tears away with her gentle hands.

Cinnabar was always attentive and had a way of comforting people in distress, especially those she cared about. When she saw you crying, her first instinct was to comfort you, and she reached out to wipe away your tears with her gentle hands.

As she held your hand, she frowned slightly, a look of doubt on her face. "You're not going to have a nosebleed again, right?" she asked, her tone filled with concern. Your nosebleed had already caused her a lot of worry earlier, and she didn't want you to suffer any further.

.

.

.

[HIDDEN ROUTE: SHE'S YOURS NOW]

YOUR POV: Twitter Link

(No need to thank me 😉 but she's mine, stay away 🤺. I'm only showing off my husband 🧍‍♀️)

Image by PathtoNowhereEN on Twitter/X

My poor baby.. LMAO I WAS DYING FROM LAUGHING TOO MUCH BEFORE MAKING THIS

Sorry Cinnababe, you'll be always be my favorite. So you can't escape from the clown inside of me.

[lostfirefly]

I wanna kill something, I wanna destroy something

Hello, my dear reader! There was a bit of a lull in my blog because I was feeling emotionally down. Now I'm feeling a bit better and decided to post this fic. It was originally supposed to be a sketch, but as always things got out of control. English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist is here

Description: Catherine and Buggy are spending time before his imminent departure at their favorite bar. A nasty guy starts hitting on Cathie and our blue-haired hero finally finds the strength to stand up for his woman.

Warnings: Fun, fluff, a nasty guy. A small reference to one of my friends.

Words: 3063

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @yujo-nishimura, @emmiebugz-blog, @mydearlybeloathed , @cyberkittenduck , @buggy-samaaa , @thoraeth

The title is taken from "Start a fight" by CHOSTKID.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Geeez! Stop, cotton candy!" 

"No!" Smack. Smack. Smack.

"What's wrong with you, woman?!" Buggy tried to fight off her attacks of love.

"Nothing! I’m happy that we're spending time together!" Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on his nose several times. "Love." Smack. "Love." Smack. "Love, love, love you!" Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Stop attacking me and sit down and eat your cake already."

"Okay!" Smack.

Catherine sat back in her chair, took a sip of wine, and broke off a piece of cake. "Oh my god, this is delicious!" She rolled her eyes in pleasure. "Kiwi flavored! Try it!" She broke off a piece of cake and put it in his mouth. 

"Not bad." Buggy said, sipping his beer. "This is your third piece today, are you planning on bursting?" 

"No!" Catherine took another bite of cake. "Oh my god, this is delicious. Can I have another piece? And more wine?" 

Buggy chuckled and gestured for the waiter to repeat his order, sipping his beer. 

"I love our bar." Catherine swung her legs back and forth on her chair. "I never thought I'd meet the love of my life in such place." She stood up, came closer to Buggy and wrapped her arms around his neck. "When I was a kid, I always thought I'd meet my man in a park, like in silly romantic movies. And I certainly never thought the love of my life would want to leave me in the desert." Smack. 

"Fuck! I didn't leave you!!" Buggy placed his hands on her waist.

"But you wa— Why are laughing, clown?" 

"You're standing close to my Captain Buggy. So close that I could fall into pieces because of pleasure. Literally!" He giggled idiotically. 

"Seriously? Captain Buggy? You're disgusting. And no chop chop in this place. And your phone's ringing." Catherine pointed to his pocket. 

"No, that's the Captain is happy to see you." 

"Ew! I hate you. But I'm serious, Buggy, your phone's ringing." 

Buggy pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Damn, that's Mohji. Something must have happened at the circus." 

"No." Catherine looked upset. "Will you have to leave?"

"Sweetheart, I may be a total asshole sometimes, but I promised you I'd spend time with you. What the fuck are you calling me for?" Buggy barked into the phone. "What? Fuck, figure it out yourself. Call Сabaji. What? I can't fucking hear a thing. Cotton candy, I'll be right back." 

"Okay." Catherine's expression visibly saddened. 

"Hey, baby!" Buggy grabbed her chin, tilted her face up, and winked. 

Catherine squealed, gave him a few pecks on the cheek, and watched as Buggy grumbled out of the bar. She sat back down on her stool, ordered one more beer for him and continued eating cake. 

"God, what a fucking day!" A deep voice called from Catherine's left. "Hey, fish, get me a whiskey! And something to eat." 

Catherine sipped her wine calmly, noticing out of the corner of her eye the bartender placing the guy's order. 

"Tell me, my fish-friend. Where else can I find a who... Wait! Dont answer! Hello!" He turned to Catherine. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in this godforsaken hole?" The guy smirked and took a sip of his whiskey. "It's nice to see one pretty face among all this fish-brained shit. You must be an angel." 

"Oh my god!" Catherine rolled her eyes. "That shit only works on teenagers." She muttered under her breath. 

"What did you just say, doll?" 

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Catherine giggled and looked at the guy. He was a fit middle-aged man with dark hair and slightly hairy arms. "That's a disgusting and vulgar way to treat a girl."

"You wouldn't say that if you were alone with me. Every girl likes when I call her that. You should try to hear it too." He sipped more whiskey. "By the way, I got a room at a hotel not far from here." He grabbed Catherine's arm. "And I’m Flo, by the way." 

"Hey! Hands! I don't give a shit what your name is. Flo, Blo. Whatever." Catherine threw off his big hairy hand and pushed the chair away from him slightly. She looked around the bar and saw Buggy walking back. Catherine smiled broadly and held out her hand. "You’re back! I missed you!" 

"I told you I promised we'd spend tonight together." Buggy took her hand and sat down in a chair. "See, I keep my promise. Oh, beer!"

"Yeah, yours is almost finished, I ordered you another. Is everything okay?" Catherine stroked his hand with her fingers.

"Seriously? You're with him?" Flo’s drunken voice came from behind her. "Wow. Beauty and the beast."

"Fuck you!" Catherine barked and looked at the distraught Buggy. "Don't pay attention to him. He’s just piece of shit. Let's not ruin the evening. So? Is my the most handsome man in the world doing okay at his circus?"

"At the circus?" Flo laughed loudly. "Really? Although why am I wondering. Hey man, did you come straight from the show? Why are you wearing makeup?"

"Shut up!" Catherine barked again.

"Hey dude, knock it off." The fish bartender said sternly, wiping down the table. "We don't encourage that sort of thing here. This is a decent establishment." 

"Thanks, Morgan!!" Catherine smiled at the bartender.

"Would you like some more wine, Miss Catherine?" Morgan asked, taking out a bottle of her favorite wine, placing Buggy's previous order on the table.

"Yes, please!" Catherine nodded and shifted her gaze at Buggy. "So everything's okay?" She squeezed his hand tightly.

"Yeah. My crew is packing for a tour and they couldn't find a couple pins." Buggy looked over Catherine's shoulder at the guy over there.

"Hey! My sweet clown." Catherine looked in his eyes. "Hi!" She smiled at him. 

"Hi!"

"No way! I don't understand how that jerk like you found a girl like her." Flo slammed his hands on the counter. "It's unfair!"

"Maybe it was because he was acting like a total jerk?" Catherine hissed through the teeth. 

"Oh, you're a filly with attitude." Flo snapped his fingers. "I like that!" 

"Look," Catherine looked at him over her shoulder, "Grab your beer, your fucking snacks, and get out of here. I'm sure there are plenty of girls in this bar who love jerks like you."

