#Masked dancer cotton candy

[iheartleopards]

masked Singer as go princess precure

Robogirl as cure flora

Fairy as cure mermaid

Cotton candy as cure twinkle

Sun as cure scarlet

[neviagreatestart2003]

The Masked Dancer Characters!

List of Contestants/Celebrity.

1st: Cotton Candy - Gabby Douglas

2nd: Sloth - Maksim Chmerkovskiy

3rd: Tulip - Mackenzie Ziegler

4th: Zebra - Oscar De La Hoya

5th: Exotic Bird - Jordin Sparks

6th: Hammerhead - Vinny Guadagino

7th: Cricket - Brian McKnight

8th: Moth - Elizabeth Smart

9th: Ice Cube - Bill Nye

10th: Disco Ball - Ice-T

[kingofthe-egirls]

SKITTISH: LUFFY x Y/N

(cw: lots of food/eating, kissing sorta, luffy sees you and likes you, reader is a foxy pirate, asthmatic!reader, sorta spoilers for post wano, this is opla or anime whatever u choose!)

(a/n: this counts as journaling)

Songs: “Plans” by Maude Latour

words: 1.2k

****

You stand behind your cotton candy machine, sparkling your eyes behind your foxy pirate mask. The pirates have set up carnival stalls filled with meat and doughnuts and elephant ears. It smells like heaven.

Mugiwara no Luffy is staring at you.

He’s salivating, licking his lips as he reaches into the spinning candy machine to dip his hands straight into the sugar. “Hey!” You squeal, swatting him away. He hasn’t broken eye contact, even as he sucks the fairy floss straight off his fist.

“You’re pretty!” He says, smiling.

You flush all the way to the tips of your toes. A tingle runs down your spine, as you shift uncomfortably in place. No one’s called you pretty before. Silly and strange, maybe. But never pretty. That’s for Porche.

With her turquoise hair and slender waist, plus her charming personality…you’ve felt like a smaller, chubbier, easily forgotten younger sister that gets passed over more often than not. You’ve got asthma too, so you can’t even run for very long. Your Foxy Pirates job is to make the cotton candy. To tear down the stalls. To smile and laugh and help your fellow crew members cheat.

So it’s surprising—freezing—to have an Emperor of the Sea staring at you like you’re fried dough on a stick.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, the whir of the cotton candy machine underlining your short-of-breath sounds. It’s bad enough your lungs are ass, now you’re flustered too.

“Welcome!” He says cheerfully, downing another gulp of pastel pink candy. It sticks to his chin in sparkling crystals. You want to wipe them off. “What games do you play?”

“This, mostly…,” you shrug. Your older, stronger crew mates are the ones who participate in the competitions. And though you’re thankful for the foxy pirates for taking you in, you do wish you were allowed to play more of the games. You like the boxing fights in particular.

“That’s stupid!” He says, smiling. “You should roller skate with me!” He challenges you like he’s inviting you to play. His brown eyes are so, so deep. Like dark coffee straight from the espresso machine. With the foam on top, all caramel in the sunlight. He swipes a stripe of candy from off his upper lip. His cupid’s bow is wide, and arched slightly.

He slaps your shoulder.

“See you in the rink!”

You scrabble for your inhaler as he walks away, all bouncy and rubbery with his head sticking out and down. His knees are slightly bowled, with his feet turned out like a ballet dancer as he walks. He’s strange.

He’s…

Sexy.

****

So now you’re standing shakily on skates, waiting at the start line of your roller skating rink.

Your knees are shivering, your pulse racing beneath your elbow pads and wrist guards. You’ve only ever roller skated for fun, let alone a competition. Your breath is shallow and raspy in your aching lungs. It’s humid: the worst kind of weather for you to try and breathe through. The air tastes like salt. You lick your lips: so do you.

Strawhat Luffy is standing on the starting line next to you, his own stance shaky and unstable. His knees knock together as he tries to remember how to stand on wheels.

You sigh.

Inhale…

Exhale.

You’ve got this.

****

The whistle blows, and you’re off.

You push against the ground, squeezing your core as much as you can to try and retain balance. You’re not the fastest, but you enjoy the speed of skating and how the wind rushes past your ears.

Your roller skates slide smoothly over the rink’s circular track, and you allow yourself a smile as you skate around the first corner. A slingshot limb shoots past your face, before you see a hand grab onto the rail in front of you. The captain of the Strawhats lets out an enthusiastic scream, before rocketing past you. His shoulder checks yours, so you’re sent flying. The air leaves your lungs in one short gasp, and you’re spinning out of control before you realize what’s happened.

“Shit!” You screech, tumbling into the grass at the center of the track. He stumbles after you, losing balance as he lands straight on top of you.

What little air you have left leaves you, as suddenly your senses are filled with him: all sweaty and musky and tanned and gorgeous and he’s he’s he’s—kissing your shoulder?

It’s so fast you almost miss it, but you’re sure you feel the hot press of his lips to your shoulder blade. He’s up now, reaching down to help you up, too. He’s smiling at you with sharper eyes than you remember.

He’s like a tiger.

“Sorry, foxy,” he snickers, helping you up and shaky skates. His hands sear fingerprints into your skin.

“S’okay…,” you mumble.

Something scared and wicked flares within your gut, so you push him over and start speeding back onto the track. He screams, surprised, but you’re already rushing away and over the finish line with stars in your brain and cotton candy in your stomach. It feels like butterflies. It feels like rain.

So you let your team win this round, and you skate away as fast as you can to go hide in a corner somewhere.

****

The rest of the games pass by in a blur, with your stomach churning and your lungs heaving in shallow, shaky breaths. You stand by the sidelines, surrounded by your crew mates as the prize selection starts. The Strawhats won the roller rink games, so it’s their pick of the lot.

Everyone’s nervous, the air going still as every single person holds their breath in suspense.

Strawhat Luffy stares at the crowd, scanning for someone with a squint. The setting sun shoots laser beams through his eyes. He’s chewing on his lower lip. You shuffle, listening to the murmurs of your fellow crew mates as they wonder who he’s gonna choose. You hope it’s you.

“Hmm…,” he says, tapping his sandal against the stage. His own crew is standing beside him, waiting for him to choose. They seem relaxed, since they haven’t lost anyone yet.

