#and. not to toot my own clown nose

[doctorweebmd]

THE PATH TO PARADISE CHAPTER 13 IS UP

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50811373/chapters/142107949

[venillopewrites]

Hi this project looks really interesting!! I was wondering if you could give some physical descriptions of the characters? Thank you!

Hi! Thank you, I think so too toot toot goes the horn of my very own clown car

Here are some physical descriptions, handpicked from the draft, and a quick summary afterwards. I do so wish to spoil you, you see.

CW: mentions of scars and prosthetics.

N.

‘ From the lineup of white coats, Dr. Hanover stands out. While no taller than the rest, they exude a cold sort of power no lesser scientist would wield with such pride. ’

‘ “So was a sharp jawline on your daddy’s list of genetic must-haves?” ‘

‘ Whoever said brown eyes were warm and comforting clearly never met someone like N. Whatever sympathy you try to find in their scrutinizing gaze through the glass wall brings another wave of unease. ’

‘ They run a hand through their hair (MASC.N ->) and let it rest against the nape of [their] neck where the hair more prominently waves up. (FEM.N ->) and combs it over [their] shoulder where [they] pick at the waved ends absentmindedly. ‘

Summary: 5′8, dark brown hair that’s graying by the temples, and eyes that could be classified as russet brown. Masc. N’s hair reaches the nape of their neck while Fem. N grows it to just between the shoulder blades. Wavy texture. Their skin is a pale beige. Toned body. Masc.N is clean shaven for the first arc, but lets a bit of a 5 o’clock shadow grow for the rest. Fem. N goes to great lengths to hide her dark under-eyes in the first arc, but not so much for the rest.

They always dress professionally, both GoC favoring suits plus the IBIS* lab coat that’s a staple in their wardrobe. In very casual settings they wear mostly turtlenecks, dress shirts, or neutral sweaters. Never sweatpants though.

E.

‘ They look rigid and tense, which only adds to their height over the crowd you push through. The sea of people part when they lunge your way, while you struggle to shove through them. ’

‘ An almost imperceptible light circles the gray of their iris, and you curse the space around you when the light centers in their pupil; They found you. ’

‘ You stare at the ID card, dumbfounded. The face that stares back at you is no less intimidating than the real deal, but what you note first is that, huh, Vale is blonde. ’

‘ (Cont.) ... They look like her, the girl who works at the ReBar. The same gaunt cheeks, the narrow nose and pouty lips. If she got an undercut and a nasty scar cutting through her face, they would be twins. ’

Summary: 6′3, light blonde hair in an undercut, the longest tips touching just past their ear, no matter the GoC. Always keeps it slicked back or in a french braid on the job. Gray eyes with implanted tech that shines white/pale blue. Their skin is bronze brown and weathered. Athletic body with many scars, one jagged ugly one right across the face from the bridge of their nose to right under the right ear. Sunken cheeks, narrow nose, and pouty lips. Entire left forearm and hand replaced by prosthetics**.

Always seen waring tactical gear, black on black, kevlar on kevlar, straps and heavy gear. Civilian clothes are also muted colors, and then they prefer t-shirts and cargo pants, with an occasional leather or bomber jacket.

Shiloh.

‘ They trudge from their bedroom lair, eyes still half closed and hair sticking at odd angles. The afternoon sun shines on it just so, painting the light brown nest almost blonde. ’

‘ You stare at your own reflection in those infernal sunglasses. You must be one of the few lucky ones who have ever seen the mismatched brown and blue beyond the reflective lenses. ‘

‘ They flinch from you, the usual tan of their skin bleeding into a deathly pale. [The Parasite] rattles in amusement. ’

‘ The bravado serves to make a point even if the heckler stands a good head taller than Shiloh. compact strength is what they’re banking on, and it works; The heckler sneers down at them before turning on their heel and dashing out the door. ’

Summary: 5′6, light brown hair grown just shy of the shoulders, straight coarse texture, often worn in a loose bun. Left eye brown, right eye blue, but they’re rarely seen as they use reflective  aviator sunglasses everywhere but home. Warm tan skin, damaged by the pollution and dry air. Average body, on the toned side but not quite. Arms completely tattooed with abstract shapes and binary code here and there. Has MMCMLX tattooed above right eyebrow.

Leather is what they prefer in their everyday jackets and boots, jackets preferably with a fur trim. Otherwise they’re a haphazard dresser, preferring tones of muted orange or yellow in shirts, especially when going out. Their mask*** they use when traversing The Pens is solid black with orange neon accents that jump every time they speak. At home, they’re always in sweatpants and hoodies.

Parasite

Amorphous blob of oobleck by day, whatever it wants to be by night.

Summary: That’s it. It can be anything it desires, as long as it can prod the hosts brain for ideas. In the first arc it doesn’t manifest as anything, but later arcs it will both exist outside the hosts body as a whole (tethered) or as a clothing or tattoo article on the hosts body.

EXPLANATIONS:

*IBIS is the department dedicated to everything interstellar from technology to travel to bioscience.

**Sounds impractical for an agent but it works exactly like a real arm and hand would, even has heat regulation. Yay science in 2974!

***It's almost impossible to traverse The Pens without a mask so everyone who can afford it has one. The air itself would literally choke a normal human within thirty minutes.

[sarahscribbles]

Perhaps you’ll never know who I am but I��m here to provide some distraction from whatever is bothering you 💕

If you had to dye your hair - what color would you chose ?

If you ever want to marry - what would be your ideal dress ?

What would you cook if Loki was to visit you ?

Ahhh thank you, my love!!! <3

I'd probably dye it light pink or lilac! Something really girly. Although, I'd love to dye it red too! Not like clown nose red but a nice ginger? If I wasn't so chicken I'd do it haha.