"No!! I can't let such a beautiful girl sit with such an ugly man like him." Flo sipped the whiskey straight from his throat and stood up from his chair

The tension in the air was palpable as the guy's grip tightened around Catherine's arm, pulling her closer with an unsettling confidence. A cruel smirk spread across his face, and Buggy's heart sank as he watched his worst fears unfold before his eyes. 

"You know, clown, I think she will stay with me! You can go home or to the circus or wherever you go." The taunt dripped with a malicious undertone, emphasizing the strength he believed he wielded in that moment.  

Flo jerked Catherine's hand sharply and pulled her towards him by force.

"Hey!" Catherine's surprise was evident, her hand slipping from Buggy's grasp like sand through fingers, and in that instant, time seemed to freeze. 

Buggy's mind raced, consumed by a whirlwind of emotions - fear, anger, and despair. This was the scenario he had dreaded for months, playing it out repeatedly in the confines of his thoughts, where he was always the one left in the shadows, rejected and alone. The thought of losing Catherine ignited a primal instinct within him, a strong urge to protect what was his, but he felt paralyzed, caught between the urge to retaliate and the chilling reality of the situation.

He took a deep breath, desperately searching for the words that could reclaim the moment, to assert his presence and keep her safe. Yet, all he could hear was the mocking laughter of the guy who was now too close for comfort, the connection they shared crumbling under the weight of his intimidation. Buggy knew he had to act, to overcome the hopelessness that threatened to engulf him, but as he gazed into Catherine's startled eyes, he realized he was standing on the precipice of the very nightmare he feared most.

"Hey! Jackass! Let her go!" Buggy tried to say it as confidently as possible.

"What?" Flo asked.

"I said. Let. Her. Go." 

"Buggy. No!" Catherine said quietly. 

"Buggy. No!" Flo mimicked her. "Seriously? The girl is protecting you? Who are you?" Flo narrowed his eyes. "Her protector? Relax! We're just having fun."

"I don't think the girl like this kind of fun." Buggy put his hand on the counter and took two small steps forward. He quickly took Catherine by the shoulder with one hand and began pulling her toward him.

"Let me go, fucking asshole!" Catherine fought Flo off and quickly ran back to Buggy. "What a freak." She noticed how Buggy tensed with his whole body. "Oh gods, I know what you want to do. No chop chop in front of him, please. I'm going to call the hostess now, okay?" 

"Are you okay?" Buggy wrapped his arm around her back, trying to protect her. 

"Yeah. I was a little scared, but I'm okay." Catherine stood on her tiptoes, looking for the hostess. "Where’s he?" 

"Look at this. The princess and the clown. Yay!!" Flo clapped his hands. "God, it's funny to watch the clown defend his woman. You're so funny, bro. No way. This girl deserves a real man and this man is going to take her away from you, freak!" Flo quickly took a sip of whiskey, stood up and reached for Catherine.

Buggy stood frozen, a whirlwind of confusion engulfing him. He couldn't pinpoint the source of his anger or fear, but his instincts kicked in, reacting before he fully comprehended his feelings. In a spontaneous burst of adrenaline, Buggy detached his wrist and struck the man in front of him squarely in the face. The moment felt both surreal and necessary, a strange but powerful urge to protect something precious. 

Catherine's worried gaze pierced through the chaos, pulling Buggy back to reality. "No! Why did you do that?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with concern. 

In that moment, her emotions shifted Buggy, grounding him amidst the storm of his own mind. 

Buggy grabbed Flo by the shirt and looked the guy intently in the eyes. "Don't even dare touch her!"  He hissed through his teeth. "No one will take her away from me. No one! Understand?! Nod at me." 

Flo stared at Buggy, clearly not expecting this turn of events. He nodded slowly and Buggy threw him hard onto the floor.

"Buggy. Come here." As Catherine enveloped him in a warm embrace, he could feel the tenderness radiating from her, soothing the turmoil within. "Calm down, please. I’m here. See? I’m with you. No one is taking me away from you," she whispered, her breath brushing against his ear in a gentle reassurance.

Time seemed to freeze as Catherine held Buggy tightly, her heartbeat mirroring his own. Slowly, he began to focus on her presence, the comforting weight of her arms around him helping to ease the chaos swirling inside. With each passing moment, he inhaled deeply, feeling his breathing steady as he surrendered to her solace. 

The rage and fear that had propelled him into action began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of safety in her embrace. In that cocoon of warmth, Buggy realized that no matter what external forces threatened him, Catherine was his anchor, a reminder that he wasn't alone in the storm.

"What happened?" Buggy asked, slowly coming to his senses as the haze of confusion began to lift. The adrenaline still buzzed in his veins, but the chaotic scene around him came into focus. 

Catherine stood nearby, a mix of amusement and disbelief lighting her eyes. "You just punched that guy in the face," she replied, her laughter ringing out like a chime in the tense air. It was a surreal moment, one that seemed to hang in time, where the concept of normalcy faded, eclipsed by the absurdity of the situation. "No one has ever fought over me before," Catherine added with a smirk, clearly reveling in the unexpected drama. "My hero!"

Heat rushed to his cheeks as Flo, still reeling from the blow, began to push himself off the floor. "Hey, clown. What’s your problem?!" he spat, a mixture of anger and embarrassment etching his features. The scornful remark was laced with an insipid bravado that only seemed to fuel the fire. "I was kidding," Flo continued, a desperate attempt to regain his footing in this volatile exchange. "If you have self-esteem issues, don’t get into relationships with chicks like that red-haired beauty." There was a palpable tension that wrapped around them like a tightening noose, words thrown like daggers in this improvised conflict.

But before Flo could even finish his thought, Catherine exploded with energy. 

"That’s it!" she shouted, spinning on her feet with an explosive grace. In a swift, decisive motion, Catherine took two powerful steps forward and landed a kick right where it would hurt most - right in the crotch. Flo's bravado evaporated immediately, replaced by a look of sheer shock and agony as he crumpled back down to the floor. Catherine stood tall, a victorious glint in her eye, her posture radiating a fierce protectiveness. 

"You both are crazy!!" Flo cried. 

"I hate men like him." Catherine walked back to Buggy and hugged him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Buggy sat down on the chair while Catherine hugged him tightly.

"My blue-haired hero." She smiled at him, stroking his hair. "Oh my god, you were so cool. So mean and sexy." Catherine tried to somehow bring a smile to his face. 

"I’m not in the mood, cotton candy." Buggy exhaled. "You know.. Let's go home. I don't want to be here." 

"You sure?" Catherine asked quietly, stroking his shoulder. "Were you upset by what that guy said? He's just a piece of s–." 

"Catherine! Please!"  

"Okay. Okay. Let's go home." She watched as Buggy reached into his pocket for money. "No, no! I'll pay." She took the money out of her bag and gave it to the bartender. "Yeah. Let's go home. We have beer and chips. We'll buy your favorite hot dogs and order pizza. Okay?" She took his hand and pulled him gently along. "Besides, you're leaving in a couple of days, we'll be alone until you leave. Right?"

"Sorry, cotton candy." Buggy said quietly. 

"You’re such a fool. For what? For standing up for me? You're my hero, Buggy!" Catherine slung her bag over her shoulder, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the nose. "I love you, my handsome man." 

"Yeah." Buggy looked upset. 

He couldn't help but think that people would always assume the worst about their relationship. The beautiful Catherine, with her radiant smile, and here he was, a man with a big red nose and clown's makeup. Buggy often imagined their whispers and furtive glances, the lingering judgment nestled in the hearts of those who looked upon them. It pained him to realize that the world seemed unable to see beyond the superficial, branding their love as a mismatch, a curiosity to gawk at. The truth was, Buggy loved Catherine deeply, and in his eyes, that love eclipsed any physical disparity. But would the world ever see it that way?