You shove a handful of cotton candy into your face, stress eating.

“That one!” Luffy shouts, confidently pointing straight at you.

You stop, mid-chew.

“Hah?” You ask, the air in your lungs squeezing out like a deflated balloon. Sticky sugar paints your chin, as you lick your lips. It’s sweet.

“Y/n?” Captain Foxy asks, as the crowd around you parts. You’re standing by yourself, suddenly. The comforting warmth of your crew mates disappears, as you stand holding fairy floss with one hand. You swallow, thickly.

“Seriously?”

Your voice sounds shy—squeaky.

Monkey D. Luffy grins, and crosses his arms in satisfaction. “Yep!” He says cheerfully, as people start to maneuver you up to the front of the stage. You stumble over yourself, nerves and limbs jelly. Someone has seen you…has chosen you.

Suddenly, you inhale.

“Sweet!” You say, breathy, as your new crew welcomes you with open arms. Someone slaps your back, another squeezes your hand.

Your new captain smiles at you, dazzlingly. Sugar is still melting on your chin. He leans forward, swiping it off with his tongue.

Fuck.

He snickers, before stepping away to smack his lips. “Make sure you bring the candy machine, too!”

So you do.

****

part 2 coming soon!

[candycandy00]

The Dark Carnival - Shigaraki x Reader

AU fic about the League of Villains as members of a 1920’s traveling circus/carnival, and everywhere they go, people tend to disappear. Each chapter will feature a new Reader getting mixed up with one of the members. This is a dark fanfic so please don’t expect happy endings!

Smut. 18+. Violence. Death. Blood. Whips. Oral sex. Creampie. Rough sex (the sex is consensual though).

It was your sister who convinced you to go to the traveling carnival that had just arrived in town. She’d been watching the progress of the huge colorful tents being erected in the empty field behind the school, and she’d come home to tell you of the exotic animals she’d seen being led from enormous carts to steel cages. To make her happy, you agreed to go with her on the first night it was open. 

You noticed him right away. How could you not? He was the ring master, as well as the lion tamer. He was dressed in a blood red jacket, a black and red vest underneath, with white pants and black shiny boots. A black hat sat atop a mess of white hair that spilled to his shoulders and framed a surprisingly young and pretty face. A few faint scars marred his visage, but to you they only added to his mysterious charm. 

But his eyes entranced you most of all. They were the color of his jacket, the color of blood. So unusual, but so incredibly beautiful. You were mesmerized by him, by the way he moved across the sandy floor of the tent, the way he cracked his whip to get the lions to do his bidding, the way the rest of the performers seemed to move around him as if he were the true star of the circus. 

The other performers were alluring in their own right. A white haired fire dancer covered in burn scars, nude to his waist, piercings on his lips and nipples connected by thin dangling chains. A sharply dressed magician who wore a glittering mask over his eyes and charmed every young lady lucky enough to be selected as his volunteer assistant for the evening, his hands sliding over their bodies as he helped them in and out of various contraptions. A lovely young knife thrower in a striped corset and fishnet stockings, laughing gleefully as she outlined the bodies of her adoring fans in knives. A ruggedly handsome ventriloquist who wore a bow tie and suspenders over his tightly fitting shirt and chain smoked as he made his puppet say outrageous things. And finally, the Lizard Man who was dragged out covered in chains, even his mouth bound shut, as if he were a danger to everyone there, but with long shaggy pink hair and shockingly kind eyes that made everyone in the audience want to free him. 

Even when the others were performing amazing feats, your eyes sought him out. When not in the middle of the biggest ring, he usually stood leaning against the lion cage, arms crossed, watching his fellow performers. At the end of the show, he stood near the tent’s exit, periodically bowing to patrons as they left. As you walked by him, your heart raced. Your eyes met his, and the intensity of his stare made heat rush to your face. 

The second night, your sister didn’t have to convince you at all. You were eager to get to the big tent and take your seat, a bit closer to the ring this time. As the handsome ring master moved around, cracking his whip at the lions, his eyes drifted over the crowd. Was it your imagination, or did they seem to linger on you? 

You shifted in your seat, feeling nervous and excited. You watched his performance with rapt attention, barely even hearing your sister when she asked if you wanted some cotton candy. The only treat you wanted was standing in the middle of the ring, holding the whip taut between his hands as he suddenly ran his tongue along the length of it. Several ladies in the audience gasped, but you could tell from the looks on their faces that they’d enjoyed the spectacle. 

The third night was the last performance, and you sat in the front row, face flushed, eyes shining as you committed his every move to your memory. You didn’t want this to end. The thought of going back to your drab, boring life while the ring master rode out of town made you feel a deep sadness you couldn’t explain. 

So after the last performance was done and everyone had gone home, you decided to sneak back into the carnival to get one last look at the man who had captivated you so strongly. Perhaps, you thought, you could even speak to him or get his autograph. 

It was a crazy impulse, and you’d never been the type to follow such whims, but once the idea was in your head, you couldn’t resist. 

It was pitch dark when you snuck back into the carnival grounds. All the bright swirling lights were turned off, all the rides gone still. As you crept along, you wondered which tent belonged to the ring master. You didn’t have to wonder long. 

He stepped out of a small tent among a row of similar tents, lighting a cigarette then crossing his arms, tilting his head to look up at the cloudless sky. He was so beautiful in the starlight that your breath caught in your throat. You stood there for a moment in the darkness, peeking out from behind a nearby crate, just enjoying the sight of him, thrilled by the thought that you were seeing him in a private moment that the other women in the audience would never get to see. 

Someone in the distance called out a name that sounded foreign to you, and the ring master walked toward the voice, leaving the immediate area of his tent. Had that been his name? You’d never heard one like “Tomura” before. 

Regardless, his tent was now unguarded, just sitting there empty, ripe to be looked through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should really go through with this. You wanted so badly to get a glimpse of his personal space, to perhaps get even a tiny inkling as to who he really was. But what if he came back and caught you? You could just say you were lost, right? 

You crept over to his tent and carefully pulled the fabric of the opening back, glancing inside. It was lit by a few small lamps with clear glass globes, so you stepped on in. 