My idea of a perfect wedding dress changes all the time haha. Sometimes I think I'd like a princess style dress and then other times I'd like something a little more simple. My Pinterest is full of so many different variations of wedding dresses haha! (which I'll probably never wear seeing as I'm almost 30 and still single!)

Ooooh cool question! I'd make him spaghetti bolognese because, not to toot my own horn, but I make a really good spaghetti bolognese! And I'd obviously offer myself up for dessert, yknow? Whipped cream included.

[impossible-rat-babies]

feeling a way about ARR stuff below the cut for oc clownery and spoilers

as much as thancred feels bad about what happened, eyrie also feels terrible. he’s part of the group and yeah he was sent off to do his own thing, but did anyone check on him? did eyrie themself check on him? yeah there was a lot going on, but after the waking sands was sacked, it seems prudent to go and see who is still alive. sure the primal threat is a Big Deal, but what about the rest of the scions?

so they feel a very large sense of guilt over what happened—what they didn’t go investigating because there were more pressing matters. It’s a constant back and forth between thinking about what they should have done and how things turned out

[plethodontidae]

never would’ve thought i would be going into 2021 with a loki themed blog but here i am

[feliicityrampant]

i love making other people laugh... really makes you feel like its okay that youre taking up space and being alive... might be a dirty little clown man writhing in my own filth but at least i am a clown

[sunflowerandco]

2. "Look, I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

surprise i saw @ciaratorres 's beautiful list of duncney prompts and as per request i chose one to fulfill! if you guys like this i can do another one :) this really helped me out of a hard time so enjoy/let me know what you think!

----------------------‐------------‐--------------

Duncan practically skipped down the corridors of the office, loosening his tie as he made his way to the elevator. Working overtime and sorting the mailroom meant he was one of the last people in the office.

Or so he thought.

He heard a sniffle from an abundance of cubicles. It almost seemed like an accident; as if he weren't supposed to hear it. He swore he heard a hand slap against someone's mouth in an attempt to suppress any more noise. His curiosity led him closer to seeing the brunette in accounting in a corner of her gray, carpeted cubicle.

He knew her name despite rarely seeing it on the envelopes he spent the beginning of his shift delivering from cubicle to cubicle. It was hard to forget when he finally learned it. Earning the right to put a name to the face that drew him in, the eyes that rolled at his comments, and the lips that responded to him in quick-witted retorts that revealed she was able to keep up with him. All of it was in good fun, but he couldn't help the way he felt about her. He was sane enough to know she was off limits.

The woman who always seemed to have it together sat before him with tousled hair and her knees pulled up to her chest. The tissue in her hand was stained black with mascara. She looked up after sniffling again, causing their eyes to lock.

She noticed the tattooed mischievous mailroom tech through her tear-filled, blurred vision. The look on his face contrasted his usual smug smirk he displayed when towering over her desk. His concerned tone differed from the standard flirtatious approach she heard on his morning runs around the office. It all took her by surprise.

"What's going on?" He asked, very hushed and seriously. She looked to the side, weary of telling someone she barely knew her personal business. He considered letting her be, but ultimately decided he couldn't - didn't want to leave her alone in this way.

"Look, I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

She spoke very quietly, dabbing her eyes with the same tissue. "My boyfriend dumped me over text."

Duncan walked a little closer before settling down on the empty space on the floor next to her. It was a bit cramped for the two of them, and she was surprised having not inviting him, but accepting of it anyway. They sat in silence for a minute as she held her mouth open to speak, but nothing was coming out. Courtney wanted to speak more, and knew he was waiting for her to do so.

"It just came out nowhere in the middle of the day... I thought now I could finally let out my feelings when everyone left."

"Well, he's a fucking idiot, that's for sure."

"He graduated at the top of his class, actually."

"Of clown college, maybe." Courtney gave a look of disappointment suggesting he could do better than that.

"That was really awful." It wasn't his best effort, but the joke was so corny Courtney had to laugh.

"I know it was." He agreed laughing along, just grateful for the fact he took her mind off of her problem shortly.

She giggled even though a few tears trickled down her cheeks. She let her legs go and sat more comfortably, facing the direction he sat in. Duncan reached over to her desk to pull another tissue out of the box.

"There you go." Duncan approached somewhat affectionately.

With both of their smiles lingering, he faced her to clean up some of her tears. He took in the redness of her cute nose and how the hue only made her freckles darker. Courtney on the other hand wondered how she never came to notice just how blue his eyes were as he attentively dabbed away her tears.

Their smiles on their faces traded for serious glances when they made eye contact. He didn't think he could've found her more beautiful than the first time he saw her picking a fight with the crappy copy machine. He tried to focus on uplifting her to cover up the feeling of red spreading across his own face. "I know you're gonna be okay. You're Courtney."

"What does that mean?" She asked her first question, but was quickly asking another. "And since when do you remember my name?"

Courtney posed the question after hearing his abundant arsenal of nicknames for her. Sweetheart, Toots, and most annoyingly of all, Princess. It was all to get under her skin, and he was successful in that aspect in ways more than one.

"Of course I know your name, Princess." She noted the smugness in his delivery and rolled her eyes. He smirked in response and continued answering her questions.

"It means you always find a way to come out on top. You don't need some loser dumping you to figure that out. And look at you. You won't have a problem finding someone else." He mentally hit himself for that last sentence slipping off his tongue. He was one more comment closer to a meeting with the HR department.