"Hey. Are you with me?" Catherine's soft voice pulled Buggy out of his thoughts. She understood perfectly why he wanted to go home. "Okay, let's go." She kissed him on the nose, took his hand and was about to led Buggy to the exit.

"No, no! Wait!" The hostess stopped them. "Sorry. You're not going anywhere. That guy asked me to call the cops." He pointed at Flo. 

"What? Why?" Catherine squealed. "He started it." She looked at Flo who was sitting down on a chair, wiping his bloody nose. "He started hitting on me. And my boyfriend stood up for me." 

"Miss, I’m sorry. The cops will come and sort it out." 

"Call your... Barlong. Why is he never here?" Catherine couldn't stop being indignant. "Does he not give a damn about his establishment?"

"He's Arlong, miss." The hostess chuckled and gestured to the chairs. "I think everything will be fine. Wait for the cops, please."

"Fuck!" Catherine threw her bag on the chair.

"Hey! To cheer you up! At my expense, miss!" Morgan set two glasses of whiskey on the table.

"Thank you! You're always so kind to us, Mo." Catherine smiled at him and held one glass to Buggy. "Here, my love."

As Catherine hugged Buggy tightly, her heart raced with a mix of pride and worry.

"You’re my hero," she whispered repeatedly, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"Come on, cotton candy. This isn't my first time. Don't worry." Buggy chuckled and took a sip of whiskey.

"I'm just afraid that this idiot will say something unnecessary and you will be sent somewhere from where I won't be able to get you out." Catherine buried her face into his hair. "I love you so, so much."

"Everything will be fine." Buggy tried to calm her down, taking her hand. "Just a drunken brawl. I've gotten out of those with a snap of my fingers."

"Okay." Catherine exhaled.

The sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second, and as the police finally arrived, they quickly began assessing the scene. Catherine's words poured out in a rush as she recounted the events leading up to this moment, detailing the chaos and uncertainty that had unfolded. However, despite her fervent explanations, the officers maintained their professionalism, writing up a report that felt like a dismissal of her emotions.

When they gently ushered Buggy and Flo into the car, Catherine's heart sank, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

"Damn it!" she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with anger and disbelief. It was hard to accept that the man she loved more than anything in the world was now being taken away, as if they were somehow at fault for the situation. But even as her mind swirled with thoughts of injustice, a small flicker of anticipation sparked within her.

"At least I’ll get to see Miss August," Catherine chuckled.

[kamimarroco]

It's ugly, I know, but I like it

As always, lots of shit going on here

TW: Torture, manipulation, mention of sex, blood, screams and pain, and a lot of suffering for Ren (I'm sorry Ren fans 😺)

“I'm sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry!” Ren's apologies fell on deaf ears, your hand lashing his fragile skin even more, each cut deeper than the other, showing your previously well-hidden cruelty.

You hadn't even hurt him that much and he was already shaking badly, tears streaming down his cheeks. It was beautiful to watch how someone so visibly confident became a noisy, screaming mess of pain. So fragile, so weak, so soft.

And also stupid, pathetic, disgusting.

What did he really expect when you finally broke free? That you would be a sweet little sheep who would treat him with love and affection? After everything he did to you??

Bullshit. Of course you would go for physical revenge. Not just physical, but emotional, symbolic, psychological.

You would make him bleed, scream, writhe, beg, make him use all of his voice until there was nothing left.

“Come on, Ren! I'm pretty sure you're enjoying our… bonding moment!” Your awfully sweet and energetic voice gave him goosebumps, his tail and ears becoming visibly bristled, wondering how you could be enjoying it so much. You are hurting him, making him suffer, you are a monster!

“Please, please... Tell me this is a joke, tell me this is all a joke” His nervous laughter made him seem even more desperate. “You... you weren't like that before, I know that! You're just confusing things here”

Oh poor, simple Ren. Still trying to persuade you to stop torturing, still trying to manipulate you even though he's tied up. 

But that's how things should be, that's how they should have been from the beginning. You on one side, him on the other. And that's it, simple as that. 

You didn't force yourself to be an obedient little girl only to be beaten and tortured every time.You didn't force yourself to cook just to keep him satisfied and well fed. You didn't force yourself to allow his advances just to be a blow-up doll he could fuck to his heart's content.

No no no, everything was just an act, a pretense, a theater. You would NEVER let someone treat you like that without an ulterior motive.

He fell like a duckling, enchanted by your charms, admired by your obedience and how you made him feel good and superior. You inflated his ego until he was relaxed enough to allow you an attack, a weakness, an opportunity to finally turn the tables.

Even though you acted silly most of the time, you knew you couldn't let your mask fall, not until you had the power of the situation, not until he was in the palm of your hand. Like a toy, like an object, like a little scared fox. 

“Coward. You act so powerful and superior when you're the one in control, but all it takes is a few cuts from a hunting knife for you to act docile and sweet” Your sharp tongue didn't hesitate to say it to his face, to show him how pathetic he's being right now. 

And you had to confess that you were deeply disappointed. You at least expected him to curse you at the top of his lungs, call you a bitch for playing with him, for cheating and betraying his trust, maintain the pride and dignity you thought he still had. 

Instead, all you got was a worthless coward who will do anything to please you, will do anything to stop you from torturing him further.

Tsk, what a pathetic sight.

But also cute, you can't lie. Seeing him all broken, beaten, tortured and bloody gives your heart a euphoria that words could never describe. A feeling that most people would despise for the simple fact that you feel it when hurting a small tethered fox. 

It's an ugly, corrosive and toxic feeling that consumes the depths of your soul, fills your brain with genuine happiness and makes you smile from ear to ear, like some kind of clown who made a joke and can't stop smiling. 

You have never felt so alive as you do now, you have never felt so full of joy. 

You really have to thank him. Without it, you would probably be living a mediocre life, trying to fit into society, paying bills and often going to the doctor just to make sure your health was in order.

A normal life, a peaceful and good life. With normal problems, normal friendships, normal relationships. Nothing too deep, just reasonable as far as possible. Which is good, you can't deny, and most people are fine with just that. But not you.

As you decorated him with the last cuts and bruises, he was already exhausted. Too weak to scream, too weak to continue debating, and too weak to even speak. You fucked him the way you wanted.

And yet, despite your cruelty, you lifted his chin to make him look directly at you, your gaze calm and gentle, very different from how it was before. Both of your hands cupped his face, your lips approaching his to give him a sweet, loving and peaceful kiss. You tasted the blood in his mouth, the metallic taste adding more to the air of romance of the moment. 

Romance? You don't know if that's the word you're looking for, but it kind of fits. Yes, romance. A sick, intense, hot and painful romance, for both of you. Both of you dying, bleeding and beating yourselves to death for the sheer pleasure of it.

A strange and twisted way to connect, but still a way. And you like it, he likes it. You're sure of it, despite the shrill screams and tears he lets out during the process. 

You break away from the kiss, his eyes fixed on yours as you do so, half closed, tired, but now full of desire. He immediately misses the warmth of your lips on his, forcing himself to move forward to try to have some more of it, in vain. He can't do much when he's tied up like that. 

“Why? Why did you pull away?” He asks desperately, his trembling figure wishing the moment had at least lasted a little longer. You feel like he's about to burst into tears again.

“That's not how you do it, Ren" You put your thumb on his lips, playing with the skin there. “How do you ask, huh?”