The space was nothing shocking. There was a bed, a dresser with a large mirror, a huge wooden trunk, and a wrack of colorful clothes that all looked similar to the outfits he’d been wearing during the shows. Still, you felt amazing just being in there. You ran one hand along the dresser, then went over to the clothes and smelled of them. To your surprise, they didn’t smell like animals or any typical circus odors. They smelled fairly fresh. 

Suddenly you heard footsteps outside the tent. He was back! In a panic, you completely forgot the plan to say you were lost and instead dove behind the clothes, easily slipping out of view. 

You heard the flap of the tent’s entrance open and then heavy footsteps walking through the tent. You carefully parted the clothes a tiny bit and peered out. You found the ring master standing in front of his dresser, looking at himself in the mirror. As you watched, he began removing his clothing, piece by piece. You heart rate sped up as more and more of his toned body became visible. Without realizing it, you’d started breathing heavily. 

Suddenly he turned his head toward the clothes and said, “Who’s there?”

You froze, an instinctive fear overtaking all your thoughts. Why were you so frightened? The worst that could happen was that he’d be angry and you’d be embarrassed. But something deep within you told you to flee. You ignored it. 

The ring master grabbed his whip from the dresser and cracked it toward the the clothes you were hiding behind, causing them to slide to the left and reveal you standing there in your pink floral sundress. 

He regarded you with a cold, penetrating stare and asked, “What are you doing in my tent?”

Even half dressed, he was imposing. 

“I’m sorry, I got lost,” you managed to squeak out. 

He stared at you with those red eyes, as if he could see right through you. 

You decided to fess up. “No, that’s a lie,” you admitted. “The truth is… I’ve been so drawn to you. I’ve come to every performance, and I find myself enamored. I just wanted to see you one more time before you leave town. I thought maybe… you could give me your autograph.”

His face broke into a somewhat eerie smile. “If that’s true, I can give you something much better than an autograph.”

Right there in the tent, just a few feet away from you, he pulled his cock out. You gasped and looked away, unable to believe he would do something so brazen. Then you remembered that you’d been hiding in his tent, watching him undress. To him, you were probably the brazen one. You looked back at him, at the long, pale shaft in his hand, growing larger and firmer before your eyes. 

“Come here,” he said, and your body seemed to move on its own. You stepped over to him, your heart hammering in your chest, and he put one hand on your shoulder, gently but firmly pushing you down to a kneeling position before him. You found yourself at mouth level with his now fully erect cock. 

You looked up at at him, uncertain, but he put his hand on the back of your head, threading his thin fingers through your hair, and pulled you closer. By reflex you opened your mouth, and his cock slid inside. You closed your lips around it, licked at it with your tongue, savoring the taste of him. He watched you, his expression unchanged as you pulled back and ran your tongue along the length, wanting to give him pleasure more than anything else in the world.

Finally, your licking and sucking seemed to have an effect, as his grip on your hair tightened. He pulled out of your mouth and said, “Hold out your tongue.”

You obeyed immediately. He grasped the tip of your tongue with his thumb and one finger, pulling it a little further out, then shot his cum directly onto it. The warm sticky fluid drizzled down your bottom lip and chin, but you managed to bring most of it into your mouth, where you swallowed it. 

He grinned down at you. “Good girl.”

You stood up slowly, not wanting to do anything that would displease him. It was as if your whole body existed just for him. You’d never been so entranced by anyone before. 

He reached forward and undid the buttons on the front of your dress, then pulled it down to pool around your feet, leaving you only in bra, panties, garter belt, and sheer stockings. You blushed, lowering your eyes, but he took hold of your hand and pulled you over to the bed. 

After pushing you onto your back, you watched in confusion as he unspooled the whip and held it up. “Put your hands above your head,” he commanded, and you did. 

The next moment, he swung the whip, and it coiled tightly around both your wrists, holding them together. You cried out in pain as the whip stung your flesh, and you noticed that it was covered in tiny sharp briars that pricked your skin and caused little drops of blood to trickle down your arms. 

He stood over you, watching your face, as if waiting to see if you would beg him to release you. But you didn’t. You would let this man do whatever he wanted with you, if it meant getting to spend even one more moment in his presence. 

After a few moments, he climbed onto the bed, and pulled a small knife from his boot. You drew in a sharp breath, wondering what he was going to do with it, but he simply used it to cut off your bra and panties, leaving the garter belt and stockings. 

He moved down and pushed your knees apart, then used two fingers to spread you open. You gasped as he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the inside of your folds, prodding at your clit with the tip. You arched your back and moaned. He alternated using his tongue and his fingers to pleasure you, making obscene sounds with the wet arousal dripping out of you, bringing you to climax faster than you ever thought possible. 

As you shuddered through your orgasm, he got to his knees between your thighs and positioned himself at your entrance. You barely had time to register what he was doing when he thrust inside you. You bucked against the whip restraining you, your whole body lifting off the bed, the briars biting into your wrists. It hurt. All of it did. But he was so beautiful, you would have let him whip you as if you were a misbehaving lion. 

He pulled back and looked down at where your bodies were connected, his expression vaguely displaying surprise. You assumed he saw blood and realized you were a virgin. He grinned at you again and thrust back in, burying himself in you. 

You whimpered but you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper into you. All those other women and girls in the audience were so obviously smitten with him, and he may have bowed to them as they left or graced them with a smile, but you were the one he was fucking. You were special. 

He reached one hand up to stroke your hair as he continued thrusting in and out. “For a virgin, you can take it deep,” he said, clearly meaning it as a compliment. 

You clenched around him, the praise causing your arousal to spike. You looked up at him with teary, lust-filled eyes. “P-please… wherever you’re going… take me with you!”

He looked you in the eyes, but said nothing, so you went on. 

“I’ll do anything you want! I don’t think I can live without you!”

His eyes shifted away from your face as he muttered, “You won’t have to worry about that.”

“What?”

He suddenly kissed you on the lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth, making you forget what he’d just said as one of his hands groped your breast. The sudden actions, coupled with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting a very sensitive spot inside you, brought you over the edge again, leaving you whimpering against his mouth. 

Moments later, he shot his seed inside you, so much that you felt like it would leak out around his cock. 

He pulled out and stood up, then walked over to retrieve his pants from the floor, leaving you shuddering on the bed, the whip still digging into your skin. 