Courtney could catch on to the meaning of his last statement. What she couldn't decipher was whether they were words of encouragement or an actual feeling he had toward her appearance. She watched him turn his face away from hers in his chagrin as his actions confirmed the latter. Flattery got him farther when he felt his cheek burn in brilliant scarlet as an endearing kiss landed on it. He heard her truly say his name for what felt like the first time.

"Thank you, Duncan." She stood up from the floor grabbing her suitcase in the process. He sat still, flustered by the pace of their exchanges and reversing their positions when he initially found her. She continued, not wanting to leave him in this way as well. "You can walk me to my car."

---------------------------------------------------------

a/n: I'm sorry for that corny joke

[19tozier]

polaroid boy (richie tozier)

request:if/when requests are open (if this is okay bc idk your request rules) could you write an angst fic for reddie based on the song polaroid boy by nicole zefanya, it can be from either persons pov i think that decision is more of a personal one based on who you think fits the song better

warnings: angst, swearing, allusions to sexual things, i tried out some stuff w tense so hopefully it still makes sense lol

[losers + reader are college aged (20/21)]

there is an exquisite beauty in falling in love. in feeling your heart quicken at the sight of their smile, or feeling your cheeks blush at the sound of their laugh. in letting yourself tumble off the edge of the cliff because you are certain they will be there to catch you.

there is an exquisite pain in hitting the ground after they fail to do so.

you want to curse yourself for having stepped off the edge. you aren’t sure you’d have been able to stop yourself from falling anyways, but you did it with no hesitation. you didn’t just trip over the cliff, you leapt off of it. no parachute, no net, no caution. and now you’re the one paying the price for it.

it started, innocently enough, in your first lecture fall semester of your sophomore year. you were still drudging through your gen eds, doing your best to stay motivated through endless classes that weren’t at all related to your major. the lectures made your eyes glaze and your head pound, but you were getting through them. nothing exciting ever happened in them but that was fine with you.

until, of course, richie tozier sat next to you in the middle of a half-empty history lecture, fashionably late and a devil’s smirk on his pretty face.

you’d done your best to ignore him at first, furiously writing down anything and everything the professor said. just because a beautiful boy had sat beside you didn’t mean you would compromise your education. class first, dick later, you thought.

but richie, still wearing that gorgeous smirk, had leaned into your side and murmured, “you look a little tense there, doll. want some help with that?” and his left eye had dropped in a wink that sent prickles down your spine.

fuck, had you wanted to slap him for such a suggestive comment. did he always go around propositioning random girls? you were certain the answer was yes, and yet... part of you loved the attention, and another part of you wanted to keep those blue eyes on you at all times.

you’d scowled, glaring at him, refusing to rise to his bait and give him the response he so obviously wanted. you’d pointedly turned back to your professor, ignoring richie for the remainder of the class.

you’d expected him to give up the chase, maybe find another girl who’d take kindly to his attempts at seduction, but he’d stayed by your side while you packed up your bag and walked out beside you, body in a long loose sprawl as he asked—no, begged—you to let him take you to lunch. and were you really going to turn down a free meal? he may be irritating, but you weren’t stupid.

and oh, had he irritated you. it felt like he had been drawn straight from your own personal hell to drive you crazy, but there was something charming about him. something that drew you in despite your earlier reluctance.

he’d leaned across the table at lunch, smirk softened into something sweeter, and brushed his thumb along your cheek. “you’ve got somethin’ here, love,” he’d murmured, his eyes smoky.

“thanks,” you'd rasped, subtly crossing your legs and praying he didn’t notice your blush.

you’d caved and given him your number at the end of your maybe-date. you were still operating under the idea that he wouldn’t want to see you again, so hey, you’d figured, what the hell?

but he had. he’d texted you that night, a simple hey there sugar ;), and against your will your heart had started pounding. your hands shook as you carefully typed out we’ve known each other for a day and you’ve called me how many nicknames?

you’d laughed, irritation be damned, when he had responded almost immediately: i can add on a few more. put it on my tab, toots.

you found, slowly but surely, that richie was charming and funny and obnoxious in a way that made you want more. he was crass, yes, and sometimes he made you want to gouge your own eyes out, but he was softer and sweeter than you’d ever have thought to give him credit for. and it was horrible for you, really, because there was nothing to stop you from developing feelings.

but there were nights where you curled up with richie in your dorm room, squished together on your too-small bed, your roommate blessedly gone for the night, watching shitty movies on your laptop with takeout scattered around you. nights where you were certain that everything you felt for him was reciprocated.

he had pressed his lips into your hair, his glasses digging into the top of your head. “this movie is something else, doll,” he’d murmured to you, tilting his chin towards where you were forcing him to watch the room with you. “not sure i know what’s going on anymore.”

you’d laughed, twisting your head to kiss his jaw. “that’s the point,” you had grinned. “this movie is so bad that it’s fantastic.”

he’d snorted, the tips of his fingers sliding under your t-shirt and tracing circles into the bare skin of your back. “not quite the word i’d use but sure, toots. i’ve definitely lost the plot though.”

you’d frowned, reaching to pause it to look up at him. “i can rewind it if you want?”

he’d smirked, reaching gentle fingers to cradle the curve of your jaw, turning your face towards him. “i can think of something better to do,” he’d purred, and his lips and his body had silenced any objection you could’ve had. not that you did, really.

he’d had that effect on you. time and time again, he had turned you into a bumbling idiot, a lovesick fool, a damned clown. you were the court jester in his kingly eyes, the puppet beneath his talented hand, the doll to sit high on his shelf. people thought it was he that was the bozo, but no; he played you like it was his job and you were too stupid to ever realize how masterful he was.

you’d giggled to him, stretched out in the quad with your head in his lap. he’d been leaning against a tree, one hand absently stroking through your hair, the other holding up a book for class. you had been fucking around with the polaroid camera your friend had bought you for your birthday, taking pictures of the trees and the students around you but mostly of richie himself.