“... Please. Please, kiss me again" His weak voice resonates through your mind, those mere words being enough to make you melt. 

That's it, you think he's suffered enough. 

“That's a good boy" You bring your mouth closer once again, being surprised to see him stick out his tongue, already waiting for you. A French kiss? He's certainly bolder now.

Maybe hurting him gave you a promising result. 

[carlos55edits]

Toxic Affair

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: Smut

Last Story: Ferrari Heat

PLEASE DO NOT TAKE MY STORIES AND PLAGIARIZE THEM OR REPOST THEM! THANKS! ❤️__________________________

You are watching the Silverstone Grand Prix in the Ferrari garage as you cheer on your boyfriend, Charles Leclerc. You felt let down when they didn’t pit Charles for soft tires. You shook your head at the stupid strategy that they delt him. Ferrari has been making horrible strategy calls for the past few races and it has been making the team look like clowns.

Your ex, Carlos Sainz crosses the finish line first, winning his first Grand Prix. Even though you were pissed at Ferrari’s fuck ups, you were happy that somebody from the team has won. Even though you hate his fucking guts.

You and Carlos dated a couple of years ago, and it was all unicorns and rainbows until it wasn’t. You remember those nights turn into pure hell. Arguments would seem like the normal routine every night. Sleepless and lonely nights in your own house even though he was sleeping in the bed beside you. Some nights you slept in the guest bedroom because you couldn’t stand being in the same room as him.

Charles was the only one that was there for you when he saw that something was going on between you and Carlos. He tried to make you smile. He took you out to take your mind off the hurt that Carlos had caused. That friendship turned into something more. Now, you and Charles have been dating for almost a year.

Even though you and Charles’ relationship is great, part of your heart still belonged to Carlos and for that you hated him. You hated that he was now Charles’ teammate. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, but the Ferrari paddock is not that big. Carlos would stare at you and then you would stare back at him, rolling your eyes. You even would make-out with Charles in front of Carlos, to make him jealous. Carlos would just cross his arms and roll his eyes.

Some days you both would make sly remarks to each other. But one thing you have learned is that you are not going to let Carlos take you to a place to make you look like the crazy person in front of the people in the paddock.

But for Silverstone, you have decided to leave the past in the past and congratulate Carlos on his first win. After the paddock clears from the media press and fans, you make your way to Carlos’ room in the Ferrari motorhome. You take a deep breath before knocking on the door. Next thing you knew, you were standing in front of a shirtless Carlos in his room, his shorts riding very low on his waist, his v-line visible. You must admit, your hands were itching to touch his defined abs.

“Well look who decided to knock on my door. I’m surprised to see you standing here.” Carlos says while standing with his arms crossed in front of you.

“Don’t be an ass Carlos. I just came here to say congratulations on your win.” You said matching his stance by crossing your arms.

“I appreciate you being nice...for once. I can’t remember the last time you talked to me without venom in your voice.” Carlos says uncrossing his arms, walking over to grab his water bottle off his table, taking a sip.

“I should have never come here to congratulate you on your win. I should have remained the sour bitch that you turned me to be.”

“In my book, you have always been a bitch.” Carlos sits his water back on the table behind him. He turns back around to your hand slapping him across his face. Carlos grabbed your wrist and push you against the wall.

“Let fucking go of me! I fucking hate you! You screamed at him trying to free your wrist from his hands.

“If you hated me so much, you wouldn’t be here right now! I know you better than you know yourself!” Carlos said looking into your eyes, dropping your wrist from his hands. He took this chance of you and him being so close to lean in and kiss your lips. You wanted to push him away. It was the satisfaction of getting the drug that you have been missing.

You finally gained the strength to push him away. Carlos stands there wondering what your next move is going to be. This was the chance for you to walk out of the room. Your mind was swirling with thoughts. Your mind settled on one thing.

You push Carlos to where the back of his legs hit the end of the couch, making him sit down in front of you. Climbing on his lap, you kiss him roughly, your hands playing in his hair. You have missed the way his hair felt between your fingers. From lightly stroking it when watching television, to pulling it every night.

His hand moves up your shirt, feeling your bare skin under his touch. He takes your shirt off and kisses your stomach as you take off your bra and throw it somewhere in the room. Carlos moves his kisses up to your breast, taking a nipple in his mouth while he uses one of his hands to massage the other one. You lean your head back while stroking his hair.

You feel his cock getting hard under you. You grind against him, getting a moan erupting from his mouth.

You grab a fist full of his hair, pulling it to where he is looking up at you. You lean down to kiss him on his lips, slipping your tongue into your mouth, you both fighting for dominance. Carlos uses this time to slip his hand under your skirt to feel how wet you are. He plays with your clit, earning a moan that escaped from your mouth.

“For someone who hates me so much, you sure are wet for me babygirl. You missed me, hm? Carlos whispered in your ear. He slips two of his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out slowly. You lean your forehead against his, breathing heavy, holding on to his shoulders.

“Fuck Carlos. Your fingers feel so good inside me.” You whispered to him.

Carlos takes his fingers out of you and puts them up to his lips, licking your juices from his fingers.

“Mmm. You still taste so sweet baby. I have been missing the taste of you on my tongue.” Carlos says.

“I want to feel you inside me. Please fuck me.” You begged, grinding on him even more. You reached underneath you, pulling his cock out of his shorts. You stroke him in your hand before lifting up and sitting on his cock slowly. You both let out a breathy moan.

“Fuck babygirl. You are still so tight for me.” Carlos says between his clenched teeth. He places his hands on your hips helping you move up and down, setting the pace.

You grab onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his sweaty skin. You lean your head back with your eyes closed. The feeling of Carlos being inside you is something that you have truly missed. Yes, sex with Charles is good but sex with Carlos speaks to your soul. It feels as if everything is moving in slow motion. You never want this moment to end.

“Right there Carlos! You are going to make me cum.” You say in between moans.

“That’s right baby. Come on my cock.” Carlos says thrusting faster inside of you. He leans his head back, close to the edge.

“Fuck Carlos! I cumming” Fuuuuck!” You whispered, clenching around him. Your climax making your legs shake. The euphoria felt like pure bliss. Your world has been rocked and everything is spinning.

“Fuck baby! That’s it! Yes! I’m cumming babygirl. Carlos hugs you closer to him, taking one final deep thrust and cumming inside you. You feel him fill you up.

You both take a moment to catch your breath. You didn’t want to move or wanted this moment to end.

“Fuck I have missed you so much.” Carlos whispered in your ear. He pulls you away from him and kisses your lips. He lifts you up and sits you back on the couch to go get something to clean you up with. Once he cleans you up, he throws the towel in a basket beside his closet.

“I still hate you Carlos.” You say as you look at him and smile. You both smirked at each other.

“You wasn’t saying that when you were cumming on my di-…”Carlos says while handing you your shirt and bra.

“Yeah yeah! We will not be mentioning this to anybody. Do you understand me?” You say as you snatched your belongings from him, putting them on.

“It’s our little secret” He smiles at you.

You get up from his couch and walk over to the door of his room, sprucing yourself up. Before you leave, you wanted Carlos to know one thing.

“This is never happening again Sainz.” You say looking over your shoulder.

“Then why do I have a feeling that it will.” He says while getting off of the couch and and walking towards you, standing closely behind you.

“In you dreams hun”. You walked out of the room shutting the door behind you, knowing damn well you are not going to be able to resist the SMOOTH OPERATOR.