When he stepped back over to you, he pulled the whip free. It hurt, possibly more than when he originally hit you with it, and blood kept sliding  down your shaking arms. He coiled the whip back up and leaned over you, rubbing the whip against your breast, the briars scratching over the nipple. You hissed and tossed your head back, enjoying the pain. 

He watched you with something like amusement, smiling down at you as he dragged the whip down, then rubbed it against the tender flesh between your legs. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but your body was already so sensitive that the sensations felt much sharper than they were. You moaned and reached for him, wanting to pull him closer, wanting him to kiss you again. But he abruptly stopped and stood back up, looking toward the entrance to his tent. 

You followed his gaze and saw several figures walking into the tent. It was the other performers, all five of them, dressed in casual clothing as they crowded in and stood around, none of them seeming the least bit surprised to find a naked young woman in the ring master’s bed. 

“Oh, you’re not finished yet?” one of them asked. You were too confused to notice which one. You tried to cover your nudity with your arms as you scooted to the back of the bed. 

“I was just about to,” the ring leader said, uncoiling the whip and stretching it tight between his hands. 

“What’s going on?!” you cry, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. 

The fire dancer laughed. “The boss is about to finish you up. At least he showed you a good time first, from the looks of it.” His eyes very pointedly moved to the wet sticky spot on the sheets. 

You couldn’t take this any more. Things were getting crazy, fast. You jumped off the bed and ran toward the tent’s entrance, but you only got a few feet before you heard a familiar sound, the whip slicing through the air. A split second later, you felt the spike-covered whip wrap around your neck, cutting into the delicate skin of your throat, causing blood to trickle down to your chest as you struggled to get your fingers under the whip. 

You were jerked backwards, toward the end of the bed, and you watched in horror as the ring master slung his end of the whip over a metal hook hanging from the tent’s ceiling and pulled, causing you to be lifted off your feet, hanging you. 

You struggled wildly, kicking and jerking as your oxygen ran out. Just before you were about to black out, you were able to extend one foot to touch the end of the bed, giving yourself a tiny bit of leeway to suck in some air, your fingers clawing at the whip. The motion forced you to spread your legs apart, and you felt the ring master’s cum, tinted red by your blood, pour out of you. 

You heard some of the other performers laugh, and one of them said, “Fuck, you really filled her up, boss!”

You looked down at the ring master, who was holding the end of the whip firmly, using it to squeeze the life out of you. You couldn’t understand why he was doing this. When he finally met your eyes, he looked… regretful? “Sorry,” he said in a quiet voice, “I can’t keep a pet. I always end up killing them. Best to do it now before I get attached.”

Your eyes widened as he suddenly jerked on the whip, pulling you further into the air and out of reach of the bed. You jerked and kicked, desperate to find some footing, desperate for mercy, but none came. You got one last look at those beautiful red eyes as you lost consciousness, and died. 

The next morning, the dark carnival loaded up and headed for the next town, leaving your body in a shallow grave. 

[button-cat]

I NEED TO KNOW UR OCS NAME

AAAHSKDBDKFNDN IM SO SORRY FOR RESPONDING LATE !! :(( I FORGOT TO RESPOND TO THIS IM SORRY EEKENDF

also um,,,im not exactly sure which oc you're asking about- i think it may be the one from my last post that was besides folly but im gonna tell you all of the names of my ocs that i posted here, just in case !! :3 also small descriptions as well :b

Regretevator ocs :

Enidan (The one with the mask on the left)

A cannibal killer, and Folly's assistant,,,evil woman that i post too much about !!

(she even has a rp blog!! @fl3sh34t3r )

Lukyan (The one with the eyepatch on the right)

A tired engineer man who is on an important mission,,, kinda known here as Enidan's ex-husband, but he does have his own story !! :b

Creamy Puff (happy girly with the chearleader pom poms that look like cotton candy on the left !)

Famous professional dancer however mostly known for her being a cheerleader in many sport games !! (she is indeed made out of ice cream btw)

Distortion (Spiky hair with void eyes on the right)

A very distorted being who only wants to try to help others, but accidentally scares off others without meaning to :b

and my only Pressure oc !

Hazal (the one with five eyes on the right)

Created by Urbanshade by accident, and has a lot of DNA of different sea animals ! They do not like the player,,,

that's all of my ocs that i posted on this account ! I hope I answered ur question- :D

[christmassavestheyear]

scaled & icy live

an hour, huh? i best get comfy.

it's all under the cut xx

the graphics are kinda funky

OH IS THIS WHERE THE PANSEXUAL FLAG COLOURS CAME FROM OKAY

i can get hype about some pink blue and yellow fr

wait is this meant to be the dema morning show?? thats so fucking funny though. thats actually so fucking funny.

okay wait so in this dema universe, in the lore, twenty one pilots is still a band? tyler joseph and josh dun are still a band?

why is he sad :(

"is that. number 16 cotton candy" bitch ofc it is

YEAH JOSH WHERE ARE YOU

u good tyler

whats with the wookie noises

into choker tho is beautiful

THE STAGE AGH

sorry brief mention to how fucking good josh looks in this video oml

the stressed out bridge coming in there????

wait are these the bishops little minions or smth cause theres too many of them to be the bishops

this is a vibey little live version

man sidenote im so ordering merch this weekend

wait wahts the light thing at the back

is that supposed to be the nine towers?

oh into migraine?? was not expecting that

"depresS" everybody fucking freeze. "ive thoughts."

into morph??

its a little all over the place but in a good way?? does that make sense

wait no bring back tylers agonised screaming

"my personal favourite, mulberry street" i hate you but same

YES MULBERRY STREET

KEEP YOUR BLISS THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS FUCK YEAH

the murals. yes

josh just doin his lil bounce in the back tho

whats with the chick wtih the teddy bear

that guy was not there before was he???

and back to the piano. agh.

the little adlibs afkdlsjfdsklfjsld

see in my head all these dancers are banditos and i will take no argument

in two days i will know this mulberry street choreo by heart. just saying

when tyler and josh are looking for people for their next venture i will be ready. im telling you now.

that girl in the front in the skirt ate that

wait whos this girl

LANE BOY FUCK YEAH

whats with the gas masks? are you my mummy? /ref

wait where did josh's shirt go not that im complaining

anybody want to learn this choreo with me too

wait i wonder if i can convince my partner to do this at our wedding actually (long long way away but i picture it being Highly Amusing)

joshs hair is just so good in this video idec

joshua william dun was that a lip bite and a wink. god fucking damn

oh hello guitar

into chlorine?? okay this setlist is. wow

whats with all of joshs costume changes??