“what’s up, sugar?” he’d murmured, glancing down from his book. his glasses had nearly slid off of his nose.

you’d reached up to correct them, smiling at him. “nothing, nothing. you just look cute. very photogenic.”

he’d rolled his eyes, bookmarking the page he was on and setting the book aside to fully give you his attention. “cute? me? damn baby, maybe you need these glasses more than i do.”

you’d scowled at him, as annoyed as ever that he never seemed to understand how gorgeous he was. “you take that back right now, asshole.”

he had laughed, grinning down at you. his palm had slid along your stomach, warm and secure against your skin, and his eyes had shone in the sunlight. “you always say the sweetest things, doll,” he’d teased.

he’d ducked to kiss you before you could respond, slow and deep and searching, and you had melted back against the grass. it was rare for him to initiate something like this in public, enough that you had kissed him back and not had a single other thought. when he walked you to class, he didn’t reach for your hand; when you met him for lunch, he didn’t kiss you hello or goodbye; when you studied together in the library, he never sat close enough to touch. at the time, you had simply thought he was reserved with his affections.

those polaroids you had taken were the first of many, proudly hung up on the wall of your dorm next to your bed. they weren’t all of richie: some of you and your roommate, some of your friends from your classes, some of the friends of richie’s you had met only once. but most of them had been of richie, because you were smitten and you couldn’t do anything about it.

every time he came over, every time he saw them, his face had done something complicated that you had never understood—a frown to a grimace to a smile that he forced on.

looking back, you wonder about every sign that you had missed. could you have saved yourself the heartbreak if you had simply paid attention? could you have gotten yourself out with your dignity?

it had never even occurred to you to define what you and richie were. you were stupid and young and content to just be able to love him, even if you hadn’t known him long. you never thought to ask him if you were dating, or if he was your boyfriend or not. you really fucking wish you had.

it came to a head not long after. richie had come over like usual, a spring to his step and a bite to his words that had been there for weeks now. he’d been a ghost of himself, eyes flickering around to see who was watching whenever you saw him on campus, not responding to your messages for hours, jumping whenever he saw you. you had just wanted him to relax for a bit.

you’d curled into his chest, laughing along with him to the stupid horror movie you were watching. “it doesn’t even look real,” you’d giggled, pointing to the spray of blood from on-screen.

richie had snorted. “‘cause it’s not real, it’s probably chocolate syrup.”

you had rolled your eyes, poking at his chest. “i know that, smartass. i’m talking about the effects.”

“i’m talking about the effects,” he had mimicked you, pitching his voice higher and sticking his tongue out at you.

you’d scowled, pinching his side. “you’re annoying and one of these days i’ll murder you.”

“oh, is that a promise?” he’d grinned, lopsided and too damn sexy for his own good. “not one of my kinks, i’ll admit, but damn, what a way to go.”

“oh, for the love of—” you’d lunged forward, knocking him onto his back and almost pitching the two of you off the side of the bed. he’d grabbed onto your waist to hold you steady. “i want to strangle you! with my bare hands!”

“that’s hot.” and he’d laughed, the motherfucker, like the sound of it didn't live inside of your ribcage and swim through your bloodstream. every inch of him was something specially designed to get under your skin and make a home there.

it still has a home there.

you’d growled, whaling on him with gentle fists that he did absolutely nothing to combat. he’d just kept laughing, holding your wrists in his big hands, glasses skewed. “you’re awful and i really fucking wish i didn’t love you.”

all at once, it had gone silent and he had gone tense. the expression on his face had not been the elation you had been hoping for; it was horror, plain and simple, and the shock of it had pitched you sideways off of his lap.

“you love me?” he’d asked through trembling lips, looking anywhere but you.

slowly, you had nodded. your voice had disappeared. and he’d nodded back, one short frantic movement, and then vaulted himself off of the bed.

“richie—”

“i didn’t think we were that serious,” he’d said, yanking his shoes on. “i thought we were just having fun.” like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

tears had welled in your eyes and your chest had ached with the force of it. your heart, which you had thought was safe in richie’s hands, was being crushed and ripped to shreds and you could do nothing but watch.

“richie, wait—”

but he had shrugged you off, forceful in the way he had pushed you back. the look in his eyes was wild and terrified and you didn’t recognize him anymore.

he hadn’t looked back at you, in the end. he had just shouldered his backpack and grabbed his phone and disappeared out the door. he hadn’t paused when you sobbed out his name one more time. he hadn’t even faltered.

foolishly, oh so foolishly, you’d held on to hope that that wasn’t the end. that you’d simply overwhelmed him and he just needed time. but as the days stretched into weeks and your texts and calls had remained unanswered, your hope had died the same way your heart had.

you had taken that fatal plunge; the ground was hard when you’d hit it.

you still have the polaroids. you’d taken them down after a few weeks, too hurt to see yours and richie’s smiling faces when he had disappeared from your life. but you still have them, in the shoebox you keep under your bed. and there are nights like tonight where you pull them out to stare at them.

your chest aches, the tears in your throat choking you. you should be all cried out by now but you aren’t that lucky. it seems every reminder of him is destined to detonate something inside of you.

you can still feel his smile on your lips. you can still taste his laughter. you can still hear the stupid voices he’d do to make you giggle. you can still feel him in your heart.

richie hurt you. god, had he hurt you. he’d hurt you so badly you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to smile again. but you’re still in love with him and you don’t think it’ll ever go away.

he’ll forever be the boy in your polaroids, the one that made you feel on top of the world and the one that made you feel like you were six feet under. you won’t ever be able to hear his favorite song without hearing it in his voice. you won’t ever be able to love again without feeling his imprint in your heart.

there’s something magical about falling in love. you won’t take that back. but on nights like this, you wish you never fell.