[virgolarity]

Face to FACE by JIMIN; a psychoanalytic spiral:

A mysterious paragraph, titled “Circle of Resonance” appeared on BTS's official website, minutes before the announcement of Jimin’s solo debut project titled ‘FACE’ containing six tracks that range from trap-soul, a lush synth-laden centerpiece, a vulnerable ballad to an eerie anthem.

“Face-off” cleverly incorporates the circus clown tune as a means to convey the dumbfoundedness that comes after broken trust—progressing into frustration and loathing-escapism; Jimin's vocals majorly emphasize the theme!

“Dive” is a sensory synthesis into Jimin’s everyday life, exposed yet lost and vacant.

“Like Crazy” yearning looms over the intoxicating centerpiece of this record; escapism is seductive, but self-awareness is alert.

On “Alone” the reality has sinked in but it’s become a looping blur of constant despair, like Jimin’s voice when he says the word ‘fall’ it relapses; a familiar story that resonates.

“Set Me Free Pt.2” is conjunction of resonance—the shadow is faced and embraced; it starts with a swarm of wailers eerily boiling over the melody, then the beat drop interrupts in revolt—a battle for supremacy grows throughout the song. with Jimin hailing for power, it goes on until the second verse, when his voice starts to weaken the voices, eventually they fade away in one last breath pointing him to the sky as the successor and then suddenly there’s ease, a darkly euphoric catharsis has taken place.

Choreography;

Jimin’s description of FACE is ‘to confront’ and face his innermost self and this album interconnected like waves resonating from the depths to the shore —and they’re the most visible in ‘Like Crazy’ choreography; at the beginning the female dancers are closer to Jimin resembling the inner divine feminine and the male are far, resembling masculinity and the persona. as they spread in the shape of a butterfly, the symbol of transformation, it suggests the desire to embrace both the feminine and the masculine, in the following movements the male chase after Jimin like a shadow and try to hold him back before the female dancers pull and surround him like a whirlwind—signaling the struggles that come with facing changes, then they tiptoe towards the male, this time dancing in sync with them and the female join them as they dance in unison, a sign of embracing each side of oneself, they form into a shape embracing Jimin in a ‘breath of fresh air’ movement and this time a male dancer holds him from falling; the next movement Jimin face’s his divine feminine and dance in parallel to each other before she hides again (his reflection is still not fully embraced) in the next movement while the lyrics say “I rather be lost in the lights” Jimin dances with the male dancers while covering his eyes and the female dancers are hidden behind— barely dancing, a sign of retreat suggesting escapist behavior from facing the fear of being vulnerable and the final movement they dance in unison again but the male dancers try to cage the female dancers; yet this time they break free; he’s now free.

FACE is riddled with duality; each track is interconnected and constructed like a heartbreak story and a moment of self-reflection— it’s vague yet intimately insightful, a record were each perception has relevance in it's unwavering circle of resonance.

[yujo-nishimura]

The Escape - Part 10

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Thank you all for reading and keeping up with this very long story. Nanowrimo keeps me inspired. <3

After some days of sailing and you ignoring the captain as much as you can to his anger, you all reach Loguetown. The city is clearly visible from the horizon as you reach nearer and the navigator suggests setting anchor on the other side of the island, hidden between some cliffs. This strategic maneuver aims to evade the watchful gaze of the marines, who are known to keep a close eye on any pirate vessels that dare venture into these waters. 

By noon the ship of the Buggy pirates has set anchor, the crew is excited to get on land and so are you, having finally a way to break free and do what you intended to do from the beginning - continue your journey alone. 

As you prepare to go on land, you take your sword with you and a small piece of fabric, which can be used as a bag if bound around your hips. As you leave your quarter and get on deck, you can see Buggy, Cabaji and Mohji sitting together, probably planning what to purchase and how to get through the town without being caught by the marines. 

“Where are you going, Y/n?”Buggy yells at you, as you grab a rope, ready to leave the deck. 

“On land, to the town. Thanks for the lift, but now I need to continue without you guys..” 

Before you can say anything else Buggy has detached two of his hands, one of them jerking the rope from your hand, the other one pulling you by your hair back to him - you scream in pain and irritation. 

“Have you again forgotten who your captain is? You stay with us. You are part of our land team and you will help us find the damn straw hat and acquire provision before we set sail.” 

He finally lets go of your hair and you sigh in relief. There are tears in your eyes, but you try not to cry in front of him again. Mohji looks at you with a sad expression. You realize that you also should have known better - this clown would not let you go when you were in eyesight. 

“If I help you find Luffy, will you let me go?” 

In a moment of clarity you realize that you cannot win against Buggys demanding behavior, but you can maybe offer him at least a deal. His eyes widened again. 

“Well, that actually sounds like a deal.. you could be our bait since he knows you so well..” 

“Used to know”, you correct him, reminding him that the last time you met Luffy was 10 years ago. 

“He seems like someone who will remember his childhood friends. We have a deal…” 

Buggys expression changes again, his eyes fixated on you, an evil grin around his lips. 

“You find him for us and you also help us kill him…” 

“I will only find him for you. He is my friend, I have no business with your revenge towards him.” 

“Then you got yourself no deal, it's either full loyalty to your Captain Buggy or nothing…” 

You feel how you clench your fist, your right hand wandering to your sword. No longer willing to tolerate the absurdity and tyranny of your self-proclaimed captain, you find yourself on the edge of taking action. Since you have entered this ship he has been so irritating towards you that you really feel like you want to kill this clown any minute now.

“If you do not let me go, then I will go without your approval!”, you yell and draw your sword. Cabaji, sensing the gravity of the situation, springs to his feet and draws his own sword, mirroring your display of rebellion. His eyes meet yours, a mixture of concern and determination to protect Buggy. Mohji just steps back, his face frozen in fearsome anticipation. 

Buggy, still sitting on the deck, starts laughing. 

“I can see you got yourself a sword. Your will power is adorable, Y/n!”

Now he slowly stands up, his posture right in front of you makes you shiver. He doesn't even draw his weapons. He just walks towards you, with a swift motion of his hands, he pushes the blade of your sword down, grabbing you by the chin with his other hand. 

A sharp breath escapes your lips as Buggy leans in, his face coming dangerously close to yours. A sense of vulnerability engulfs you, your arms growing weak as you feel utterly helpless in his presence. Buggy, gripping your chin firmly, compels you to meet his gaze, his watery green eyes locking with yours. A disconcerting smile plays upon his lips, adding to the unsettling nature of the moment.

Buggy's other hand, surprisingly gentle, begins to stroke your hand that grips the sword. The contrast between his forceful hold on your chin and the softness of his touch leaves you taken aback.

He leans closer to your ear and whispers: “Didn't I tell you to stop acting so shamelessly? Do you think I am a pirate who forgives mutiny?” 

Another shiver is going down your spine, his body so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating from it. 

In his eyes, unmistakable desire flickers once more, mirroring the fire that ignites within you.

As your gaze locks with his, a surge of longing washes over you, compelling you to reach out and seize his face, bridging the gap between you two. The temptation to taste the sweetness of his lips becomes almost overwhelming.

A sudden realization dawns upon him, his awareness sharpening to your unspoken desire and vulnerability. In the past few days, you had deliberately kept your distance, but now, your longing is laid bare, reflected in the depths of your eyes. His conviction of having finally conquered you becomes evident, etching a triumphant smile across his face. With a voice tinged with a rough, husky quality, he utters words that hang weightily in the air: "That's it..."