okay tylers coat is eating here now tho

shy away yessss

the set for this is so interesting too

shy awAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

his little dance is so cute stop

also side note josh ate that fit so hard

"it brought tears to my eyes" same, dude. same.

ok that was fucking weird

that shirt should be so ugly so why is he kind of eating

the outside yes

josh in the onesie wtf😭 he's so!!!!!

hey bud where u goin

just casually breakdancing in the street. ok

"shut uP!" lmaooo

the water into the night sky into the backdrop is beautiful

THE UKULELELLELELELLELELE

WAIT HEATHENS ON UKE??? THIS IS GORGEOUS

wait he's in a boat thats so fucking cool

the sets for this are jsut fucking brilliant

i love this being just sort of him and the ukulele. i love it.

torchbearers back yaaaaay

ohhhh jumpsuit???? and the set gives the mv vibes

and then immediately into heavydirtysoul???

tyler periodically turning into a velociraptor is feeding my soul tbh

why are the hosts gradually looking more and more demonic/dead

SATURDAY AYYYYYYY

the disco ball lmaoo

the vibes here are immaculate

wait???? is that jenna?????????????????????

her sweater is so fckn cute tho

him getting off the phone and just going "oooooooooooooooOoOooooooooOOOOOOooOoOOOOOOOOoooooo" is such a mood

the BOOMBOX yES

LEVEL OF CONCERN FUCK YEAH

oooooh the backdrop here is fire?? the colour palette fdjklfjkldj

the remixed vibes of all the songs are fucking slapping. are they available to stream or anything anywhere??

riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!!!!!!!!

the visuals have been on point this entire video can i just say

also tylers shirt is so cool???

all the horn instruments are intriguing me

josh is so!!!!!!!!!!

car radio!!! car!!!!!!! radio!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this song mostly just makes me want to cry actually. but

wait the mask!!!! the!!!! mask!!!!!

THE MASK IS OFF!!!!

well that was short lived

all the sirens and the freaking out and hes just like 🥰👉👈👏👏

NEVER TAKE IT

everythings on fire. again.

the little adlibs are so fucking cute tho

also i love when tyler just fuckin. screams

the three guitars in the one shot is such a fuckin vibe

the two in the back just clapping😭

and then there were two....

the lil dragon omg

oh look whos back on the couch

choker again????? yay??????

no tyler dont be sad :(

the overhead shot of all the sets>>>>>>>>>

yeah bitches you better clap for them

wAIT THEYRE CLAPPING FOR US

no cause josh and tyler at the end there kdfjfsdjfjdksl cuties

wow okay so much to unpack there im gonna go grab some chocolates and soda water

okay i've got the chocolates and soda water.

wow! so that was quite the experience. i can kind of understand how it all ties in with the clancy storyline, but it also feels like its not really *integrated* in the storyline. at least not for me at this point.

i really really enjoyed that whole video itself, regardless of lore. it was just a very interesting and cool way to present those songs

god i wish!!!!! there was a higher quality video. i couldnt find one on any of the sites i normally use, most of them said they were taken down, so.. :(

i dont really get what was happening with the woman and the man, the hosts? like i get that they were hosting but their whole vibe was off and they kept seeming to look injured/possessed/straight up weird. so.

im gonna take a quick break, maybe 15 minutes, to just draw a little bit and have some food and water and then i'll come back to the saturday video. i'm just sort of losing my focus and i need to do something else rq to kind of get my head back into it! so brb!

[jovialevents12]

Unleash Your Creativity Top Theme Wedding Ideas in Dubai

Jovial Events

Website: https://www.jovialevents.com/

E-Mail: info@jovialevents.com

Phone: +971 50 108 8607

Unleash Your Creativity Top Theme Wedding Ideas in Dubai

Dubai, with its stunning landscapes and luxurious venues, is a dream destination for couples looking to tie the knot. If you’re seeking a unique and unforgettable experience, themed weddings can elevate your special day to new heights. Here are some top theme wedding ideas that will help you unleash your creativity and make your Dubai wedding truly memorable.

1. Arabian Nights

Transform your wedding into a magical evening inspired by the enchanting tales of the Arabian Nights. Think rich, vibrant colors like deep purples, golds, and reds, combined with luxurious fabrics and intricate lanterns. Incorporate elements like traditional Arabic music, belly dancers, and a lavish buffet featuring Middle Eastern cuisine.

2. Beach Paradise

With Dubai’s stunning coastline, a beach-themed wedding is a fantastic choice. Decorate with seashells, driftwood, and soft pastel colors to create a serene atmosphere. Consider hosting a sunset ceremony followed by a relaxed reception with beach games, fire pits, and tropical cocktails.

3. Fairytale Romance

Bring your childhood fairytale dreams to life with a fairytale-themed wedding. Choose a castle-like venue, such as the stunning Al Qasr at Madinat Jumeirah, and incorporate elements like a horse-drawn carriage, sparkling fairy lights, and whimsical floral arrangements. Dress in elegant gowns and suits that evoke the magic of classic fairy tales.

4. Vintage Glamour

Channel the charm of the past with a vintage-themed wedding. Opt for a classic venue with a touch of nostalgia, and use decor elements like antique furniture, vintage lace, and old-fashioned signage. Encourage guests to dress in period-inspired attire and incorporate vintage cocktails into your bar menu.

5. Cultural Fusion

Celebrate your unique heritage by creating a cultural fusion wedding that blends traditions from both families. Decorate with elements from each culture, offer a diverse menu that showcases your culinary backgrounds, and incorporate traditional rituals into your ceremony. This theme is a beautiful way to honor your roots while celebrating your love.

6. Enchanted Garden

Create a lush, romantic atmosphere with an enchanted garden theme. Use greenery, flowers, and fairy lights to transform your venue into a magical outdoor paradise. Incorporate whimsical touches like oversized floral arrangements, garden seating, and nature-inspired centerpieces to bring the theme to life.

7. Travel and Adventure

If you and your partner love to explore, consider a travel-themed wedding. Use vintage suitcases, globes, and maps as decor elements, and name tables after your favorite travel destinations. Incorporate a guestbook where guests can write travel tips or share their favorite memories from trips with you.