[nad-zeta]

Headcanon: How the boys and MC farts

Ayeeeeee love got a really hilarious idea and I really hope it is not offensive lol??? like… um …. how warlords and MC fart I guess?? like o boi dats awkward LOLOL; just had the shitty(note the pun) idea and cant stop asking you hehee

Hi hi, love! 🌻😳Thank you so much for the request and omw I was dying laughing when I first read this idea hehe! 😂❤I hope you enjoy love and I hope you have the best day! 😂😂

Nobunaga

Just like the powerful commander he is, his farts are loud and proud

Will shamelessly fart in front of EVERYBODY during the war councils

“What’s that sound My lord.” Mitsunari asked confused by the loud thunderous sound ripping through the council room

“That would be the sound of my fart.” (¬‿¬)

“Oh, well it is quite majestic my Lord” (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Has no shame about letting one rip

That would definitely make this commander a confident farter

Masamune

I think Masamune is the Prompt farter

This warlord clown always has one locked away and ready to go

Just say the word and he will let one rip without a second thought 

His farts are also loud and proud

Will 9/10 time fart on Mitsuhide when he is busy losing at a battle of wits against the sneaky boi, kinda like how an older sibling would fart in a younger sibling’s face… you know for laughs

Also loves to compete with other peoples farts, if someone farts near him he will smile that mischievous smile of his, “Challenge accepted”

Mitsunari

Mitsunari is a strategic farter

He is the type that would let one rip and then smile like it never happened

His farts are actually pretty cute and angelic sounding

His Celestial Farts are soft and delicate, it is just a very small clear fart with no odour at all

Like a little toot

Ieyasu

We have a dishonest farter here

He will legit fart and then blame the nearest person or animal

“Pttttffftt”

“Hey, Masamune can you not fart so close to me.”

“Lad, that didn’t even sound like one of my farts, this is what my farts sound like.”

“PPPPPTTTTTFFFFFFTTTTTTFFF”

After he has eaten a particularly spicy meal this boy’s farts will be dead silent but VIOLENT!

It slipped out so quickly and silently, yet had the power to kill an army

Hideyoshi

Hideyoshi is an honest farter

He wouldn’t be particularly proud of his farts like Masamune or Nobu, but he also won’t shy away from admitting that he farted

Especially when he is drunk

Lets one slip during war council

It comes out like a medium toot

“Oooh excuse me, I just farted”

Will walk over to the window to crack it open, even though it doesn’t really stink

If he is drunk, he will definitely partake in a farting contest with Masamune

Mitsuhide

These farts come out like the sound of a snek

Sssssssssssssssst

“Mitsuhide did you just sis or was that a fart.”

“Golly me, whatever could you be talking about, little mouse.”

He is a disappointed farter, he will give off, soft farts with no odour.

No matter how hard he tries to fart as loudly as his fellow warlords, they always just seem to just fizz out.

This fart can only be classified as one thing a dud fart, and it usually leaves the farter feeling a little disappointed.

Kenshin

Kenshin is one of those classified under the snart

The only time bunny boy farts is when he sneezes or when you tickle him, and he is laughing too much

Like Mitsuhide and Mitsunari, his farts comes across as soft and graceful just like him

It kind of reminds you of a little bunny sneeze

One day Shingen felt like messing with Kenshin and tickled his nose with a feather to make him sneeze, and that’s when it happened

One little fart slipped lose

The warlords couldn’t tell if the bunny on Kenshin’s lap had sneezed or if it was a fart

Either way, it brought tears to their eyes, their lord was so graceful amd cute in everything he does

Otherwise, bunny boi is classified as a miserable farter, those who are simply unable to fart

Yukimura

This boy is 100% a shy and nervous farter

He will let one rip loud and proud when he is alone, but in company, the farts come out bit for bit

He is someone who would stop mid fart if he senses someone coming

During banquets, this boy will start to feel the fart coming on

“pt,pt,pt-pt,pt-pt-pt,pop,pop-pop-pop-POW!”

Finally relief.... until

“Do you guy smell something.” Sasuke very dramatically gasps for air 

Cue Yukimura going super red

“N-no, here try these sticky buns,” Yuki will legit stuff Sasuke’s face with food to distract him from the fact that he just farted

Shingen

Daddy Shingen is definitely a clever farter

He has to be, when he is trying to flirt with and impress the ladies

Will be someone who coughs and farts at the same time, just to mask the fact that he farted

Or he will wait for the perfect moment when Kenshin slams his fist on the table in frustration, at the fact that, no one is willing to fight with him during the banquet

If his farts had to be something, it would be a rusty gate fart

As in, it will sound like the driest and squeaky fart sound you have ever heard

Sasuke

This boy staying true to science, is a scientific farter

He will mostly be one of those who keep their farts in a jar and then use it to make deadly smoke bombs

He has a skillsaw kind of fart, the kind that vibrates the farter, as it gets released.

It shakes him up while people back away slowly, kinda low key sounds like an electric saw ripping through wood.

“Sasuke, dude did you just fart.”

“Of course, releasing pent up gas is healthy, plus now I have some fresh gas to use for my newest smoke bomb.”

“You are seriously gross man.”