A sense of devastation washes over you as he abruptly releases his hold on you, breaking the fragile connection that had momentarily formed. He orders Cabaji to tie you to the main mast. Flabbergasted by your own emotions and his cruelty, you scream and kick; but Cabaji being stronger than you, holds you tight in his grip. Mohji is still frozen in fear and you yell at him, asking for help. Outraged about your attempts to escape, Cabaji gives you a blow against your face, the pain numbs you for a second and he has enough time to tie you with a rope to the mast. 

Amidst the chaos, Buggy's laughter vibrates in your ears, a cruel soundtrack to the unfolding events. His twisted amusement laces his words as he prepares to leave the boat and you.

"I don't want the most valuable crew member on board to leave us too soon!"

[opheliajupiter99]

Enodi: The Faceless Clown - Interview for the Carnivale (Sad/Lovecraft tw)

It was a rainy night at the Carnivale, a few scattered carnies busy tarping the rigged games so they wouldn't short-circuit, while others still made sure the tents were tied tight, so water wouldn't leak through. They didn't speak much, or even look at each other, focused on their work, carrying with them a downtrodden sort of air.

They were hiring new acts at the Carnivale, but with the poor weather, the turnout wasn't expected to be high; in fact, only two people had shown up so far. A halfling with a quite pathetic juggling act, and an elven woman with a flute performance; the performance was decent, but not better than the little fellow that played the ocarina, so she was turned down regardless.

Mr. Lecroux walked past the carnies, who kept their heads down as he passed, and headed to his own personal tent, the most lavish of the bunch of course, assuming no more acts would pass through. Just as he was about to pass through the curtain, he passed, turning his head as he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

Half of a mask, pearly white in color, the dim torchlight of the Carnivale highlighting it, the mouth of the mask pulled down into a frown, and a wide, yellowed eye staring out from the mask's depths. Lecroux just stood there for a moment, staring at the sight, before the figure inched a bit closer, his features becoming more clear.

It was a short, skinny elven man of dark skin, long dark hair trailing halfway down his back, wearing jester-like attire tied akin to a robe, and of course, his most notable feature, the Comedy/Tragedy mask he wore, the other half now visible, a baby blue with its mouth turned upwards into a smile.

"Am....I-I late?" The elf croaked, his voice hoarse and ragged, as if he either chainsmoked or was deathly ill. Lecroux continued to stare for a moment, looking the man up and down. After a moment, he gently nodded, eyes slightly narrowed. "Nah...nah, ya ain't late. Come right in, fella." He said, waving him in.

The pair entered Kremy's tent. It was purple and green in coloration, its 'ceiling' reaching up into the sky, with a silken purple and green bed off to the one side and a desk at another, with two chairs on either side; one just as lavish as everything else, and the other a simple, cracked wooden chair, fittingly summing up the divide between ringmaster and carnie.

The elf sat down at the appropriate chair in silence, the ringmaster quickly sitting across from him, interlocking his clawed fingers together as he leaned against the desk. Sitting this close to him, he began to notice an odor, but decided to ignore it - for now, anyways.

"So, fella, first things first; what's ya name?"

"Enodi."

"Just Enodi? No last name?"

The elf shook his head, those sickly yellowed eyes never leaving the ringmaster.

"Uh, right...well, whattya do then Enodi?"

A quick, manic giggle echoed out from the depths of the mask, the elf's tone quickly turning from soft to elated. "I m-make people laugh! I sing, a-and I dance - t-tell tales, and jest, to make the children giggle!" He said, producing another giggle of his own, his eyes scrunching up slightly to indicate he was smiling under the mask.

"Aaaah, right, a clown yeah? Guess I shoulda figured with that getup...welp, we -did- just free up a slot on our clown act.." He hummed, clacking his claws together in thought. He looked the man over once more, taking note of the lute upon his back, before his eyes naturally focused back on the mask.

It was quite hard to ignore, completely covering the man's features beyond his eyes. Lecroux didn't like masks much; a lot of tells of a person's emotions, of their lies, laid in their faces. Part of it was body language of course, but a performer could easily hide those kinds of hints.

"What's with the mask?" He inquired finally, the question leading the elf's eyes to rise from the desk back to the ringmaster.

"It's my face."

Kremy blinked, tilting his head. "Yeah yeah, I get it, it's part of ya thing, but I mean like, ya wear it all the time or-"

Enodi shook his head. "No, I mean it's my face. I-I need it." His voice cracked slightly at the last part, almost as if in a pleading fashion. Kremy rose a metaphorical brow, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't mean to offend, fella, I'm just askin' a question."

With a hum, the little bard shrugged. "Okay." He said simply, then reached up to grasp at the clasps behind his head, which held the mask in place.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm showing y-you why I n-need it."

With a soft click, the mask slid from the elf's face, a revolting squelching noise following the motion. Kremy's eyes widened immediately, wide jaw falling slightly agape at the sight before him, the foul scent that had once been minor now becoming far too noticable.

Kremy just...stared, wide eyed, for nearly half a minute, at the rotten, faceless horror that sat before him. The expression didn't seem to bother the little bard; either he wasn't offended, or he'd seen the expression so many times before, he'd grown numb to it. Perhaps both.

"...Y-Ya dying..." The ringmaster said finally, his voice shaking ever so slightly. The bard shrugged, moving to pick his mask back up and reclasp it as he spoke. "I know. I-It's alright though, it doesn't hurt." The ringmaster took a moment to recollect himself, blinking a few times and rubbing a hand over his snout, trying to get the rotten scent out.

"...Are ya contagious?" The elf pondered the question for a brief moment, then shook his head. "I d-don't think so. The h-healers that t-treated me didn't get s-sick. But I-I'll be careful, I promise."

His face fell, metaphorically speaking anyways, as he saw the ringmaster mull the thought over more and more; he didn't care if he found him disgusting, he only cared about missing his chance to entertain. "I-I don't need pay!" He blurted out, the words quickly regrasping the gator's attention.

"I-I'll probably be gone soon anyways, so I d-don't need pay. Just...p-please. I need to make them laugh! Please!" The bard begged, his yellowed eyes carrying as much desperation as they could in their withered state. Kremy took in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

"A'ight, ya can join. But ya gettin' a small tent, and ya stayin' there. I know ya said ya ain't contagious, but I ain't takin' chances." Enodi nodded hurriedly. "Y-Yes, yes, of course! Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you!" He clasped his hands together, producing another squelching noise, making Kremy cringe.

Later that night, Enodi had been settled in his dinky little tent. It was pathetic, even by Lecroux carnie standards, the floor of it covered in sawdust, as if in an effort to soak up what contagion the elf might carry, and barely anything laid within it, just a straw 'bed' off to the corner, a bucket, and a simple wooden chair.

Enodi didn't care though; he was beyond overjoyed. He spent that night, sat in front of one of the walls of his tent, regaling his exciting day to seemingly no one. The voices that danced about in his head listened intently, as they always did, chattering in return in their endless cacophony, and the poor little bard only finally slept out of pure exhaustion sometime later.

None of the bad mattered. Only the laughter and the smiles mattered.