8. Modern Minimalism

For couples who appreciate sleek design and simplicity, a modern minimalist wedding can create an elegant and sophisticated atmosphere. Choose a venue with clean lines and neutral colors, and focus on understated decor elements like geometric shapes and monochromatic floral arrangements.

9. Masquerade Ball

Add an air of mystery and elegance with a masquerade ball theme. Encourage guests to wear glamorous masks and formal attire, and decorate your venue with rich colors, candelabras, and dramatic draping. Consider hiring a string quartet or jazz band to set the mood for a truly enchanting evening.

10. Carnival Celebration

Inject some fun and excitement into your wedding with a carnival theme. Set up games, food stalls, and colorful decorations that bring the spirit of a fair to your celebration. Incorporate elements like cotton candy, popcorn, and a photo booth with props for a lighthearted and enjoyable atmosphere.

[elitepartyzau]

Top 10 Theme Ideas for a Memorable Elite Party

Imagine hosting an unforgettable party that your guests will talk about for years. As the host, you have the power to create an experience that stands out from the ordinary. Selecting a suitable theme for your event is the first step in the right direction. Thanks to modern technology and innovative event planner applications, you can turn your vision into reality with ease. Let's explore theme ideas that can take your party from ordinary to extraordinary with the help of event-planning apps.

Creative Party Theme Ideas via Event Planner Application

1. Tropical Luau

Take your guests to a tropical paradise with a Hawaiian Luau theme. Decorate with leis, tiki torches, and vibrant colours. Serve tropical cocktails and exotic dishes. Remember the hula dancers and ukulele music to complete the experience. This theme is perfect for summer parties, poolside gatherings, or beachside events.

2. Beach Party

Bring the beach to your party, regardless of your location. A beach-themed party is perfect for summer events. Set up sand, beach umbrellas, and a kiddie pool to mimic the coastal vibe. Serve tropical drinks, play beach games, and create a playlist filled with reggae and surf music for that ultimate beach party experience. With the help of party planner applications, you can transform your space into a coastal paradise.

3. Vintage Glam

Give your party a touch of old-world elegance with a Vintage Glam theme. Think Gatsby-era glamour with art deco decor, jazz music, and guests dressed in their finest vintage attire. This theme is ideal for formal occasions, such as black-tie galas, New Year's Eve parties, or milestone celebrations.

4. Under the Stars

Create a magical evening under the open sky with an "Under the Stars" theme. String lights, lanterns, and candles can set the ambience. Offer cosy seating options, like lounge chairs and floor cushions. Stargazing, bonfires, and celestial-themed decor complete the experience. This theme is excellent for backyard parties, romantic occasions, or nature-inspired gatherings.

5. Casino Royale

Bring the glitz and glamour of a high-end casino to your party with a Casino Royale theme. Decorate with red, black, and gold accents. Set up card tables for blackjack, poker, and roulette. Hire professional dealers and offer play money or casino chips. Your guests can enjoy the thrill of gambling without the risk. This theme is perfect for fundraisers, corporate events, or casino-themed parties.

6. Masquerade Ball

For an air of mystery and sophistication, a Masquerade Ball is a perfect choice. Encourage your guests to wear elegant masks and formal attire. Decorate with rich, deep colours and ornate facades. Classical music and ballroom dancing will transport everyone to a Venetian-inspired world of intrigue and elegance. This theme is fitting for elegant weddings, proms, or upscale galas.

7. Movie Marathon

Turn your party into a cinematic experience with a movie marathon theme. Pick a series of films, whether classic blockbusters, your favourite genre, or a franchise like Harry Potter or Star Wars. Set up an outdoor projector, grab some cosy blankets, and let your guests enjoy the show. Create a list of your favourite films or ask your guests for their suggestions, and use the app to organise the schedule. Remember the popcorn and candy!

8. Costume Party

Please encourage your guests to unleash their creativity with a costume party theme. Whether it's a masquerade ball, a decade-themed party, or a "favourite movie character" costume contest, everyone will have a blast dressing up. This theme brings out the fun and playful side of your guests, making it a fantastic choice for any occasion.

9. Carnival Fun

Step right up to the carnival-themed party! With games, prizes, and classic carnival food like cotton candy, hot dogs, and funnel cakes, you'll create a fun, festive atmosphere for all ages. Arrange booths with games like ring toss, balloon darts, and a photo booth for memorable snapshots. The event planner application will help you coordinate game schedules and prizes, adding a fun and interactive element to your event.

10. Mystery Dinner Theatre

For an interactive and engaging party, consider hosting a mystery dinner theatre event. Your guests become part of the story, working together to solve the mystery while enjoying a delicious meal. You can hire professional actors or opt for DIY kits that guide you through the process.

No matter which theme you choose, planning and organising a party can be made easier with the Elite Partyz app, a cutting-edge event planner application. It's a handy tool that allows you to:

View products and descriptions from listed suppliers, making it easier to select items for your theme.

Connect with businesses related to your party or event, ensuring you have everything you need to make your party a success.

Chat directly with your suppliers, receiving photos and notifications in real time, making communication seamless.

Elite Partyz takes the stress out of party planning, allowing you to focus on creating an unforgettable experience for your guests. Plus, it connects you with suppliers offering everything you need for your chosen theme.

In conclusion, a well-chosen theme can transform an ordinary event into a memorable party that your guests will talk about for years. From movie marathons to mystery dinner theatres, the possibilities are endless. With the help of an event planner application, you can simplify the planning process and ensure your party goes off without a hitch. So, pick your theme, get creative, and get ready to host the Elite Party of the year!

[whocaresifwearecrazy]

Cotton Candy, my beloved! (Masked Dancer is underrated, change my mind)

[cbab-freak]

(TW: Blood!)

Uh oh, looks like a certain crazy squirrel took a bite out of Cotton Candy...