MC

You are classified as a foolish farter

The one who lowkey keeps their farts in when you are in public

Will let it rip when in the comfort of your own presence, but when in front of the warlords

You will suck that fart so far up your ass, lest you want to be teased for days

Especially after the one time, you farted in front of the kitsune

“Hey, Mitsu did you smell something.” you asked super innocently 

“I believe that is the smell of your farts, smelly little mouse, perhaps you shouldn’t have eaten those beans last night.” (¬‿¬)

“I have no idea what you are talking about Mitsu, I was talking about the smell of those flowers over there, unless you want to confess that it was, in fact, you that farted” (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞

“Hmmm, the fox smells his own hole, my dear.” (◕‿◕✿)

Mitus smirked as he gave you one final head pat and retreated back for some fresh air

I hope you enjoyed it dear! ❤❤🌻

[neurodivergentlemen]

my current URL is SO good (not to toot my own clown nose but it is!) but I'm still kinda thinking about changing it sometimes because I also have transwatson (how was that free??? i don't understand) reserved and that'd be really cool too,, idk idk it's a hard choice

[monkeydlesbian]

not to toot my own horn but *honks clown nose* i can’t believe i fell in love with a character with less than 3 mins of screen time

[punchyline]

Catfight || Discord

Summary: Punchline crashes the party and a fight ensues. Trigger Warnings: Abuse mentions, violence, death, blood, Joker Written By: @harleenqueenzel, @antidyingantihero, @ofpowerfulmortal, @poisoned-kisses

Harley: Harley pressed a kiss to her adopted son's cheek, and scratched Bruce behind the ear. She felt eyes on her, turning her head to see a woman wearing clown makeup. Oh great. "Hey, Mike..." she said, looking away. "Is that clown still watching me?" she asked, feeling anxious.

Mike: Mike's smile turned genuine. Harley always made him feel better. He glanced behind her, looking at the clown. "Kind of. Who is she." he said as he looked back at the bar. "You want me to get her out of here?"

Harley: Harley let out a soft sigh. "I have no idea. But she looks like she works fer my ex," she commented, turning to look at the woman again. Her presence was making her uncomfortable. And if Pam saw her, she'd probably end up strangling her. "I'm not sure. Do I give her a chance first, or d'ya think I should go straight ta the throwin' her out?"

Punchline: "William." She mused, scrunching up her nose and giving him a cheeky smile. "I like that. I think that's what I'll call you." She decided and he wasn't about to change her mind. She liked the sound of it, the way it shaped on her tongue. She had another sip of her drink. She may be playing with him, but she was loyal to the Clown Prince of Gotham.

Mike straightened up. "Joker? If you didn't invite her get her the hell out of here. I  can do it if you want Ma'" he answered. No one was going to make her uncomfortable.

Harley: Harley bit down on her lower lip, nodding as she ran her fingers through Bruce's fur. She didn't want Mike to get hurt -- not that he could, really. "Could ya go an' ask her what her business here is or somethin' like that? If she starts bein' aggressive, I'll come over an' help. I've got a gun concealed beneath this dress," she shrugged.

Mike: "Of course." he said standing up and kissing Harley's head. He went over to the woman, not carrying about interrupting her conversation. "What's your business here?"  he asked serious. "Because I know you weren't invited."

Billy: Billy crinkled his nose, he was not used to having someone calling him by William. He felt as if he was in trouble when people did it and remind him too much about his mom, which hurt him. Even if he was extremely young when she left him at the park, he still remembered that she called him by his full name all the time, "I don't have a choice, do I?"

Punchline: "It's cute. You don't like it?" She asked Billy. She glanced Harley's way just then, catching the kiss. Half of Gotham hated her... but the other half. It praised her for leaving him. Idolized her for it. "I heard it was open for all." Punchline replied, taking a few steps from Billy towards the boy. "Did Pumpkin over there ask you to talk to me?" She said, glancing over towards Harley with an icy stare. "I'm here to paint eggs."

Harley: Harley watched as Mike approached the woman, and she heard her say 'pumpkin'. Her stomach churned and she started to walk towards Punchline, Bruce next to her, watching her closely. He'd attack if he had to. She stayed a few steps away, but was close enough to help Mike if he needed her.

Mike: "Well that was a misprint, you see it's open to everyone who don't work for a that piece of shit clown" he answered back. "I don't care what you came to do. The only thing you're going to do now is leave, and I'd rather not make a scene but I will."

Billy: Billy knew from the start that going to a villain part was a bad idea, now he was more sure, he didn't know what to do, he wasn't turned into Shazam, he had no powers, "Okay, now, let's not fight, we don't want things to end badly," he knew if they fought, more than one person could get hurt.

Punchline: Punchline eyed Harley as she came a little closer. This was who she was here for. Not her odd little bodyguard, not William. she was here for Harley Quinn. She wanted to see her. To know what she was dealing with. "I don't work for him." She corrected. She sort of did but she wanted to make it feel more intimate. More special. "We're partners." She took out her knife from her boot pocket and in one swift, cruel movement sliced open Mike's neck. Feeling the blood splatter on her face before she turned to Harley and Billy. "Oops... my bad."

Harley: Harley ran forward as soon as the woman pulled out a knife, but she was too late. She grabbed the woman by her ponytail, slamming her head against the top of the bar a couple of times. "Get the fuck outta my mansion," she hissed into her ear. She knew that Mike would wake up soon, but that didn't mean this bitch could come into her home and pull an attempted murder. "Don't make me pull out my gun, honey. I won't miss if I do."

Punchline: Punchline felt the woman tug her by her hair and smash her head against the table, not fighting against it. When she was done, she let out a small chuckle. Glancing up at her face from where she was holding her. "You liked him, didn't you? The little brat?" She whispered back. "Shoot me, dollface. I'm sure Pudding would just love that." She replied with a hiss before using her leg to kick Harley off of her. Immediately jumping on her so she could pin her to the floor. Pulling her face in close to the other woman's. "That's what you called him, wasn't it?" She said, ignoring the shouting all around her. All that mattered was Harley.