[jokeringcutio]

Update: The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours

Now that I have finally continued, I have rewritten the outline, adjusted the estimated length of the tale from 12 chapters in total, to 20 chapters. [ For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, you can check the story here ] As those of you who have read and been following the tale online know, I have uploaded 9 chapters in the past. That was with the original outline. The tale ended with Arthur having turned into the Joker and successfully kidnapping you, dear reader, already pregnant with his child. Can't have you all left stranded there, can I? What happens next: Things become more gritty and violent. I have rewritten chapters 10 and 11, and have kept some parts of 12 aside to be used in the tale later on. I had a bit of difficulty finding the right vibe now that the location has changed (no longer in your comfortable home or at the job) and Arthur has become the Joker. I didn't want to lose the feeling of the past chapters, which were mundane and full of smut. In my first drafts, the chapters lost that feel. Not enough smut. Too much I wanted to say in one go. Didn't work. I eventually found back the vibe and the right plot bunny to keep the tale interesting. Between chapter 9 and 10, I have added an interlude (so basically, an extra chapter), describing how the reader is taken by Joker and his new followers to a secret hide-out. I am currently writing chapter 14. This means we have 10, 11, 12 and 13 all written out as a draft. These chapters contain scenes which include cunnilingus, smut, a new friend for our Reader, a rescue plan, plotting against the Joker, violence and maiming (not against our Reader), jealous Joker, visibly pregnant Reader (and Arthur/Joker being all touchy because he wants to feel the baby kick) and well, there's loads more to come! Keep following me for more progress on the tale, snippets, and tidbits about what is going to come next. I plan to write the entire story till the end before I will publish it.

In the meanwhile, if you like my writing, feel free to browse my masterlist. New tales, drabbles and headcanons appear regularly. Feel free to send in suggestions and prompts as well, though I might be slow in responding to them. Make sure to check out my account for recent updates, as I usually post in a European time frame and I notice that many of my posts are overlooked because of it (which is why I sometimes decide to post prompt fills on different sites as well such as on AO3 ). If you liked The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours and are into Dark Romance/being kidnapped by an older man (with gorgeous dark hair and mental issues rofl) I can recommend my Black Phone Fanfic The Chance to make a Change. This story is complete in draft (so you won't have to wait 2 years or more to know the ending), and is currently being uploaded. It has the same kind of vibe as TMWCTBY. If you want to stick to our Arthur Fleck/Joker then I have tons of little fills written about him, as well as plans for new longer fics. I still want to continue The Princess and The Clown, perhaps rework it. But if you want something short that is complete, can I recommend No Family Man? If you like long-haired men, villains and age gap fics, then I would like to point you at the many Arthur Harrow fills I have written (don't worry, you don't have to have seen the Moon Knight series or read the comics. I haven't either). I am currently working on an asylum patient Harrow x Reader fic as well. Now, to end this post, I have posted a gif that is fitting for The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours. It's not the gif that inspired the entire tale, but it is pretty meaningful to it. I think many readers will know why. Hope you are all having a wonderful day, Yours sincerely, JokeringCutio

[doctorstrangereview]

Strange Tales #149

Cover Date: October 1966 On-Sale Date: July 9, 1966

There's nothing groundbreaking in this issue. We do get some nice imagery of Kaluu and the menaces he sends against our hero and his mentor. And we get some callbacks to previous stories. I guess this illustrates that we're still tied into the series history. We are introduced to the Demons of Denak. If you've read enough Doc, you know that he says their name a lot. It's more of an epithet than an invocation. In something that is atypical, we are introduced to the demons before Doc and others spout their name as often as Superman says "Great Scott!"

In the final panel of last month's installment, the Ancient One said Kaluu was readying his attack. In the splash page, the attack has arrived. It's so bad that the Ancient One has actually slipped into his flying magic carpet!

I'm not sure how that happened, but I hope he's doing better than that crewmember in Star Trek: The Next Generation who wound up embedded in the ship's deck. She died. Also, Kitty Pryde won't be thought up for another 15 years or so and that's a long time to be stuck in your carpet.

Doc questions how Kaluu can be so powerful (again) and the Ancient One is all impatient again. "Dude, forget that for now! We gotta get free. FYI, we're only equal when we've got home field advantage. So stay put!" Joining the Ancient One and spouting some impressive sounding spells, Doc manages to pull his mentor out of the carpet, for now.

Doc attempts to blast his way out so he can confront Kaluu, but Kaluu has implemented a clever plan. He's placed a barrier around the Sanctum so Everett has an excuse to draw the building's exterior. Sorry Bill, but Steve's interpretation is much better.

Kaluu goes into a long-winded rant in the middle of the street about how he doesn't need incantations and magical gizmos. When he finally runs out of breath, he sends in the clowns demons. The demons appear to originate from the dimension of Doctor Seuss. Also, the Ancient One is caught in his carpet again.

The Doc thinks "Ancient One, you look terrible. Time for me to reminisce about the time Mordo attacked and put you in a coma to connect this to earlier stories." The pair attempt to endure the attack without fighting back, seemingly to frustrate Kaluu. Our antagonist remains standing on the street conjuring a lightshow. (We'll find out later that the lightshow is actually visible to the normies.) A couple pass by and think how Kaluu gives them the creeps. The lightshow, however, doesn't seem to phase them. The endeavor to find some police officers as Kaluu keeps shooting light at the Sanctum.

The Ancient One's condition declines as they continue to endure Kaluu's attack. While the Ancient One forbids Doc to do anything about, Doc doesn't listen and hatches a plan to grab some snake oil on the other side of the study. Outside, Kaluu continues conjuring his lightshow and police officers arrive. "We should question him." "Yeah, you go and do that, bud." We get acknowledgement that they see the lights.

Finally, the Ancient One is like "F- this! Go get those useless morons that pledged to flush out Dormammu's remaining toadies to help us!" Doc attempts to go ghost, but Kaluu's barrier stops even his ectoplasmic version from leaving. Uh, oh! Now what?!

Our couple, who found Kaluu so creepy, decided to return, because, hey, what else is there to do at night in New York City but watch the cops take out the creepy guy. Was this an early for of swatting?

Kaluu sends more demons after the pair inside. Doc attempts to trap one with his cloak, but it transforms into a wrinkly, horned Sneech and gets away. Finally the All-Purpose Amulet stops some of them, but is exhausted and can't help them any further.

Outside, the police officers finally question Kaluu who freezes then which has the side effect of turning them orange. He then launches an all-out attack on the Sanctum which makes it go all wibbly-wobbly.

Kaluu goes inside and discovers the interior looks like the aftermath of an NYPD raid. Somehow, all the overturned braziers and other flaming things haven't burned the place down. Kaluu expects to find his enemies' bodies, but the building is bereft of human habitation. "WTF? Where did the go?" Kaluu rants repetitiously for a few panels and we close on a pair of candles that look a bit like the eyes in the final panel two stories ago.

So this is kind of meh. The Ancient One is still an impatient jerk. Maybe this is because he's exhausted or embedded in his magic flying carpet, but after some many stories of the serene and majestic tutor, it's off-putting. Doc is still practical, but doesn't seem as investigative as he previously was. "Why is he so powerful?" instead of "What must I do to counter is superior strength?" Everybody talks to much, often to no one in particular. In the past this was used as exposition, but now it just takes up space. Denny O'Neil seems to struggle to fill the 10 allocated pages. Will things improve? We will see next month.

[auxiliarydetective]

Felicity: Small, Emotional, Electric

This could've been out two to three days ago if only my WiFi wasn't being so mean - I currently have about a minute of WiFi every few minutes, so I'm using that and uploading while I can

WANTED

"Desert Fox" Felicity

Bounty to be determined

Once again, huge thanks to Alvita for the template for the poster!

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They call you Cry Baby, Cry Baby But you don't even care Tears fall to the ground You'll just let them drown

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Normally, I'd put two small fics in an intro post, but the "small intro fic" accidentally turned into 4.5K words, so you can find the full fic on AO3 here!