[gancena]

The Masked Dancer HCs, Season 1

Note: These are strictly for the masks as if they were their own characters, although some are absolutely inspired by the real masks’ secret identities. Because doing HCs for real people is just kinda rude speculation. Once again tagging @simply-ash-drawing because I GOT A BURST OF ENERGY FOR THESE GUYS TODAY YO

Hammerhead --Joisey boi

--Unironically likes Jersey Shore and sincerely thinks partaking is part of Joisey culture? Regardless, it is NOT a guilty pleasure. he gets if you’re not into it, tho

--Meme dances? Yes. Watch him, Ice Cream, and White Tiger go OFF

--Big mouth, big eater. Tulip --A childhood friend/friendly rival of T-Rex’s! They’ll actually roughhouse every once in a while.

--Similarly protected as a minor around adults should be.

--Actually, even younger than TT! (Quoth TT, “I’M NOT THE SMALLEST ANYMORE! :D”)

--Flower adores her like a surrogate granddaughter. Cricket --If he’s not doing something with his hands, he’ll just have them curled in front of him.

--A good singer, but more interested in choreography.

--The rhinestone on his tooth is purely aesthetic.

Disco Ball --Despite being a symbol of dancing, he kind of moves like a slowly stiffening grandpa. Doesn’t care.

--It seems to just be how he is, since he doesn’t dance that much different even after getting in on Broccoli’s keep-fit sessions. Exotic Bird --“Why Exotic Bird and not Parrot?” “These aren’t just parrot feathers…”

--Performance competition aficionado

--Has done a few sexy moves on-stage, but doesn’t really flaunt off-stage. Sloth --The most active sloth you know, actively defying the slow nature of sloths

--Jokes that his sexier moves are his “mating dances”, to either the amusement or the chagrin of those around him

--Sometimes can’t escape the literal need of sloths to take it easy. Dozes off easily if he’s just sitting down and occasionally oversleeps. Ice Cube --Like Ice Cream, has remarkably surprising heat tolerance and needs NO extra layers in the cold

--Science trivia buff, totally inspired by his secret identity.

--“Ya like jazz?” He does.

Zebra

--Ever been kicked by a horse? Ever been punched by one? You don’t want to be.

--That being said, looks like a cinnamon roll and is one. He just also happens to be absolutely capable of punching lights out

--Playful boxing matches with Panda are frequent.

Cotton Candy

--The most physically versatile of all masks, ever.

--Her head and dresses appear to shrink in the rain! Can be found taking shelter with Poodle.

--LOVES snack and so-called “junk” foods. People wonder if they’re basically a nutritional equivalent of vegetables to her because they’re almost all they see her eat but she maintains her strength easily.

Miss Moth

--Oddly drawn to the Sun… like, more than most are.

--When overwhelmed, though, she likes to find a smaller, darker space to just breathe and be.

--Protective of others

[rockhoppr3]

17 February 2021

The top three contestants of The Masked Dancer Season 1.  Really enjoyed watching them all dance.

(x)

[hiatari-no-yoi]

If My Masked Dancer OTP Met an OwO Cat..... (Part 2)

(Well, That was a long Stretch....)

[whenimgoodandready]

What a show! The first hour we got on the finale was a look back at the former competitors and a look at each of the top threes journey through it. My girl Tulip got third place, Sloth (surprisingly) took second and Cotton Candy got her sweet victory as the champion of the spin-off series of this! Great that a female won in the first season. Wonder if we’ll get a second one? Spoilers below for who they all were:

3rd Place

Mackenzie Ziegler! I thought Charlie Damelio, but my sister was more TikTok savvy to guess her (I’m more Tumblr). I really did want her to win, but that’s favoritism on my part for it, but hey! She is a dancer, so that’s why! Still, she got to the final three and took third. Not bad.

Runner-up

Maksim Chmerkovskiy! Can you believe a professional ballroom lost this competition! Like WTF!? He’s on f**king Dancing with the Stars! I was for sure he was the people’s choice as the winner with his versitile dance styles, but got second place! Wow!

✨WINNER!🏆✨

🥇WINNER! WINNER!🥇COTTON CANDY DINNER! My dad was right! Cotton Candy won and they’re the former Olympic gymnast Gabby Douglas! I remember watching her and the other members of the “Fierce Five” or “Fab Five” or even “The Dream Team” of the 2012 Olympic Games (they were like, the “It Girls”, like a super team of some kind) as they gracefully did they awesome stunts and taking home the gold! Now she’s got another to her collection! Yea! Gabby! USA! USA! USA!

[inkykeiji]

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.  

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.  

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs.  A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.  

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

[apinklion01]

Trailing Along the Dark

Day Twenty-Four and Twenty-Nine: Circus and Nightmare

A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34214308/chapters/86748157

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Warning for those with coulrophobia. Added warning for manipulation. @floralflowerpower

“Come on Danny, we’re going to miss the opening act,” Sam said as they tore through the crowd of people gathering in the red and white tent. It seemed that all of Amity Park was awaiting whatever was going to happen inside.

Climbing on a ramp, the two of them found Tucker already sitting down with some popcorn, cotton candy, and sodas.

“Oh nice, you made it! I was starting to get worried that someone might ask to take the seats,” He said as he passed the food.

“What’s going to happen anyways?” Danny asked.

“We’re supposed to keep it a surprise, dude,” Tucker answered, slurping on his drink.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Sam added.

“People of Amity Park, may I ask that you turn off your cellular devices, and have you direct your attention to the stage,” An announcer spoke. The lights around them dimmed. A hush followed.

“It’s starting!”

“I can’t wait!!!”

“Put your hands together for the Circus Scorpius!”

A number of acrobats, dancers, unicyclists, jugglers, and clowns began walking onto the stage, all glowing in the darkness from glow-in-the-dark paint, or from LED lights.

They all had a black, red, and white color scheme, a rather odd contrast when it appeared the circus was space themed. But Danny found himself smiling when he realized that a few of the lights were placed to resemble some constellations, like Orion, Leo, and Corvus. One clown on some large stilts even passed right by them and gave a wave.

Yet despite laughing, something didn’t feel right with Danny.

‘This feels familiar, but where have I seen this before? I’m pretty sure if this was supposed to be a surprise, then I shouldn't get deja vu…’

The opening ended as soon as the ringmaster got on stage. She had spiky hair and the visible tattoos on her arms seemed to shimmer in the spotlight. She wore a red tuxedo and on her wrists were some silvery cuffs.

“Greetings to our audience tonight! I’m your host, Lydia Scuro. For this first act, one of my fellow circus performers would like to perform, but he’ll need two volunteers from the audience, preferably friends.”