Harley: Harley slammed her head against the table again when the other asked about Mike. "Who I do an' don't like doesn't concern ya, toots. But I can tell ya one thing... I definitely don't like you." The use of the nickname she had for Joker caught her off-guard, and suddenly she was being kicked backwards. Her body pushed forward as the woman pinned her to the floor, and she headbutted her in the nose. "Yeah, 'cause that's what he was. My Puddin'. Jealousy is an ugly colour on you, sweetie!" she yelled, using all of her slightly enhanced strength to flip them over, now on top of Joker's new toy, her fingers wrapped tightly around her wrists as she pinned her down. "Tell me what ya want. Is it me? 'Cause I ain't goin' anywhere with you."

Punchline: Punchline's teeth grind together and her eyes bore into the other woman's. Anger clear on her face. She reached down to grab at Harley's neck and choke her when she felt the woman smash her head into her nose and she gasped. Blood dripping from her nose onto her snow white skin. She was as pale as he was and they'd never have that intimate connection because Harley blew up the Chemical Plant. "Say that again and I'll rip your tongue from your mouth." She snarled before Harley managed to get her down on the ground with her now straddling Punchline. "Oh... honey... I just wanted to meet you." She said before rearing up herself and smashing her own head against Harley's.

Harley: Harley could feel the woman's blood dripping onto her. It was disgusting, and she wanted to throw herself into a bath filled with sanitizer. "Rip my tongue from my mouth? Nice threat, Hannah Montana. I was with him fer years, d'ya really think a lil' threat like that is gonna scare me?" she growled. She stared down at the other, her grip on her growing tighter as she didn't get the answer she wanted. Before she could say anything in response, she was being headbutted. Their fighting styles were too similar. Had Joker trained her to fight like this? Her lip throbbed, and she felt blood dripping down her chin. "You fuckin' psycho," she screamed, letting go of one of her wrists to grab her gun from beneath her dress. "I'm gonna paint these walls with yer brains. It'll be the most beautiful thing anyone's ever seen," she warned. "I'll make sure ta invite Mistah J ta look at my new work of art. He loves it when I go feral."

Punchline: Punchline let out a deep chuckle and struggled to break free of the blonde's grip. "Hannah Montana? You're the one with the awful blonde weave." She retorted. She smacked their heads together and when she pulled back down, Harley was pulling for a gun and her wrist was freed. She could have easily grabbed a knife. She had two after all but... it was more fun to do something else. She grabbed a hold of the other's neck and forced her face closer to her own. Reaching her head back up and with her teeth biting down into her shoulder. "How's that for feral?" She spit out the blood to the side of them before moving her legs to wrap around Harley's waist and keep her still on top of her. "Go ahead, shoot me. Impress him. That is why you're doing this right. Because that's what you just said... and here I thought you were over him. My Prince."

Harley: Harley was ready to kill her. "Awful blonde weave? At least I ain't tryin' ta channel Ariana Grande with that high ponytail. Or is it just a cheap facelift?" she asked, a smirk on her face. Feeling a hand on her throat, she tried to stay as calm as possible. This was fine, she was into it. But when this stranger was doing it... It was a little scary. Her other hand reached up, grabbing the other woman's and trying to prize it away from her neck. A hiss left her lips as teeth sunk into her shoulder, and she pressed the barrel of the gun against the other's forehead. "Ya need ta keep those teeth where I can see 'em, Hannibal." As she listened to the other speak, she shook her head, feeling herself start to panic. It had taken her years to get to where she was today -- happily married, adopted kids... "He ain't yer nothin'. You think you mean somethin' ta a guy like him? Yer nothin' but a toy that he can mess with. That's why yer here now, right? He pitted you against me. Pathetic," she spat, lowering her gun and pressing a hand to the bleeding bite mark on her shoulder. "An' if ya ever bite me again, I'll pull yer fuckin' teeth out with pliers," she threatened, before sinking her own into the woman's arm. If she was going to have a scar on her shoulder, the other woman was getting one too. Fair was fair. She didn't stop, not until she was satisfied that she was causing pain. Pulling back, she grinned.

Punchline: She felt herself smile when Harley held the barrel of the gun pressed against her forehead. Tilting her head slightly back, Harley's blood bloomed at the edges of her lips and slowly dripped their way down her cheeks, like it was drawing a smile on the woman's face. She let out another chuckle at Harley's words and watched as she reacted to what she said. "You know... you kinda taste like he does." She commented, her voice low and her eyes wide. She was trying to make her jealous. Sure... Harley had been there for much longer then she had but she was his new thing now. She was there for him when Harley wasn't. She didn't run away, she took it. The bad, the good, the really ugly. Because she loved him. Harley didn't. Harley didn't know what that felt like and yet Joker never shut up about her. She was the one there everyday by his side and she kept having to hear him yammer on about how she used to call him Puddin'. How she used to smile better. Fuck that, she'd be smiling no longer. Not when Punchline had her way. "He loves me!" Punchline screamed at her when she tried to tell her that he didn't. "I'm no toy! I'm his right hand woman. He respects me. He cares for me. He didn't care for you!" She lied with a growl. Then Harley moved down and bit her back and she used her one free hand to grab at the back of her neck, at her baby hairs. Trying to force her off. When she finally was, Punchline glared ad her and used the way her legs were positioned as a way to force Harley down to the side. She then rolled them so she was on top and got up to her feet placing her foot on Harley's chest to keep her there.