-

Whereas Zoro was seemingly unbothered by the clowns manhandling him and dragging him to whatever the “green room” may be, Nami was actively struggling like a feral cat, trying to break free. If only she had claws, she would tear them to shreds. Buggy’s lair was bigger than she had thought, probably built into whatever remained of the town he had destroyed. The big top was only a small part of it. Finally, they entered a room, or rather a dark green tent, filled with equipment, crates and costumes. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, along with various crinolines and ropes. A couple of vanity mirrors lined by lightbulbs were the only useable pieces of furniture in it. Nami saw Zoro jolt forwards in front of her, but four clowns worked together to pin him back down. They finally succeeded in pressing him against a large wooden disk with straps, one usually used in knife throwing acts. Leaning against a supporting beam were their belongings: Zoro’s swords, Nami’s staff and navigation gear. Nami, too, gave another struggle, but when she saw what was hiding in the corner of the room, she froze in terror.

Behind a wooden machine of which she didn’t even want to know what it was for stood a cage with metal bars and elaborate wooden décor. Inside the cage, however – that was what terrified Nami the most. Inside the cage sat a little girl, maybe five or six years old, with a canine nose, incredibly large furry ears atop her head and a fluffy tail emerging from her lower back. She was wearing a glittering leotard lined with fur that managed to miss all three shades of sandy blonde present in her hair, tail, and ears in an almost infuriating way, and was watching the happenings in the room through large brown eyes.

Nami didn’t even pay attention to how she was being handled as her gaze was locked on the little girl. It was only when she was lifted off the ground and forced into an oversized birdcage that she tried to fight back again. She almost succeeded, too, but the woman gripping her was incredibly strong.

“Look, kitty, now you’ve got company!” she announced without looking at the little girl. “Don’t we take good care of you, making sure you’re not alone even if you got stage fright?”

As two clowns were busy tying Zoro to his dartboard and the woman wrestled Nami into her cage, another man stayed behind, with messy scarlet hair and two-toned makeup, wearing a striped leotard and a belt with a battle-axe.

“You still aren’t eating,” he remarked in a voice as sweet as acid. “You know you’ve gotta eat. Uncle Buggy was already mad you refused to perform, so what’s he gonna say if he finds out you’re not eating either? You gotta get your strength up if you wanna put on a pretty show, tiny dancer.”

The man picked up a bowl of presumably oatmeal with a spoon in it from the floor in front of the cage. Immediately, the little girl crawled further to the back of her tiny prison, pouting.

“Afraid it’s poisoned?” the woman asked without turning away from Nami’s birdcage.

She was now busy securing a padlock to it, whereas her fellow freaks were done with their work and left. Zoro was bound tightly by the wrists with thick ropes that almost cut into his skin, and whereas he had looked fully unbothered before, he was now visibly annoyed.

The man in the striped leotard stuck a finger into the oatmeal and scooped some of it into his mouth, humming in exaggerated delight.

“Delicious! Come on, have some!”

He almost shoved the spoon into the girl’s face, causing her to retract it as far as possible. She pressed her lips shut in protest and panic, only getting worse the longer the spoon whirled around beneath the dark tip of her nose. Slowly but surely, the lights in the room started flickering, lightbulbs and fairy lights tremoring just like the girl was.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the man cooed. “Come on, who’s a good kitty?!”

“It’s clearly a fox,” Zoro growled, causing the man to pause with the spoon less than an inch from the girl’s mouth as he looked back at him in annoyance. “And if you don’t leave her alone, I’m gonna-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before the little girl grabbed the man’s arm and yanked it aside, at the same time lunging forwards. A loud crackling sound cut through the air and one of the lights blew out as her hand made contact and the man collapsed. The bowl, however, landed safely in the girl’s clawed hand and she placed it back down, keeping the spoon in her lap.

The muscular woman gave an exasperated sigh and shoved the keys to the padlock into her pocket before turning around to the girl.

“Now, now, don’t act out like that,” she said in a low, manipulative tone. “You don’t do that to your family. You belong here, with us! We’re freaks, just like you!”

“She’s not a freak!” Nami blurted out. “She’s just a little girl! Why are you doing this to her?! Let her go!”

The woman scoffed. “Oh, she’s much more than that. She’s a monster and she’s not as little as you think. Let’s see how long it takes for your captain to break, maybe you’ll get to spend a lot of time with her.”

She grabbed her crewmate and threw him over her shoulder to carry him outside. Right before she was through the doorway, she turned around again.

“Besides, it was her choice to run away and go to sea. Wasn’t it, kitty?”

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Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene - let me know if you'd like to be added!

[blackjackkent]

OK, I did just remember there are two other small things I wanted to complete so I'm gonna do those before heading off to Ansur.

First is finding the remaining Dribbles Bit that I'm missing. (I've been told the reward for this is pretty meh, but I wanna see what Lucretious does when you finish, and also I've been enjoying the Throne of Bhaal throwbacks in all of Orin's tableaux.)

The other is helping out the Guild in the Undercity, since when we rescued Minsc, we caught him (as the Stone Lord) engaged in talks with Roah Moonglow to have the Zhentarim turn on Nine-Fingers. We'd like to stop this from happening - primarily because it means putting a crimp in an Absolutist plan, but also because we have reason to believe Nine-Fingers was looking out for Jaheira's kids while all this craziness has been going on.

Dribbles first:

Apparently the bit I was missing has been hiding in plain sight all along, all the way back at the Circus of Last Days, where it's chilling on a table next to the kobold merchant named Popper.

Kind of not sure how I missed this in retrospect.

It's marked as a stealable item but I completely forgot to stealth to pick it up, and Popper got irritated.

"OI! Give that back! It's my special hand!"

I love his little top hat.

"What makes this hand so 'special'?"

"I founds it by the clown man's tent! Fought a rat for it and everythings. Hueh. It's a one-of-a-kind hand with artisanal bite marks. It's worth LOTS."

He wants 10k gold for it lol.

[PERSUASION] "I think that belongs to Dribbles," Hector points out, somewhat tiredly. "I need it. Your ringmaster needs it."

The kobold sighs dramatically. "All *right*. Mama Lucretious says we family. S'pose that means Dribbles was too. 'Ere. But don't tell nobodies I gaves it to you for free. Gotta protect my reputation as a tough businesslord."

Success. Full clown body acquired; off we go to Lucretious.

"Hello again, my vicious little warrior. Any luck finding Dribbles."

Hector completely missed the flirtation last time he and Lucretious talked, but not this time, and he blushes a little, even as he hands over a sack full of mutilated clown parts. "This is every part of Dribbles I could find."

"Oh, perfection!" Lucretious says excitedly - which Hector reflects is probably the first time anyone has said that about a sack full of mutilated clown parts. "This is just what I need. His flesh has a few rat bites, and his teeth are missing, but these are minor issues. I shall remake Dribbles better than before - where once he was famous, he will now become legend!"

She reaches into a pack at her side and pulls out a pair of thin leather gloves, glistening with enchantment. "And you-- here, darling. A little something from your friend Lucretious. My circus and I can now finally leave!" she says, with visible relief.

Hector takes the gloves with an air of mild bemusement. Necromancers are a very strange bunch... "You're leaving?" he asks. "Right now?"

"Not this *instant*," she says with a playful shrug. "So should you wish for anything from my staff, be quick." She gives him a long, lingering look up and down. "Oh, and if you do take on the Absolute - do try not to end up like poor Dribbles. You are *so* very pretty after all."

She gives him a wink and turns and ambles away, swinging her hips, and Karlach bursts out laughing. "Gods, soldier, you do have a way with people..."

"I barely even said anything this time," Hector says plaintively.