Her gaze set right where Danny and his friends were sitting. “How about any of you two?” She said, pointing a finger. A spotlight fell on the trio.

“Tucker, you want to do it?” Sam asked ecstatically.

“Oh heck yeah!” The other exclaimed.

Both teens walked to the center of the stage.

“Now, may I present to you Showenhower!”

A plume of smoke, and a man dressed in a grey coat and a black tuxedo appeared. In his right hand was a microphone, and in his left hand was a staff with a red orb. A mask that resembled one for theaters covered his face. Despite his wave towards the audience, a shiver crept down Danny’s spine.

“Good evening! Now, may I have the names of the two who’ve volunteered,” He inquired, holding up the microphone.

“Sam Manson!”

“Tucker Foley!”

“Well then, Sam, and Tucker, you are about to become a part of the show. All I need you to do is to follow what I say. Are you ready?”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s do this!”

Showenhower spun his staff around. “Alright then, I’ll need you to take a breath in, and then out. In… and out… in… and out… Another breath in… and another out…”

Danny saw them follow his orders and watched as the two began getting relaxed.

“Now, just follow my staff, back and forth, back… and forth… back… and forth…”

Within moments, they both began to sway uneasily on their feet, even bumping into each other. Yet neither of them gave a complaint as their eyelids began closing.

“Once more… yes, yes, now STOP.”

A snap of his fingers, and they stopped dead in their tracks. Their gaze was directly at Showenhower.

‘They’re hypnotized, but nothing like I was,’ Danny thought to himself.

‘Wait.’

‘Like I was?’

‘Showenhower… Frederic Isac Showenhower…’

‘...Freakshow...’

The realization hit him like stone just as everyone else in the audience started to cheer as the hypnotist made them backflip.

‘What were Sam and Tucker thinking about going to see one of their performances? I thought they knew that I already was afraid of seeing hypnotists, let alone a circus. Why didn’t they think this through?’

Danny wanted to say something, anything, to get them out of the trance. But his mouth wouldn’t open, his eyes couldn’t tear from the stage. All he could do was watch as his friends began performing tricks to Freakshow’s every whim. And under that mask, the raven haired teen knew he was giving a wicked grin.

“Now, since Hallow’s Eve approaches, why don’t we give them something to fear,” the hypnotist suggested to the audience, walking calmly about the stage. “Something like watching a frightful moment from a movie?”

The audience began applauding in agreement.

“Very well, it shall be done!”

A wave of his staff and Sam and Tucker looked up before they both began screaming, their eyes wide open with terror and their arms gripping each other. Danny’s core hummed loudly as he watched, unable to intervene with so many people around him, nor was his body willing to move from his seat.

And they were laughing. They were all cheering and laughing as his friends continued to tremble with fright.

Exactly like how they did when he was forced on a similar show.

Finally, the act was done, and Sam and Tucker were brought out of their state. They blinked and gave the audience a wave as if they found nothing wrong with being puppets for Freakshow’s performance.

“My dear audience, please give thanks for Showenhower and volunteers Sam and Tucker!” Lydia announced as the crowd applauded loudly.

“Danny, it was so cool!” Sam said as they walked back up, the spotlight still following them.

“Yeah, you should’ve been there!” Tucker agreed.

“Well isn’t it a coincidence that your friend’s dressed up right in time for the next act,” Lydia said. “May I present to you, the Grinning Reaper!”

Danny found the spotlight too harsh and the music too loud. He found himself transforming into his ghost half, and more terrifyingly, a too familiar costume. His normal black and white jumpsuit was replaced with a poofy clown costume with white gloves, two white pom-poms on his chest, and white ruffles around his wrists, shoes, and neck.

He found himself waving at the audience as he summoned a scythe, which revealed a tiny white hat on his head with two black pom-poms. As he looked at the reflection in the weapon, Danny saw himself smiling with two red eyes and his cheeks painted green.

Everything was too loud, it wasn’t right, nothing was right at all-

Danny woke up with a scream. His body shook uneasily as he frantically rubbed his face with his hands and checked them.

No makeup smears. No white ruffles. No clown costume in sight.

From both sides, Sam began to stir, Tucker already getting up to turn on a lamp.

‘We were having a sleepover,’ He remembered as his breathing grew quicker. ‘We didn’t go anywhere else.’

“Danny, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, rubbing her eyes awake.

“You sound terrified, did something happen?” Tucker added.

A moment of relief was eclipsed by the fresh memory of the nightmare, and he quickly broke down.

“Whoa, hey Danny, it’s okay,” Tucker called out. Danny felt his friend’s shoulder, and he leaned on it. Sam came up from behind and began stroking his head.

“Was it a bad dream?” She asked.

He didn't want to cry. Danny always felt so weak when he had to cry. 'I'm a hero, heroes don't cry, heroes are supposed to make people feel okay. I'm supposed to make my friends feel okay, not scared.' But the tears wouldn’t stop flowing as the terror from the nightmare still was holding on tight.

“We… We were at a circus,” He gasped out. “You… You got hypnotized by Freakshow, a-and I… I couldn’t stop it…”

Sam paused from stroking his head, and he heard Tucker breath in sharply.

“Everyone was- was laughing at you two, a-and then I was the next performer,” Danny continued. “I… I was under his control, I was the ghost clown again. I didn't have any control, I couldn’t stop myself.”

He sobbed harder. Sam silently hugged him, and Tucker followed.

“We’d never take you to the circus dude,” Tucker said quietly. “Not after what Freakshow did.”

“God I wish… I wish I didn’t take you there, Danny,” Sam said. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have these nightmares, it’s my fault.”

“Sam, you didn’t know what would happen, none of us knew he controlled ghosts to do his show. And you didn’t mean to harm Danny either.”

“You think I’d learn from the first time with the portal-”

“Sam, you didn’t know. Nothing can change that. I wish we could as much as you do, but we can’t.” He let out a sigh. “We’re best friends, and that means we’re together for good times, and bad ones. And somehow, we’ll ride them out together.”

“...I won’t do anything like that to you ever again, okay?” She whispered to Danny. He let out a whimper, but nodded in agreement.

“Do you want us to stay with you until you fall asleep?” Tucker asked.

Another nod.

It was a long time before Danny stopped crying. And longer till he felt he was safe enough to sleep.