Harley: Harley felt repulsed when she said that she tasted like Joker. They were nothing alike. Not anymore, at least. "Look, I'm inta some kinky stuff myself.... but that? That's just fucked up." She stared into the woman's eyes, seeing nothing but anger. Her own eyes used to be like that whenever she looked in a mirror. It was what being with a man like him did to you -- it gave you a hunger for violence and pain that you could never satiate. Eventually, his new plaything would see the light. After years of pain and abuse, mental torture. Harley didn't want that for her, even if she hated her right now and wanted to kill her. She was a puppet, just like she had been. But there was no way to make her see that. Being under his spell lasted for years. "He loves ya? Are ya sure about that? Does he love ya when he's leavin' bruises? Does he love ya when he's sendin' you out ta get hurt so he doesn't," she said, her voice low and angry. It was making her remember things she'd rather forget. This was supposed to be a fun night with her family and friends, and now it was a nightmare. "He doesn't care fer anybody!" she screamed back. "Nobody but himself!" The pain of the woman pulling her hair didn't really bother her. She'd been through so much worse, so she didn't even flinch. Once again, she was being put on her back, and she choked out a breath as the other put a foot on her chest. Reaching up, she dug her nails into her leg. "Did he teach ya this? Make yer victim feel small?" she asked, laughing as she lay there, looking up at the stranger. "Do ya feel powerful now? Like yer in charge? 'Cause you'll never be in charge of me. I'm in charge of me. Now get yer foot off me, an' go back ta kissin' his. This is yer last chance."

Punchline: Punchline: She hated her. Everything she said, she hated it. He didn't love her? Then how did she explain the good moments? Those days then he was good to her. When they'd dance together for no good reason. To no music. He'd say he just felt like dancing with her, when she asked him. How did Harley explain the times when they were alone and he'd actually let her kiss him? She felt Joker's love. She wasn't delusional or stupid. She knew it was there and the angry outbursts. That meant nothing. "Yes, he loves me then, too." She argued. Harley was screaming at her and Punchline just glared at her, watching her with a stone-cold face. She held the woman down and slowly pushed her weight against her leaning down to get a bit closer to Harley. "Maybe he did." She said. "He taught you it too, didn't he?" She said, her voice getting quieter. "I'm leaving, and not because you told me to. I could end you right now if I want." she said, taking the knife from her other boot and gesturing it towards her. "But I'd like to do it in front of him." She decided. "So he knows you're gone." She gave her one last kick before removing her foot from the other. Just noticing now the wave of dizziness in her head. She shook it, trying to get it back to normal. Taking a few steps away from her.

Pamela: Pamela had just walked into the ballroom as a woman, covered in blood, kicked Harley as she stood above her. She had been out and told Harley that she would be late to their party. She hadn't told her that she had began the process of creating more children. She would need a bette lab for that. Pamela quickly glanced around the room, noticing the blood all over their new ballroom. The shock of the scene wore off and rage bubbled up in her chest instead. The woman was thankful for the vines that grew on the outside of the house, because now she willed them to burst in through the windows. "Get the fuck away from my wife, you sad excuse for a clown! Who the fuck do you think you are? Did that bastard clown send you?" She screamed as she power-walked towards the woman, arms raised. Pamela didn't wait for an answer and she willed the vines to wrap the woman up tightly, squeezing her enough to hurt. She ran over to Harley and dropped to her knees. "Oh darling, flower, are you  alright?" she asked, panicked now, searching Harley for lie-threatening wounds.

Punchline: When the green woman burst in, Punchline frowned. She was on her way out but now she had to deal with the woman that Harley married. She didn't intend to fight Harley at all during this party. She just wanted to watch her, but ah, well. When in Rome.  The vines shot from the windows and came right towards her. She could get out of this but Poison Ivy would just wrap her up with what remains of the vines she would cut. Oh- She was rushing over to Harley now thinking that she had detained the problem. Focused on her wife. Her love. Oh, how week it was. Knife in hand she poked it through the vines. (They were pretty tough due to Spring but not actually that bad). Ignoring the pain from the squeezing in one jerk of a movement she sliced all the way through the plants and was able to release herself. Jumping down nimbly before quickly using the chance to leap out the broken window and out of the party. Hows that for an exit?

[cheburashkah]

not 2 be tooting my own big fat round and red clown nose and counting my clown car wheels before they hit the road but I really do think john crowley is the BIGGEST clown of all thinking the love theo and boris have for each other isnt important / the heart and soul which moves the story forward like.....LMAO BRO THIS IS UR MOVIE AND YET....U CANT EVEN SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING...I HAVE TO LAFF....

[stagekiller]

  BUZZ of white fluorescent lamps is the only thing that disturbs the hallway’s silence. That is, until it’s shattered under sharp heels that click fiercely, impatiently against a dirty floor. It’s late night and this urgent bathroom visit cuts Clara Quimby’s movie time short - her date awaits her back inside. He is blissfully unaware of the woman’s nature, seeing as they have yet to grow close, a second date consisting of some plain movie night she can’t wait to get past. If not for her tact, she would have skipped over to the next phase of threading her meticulous web. But, alas, she knew she’d have to be patient with this one, twenty years younger than her - and that is considering she always rounded the numbers when it came to her own age, even when making a mental note.

   Glossy black finds its way to the ladies’ bathroom, door shoved open with an air of demanding elegance - it’s the nature of such daughters, blossoms of wealthy households that spoiled them rotten since birth. How...repulsive. It is with such confidence she barges in the empty stalls, that one would quickly assume she is a woman of power. Her high position as chairwoman of Gotham’s city council has her chest heaved & chin up high, even when burdened with the humble tasks of bodily functions. Her long blonde hair, freshly tinted with a set of highlights, dances over her shoulders, silky smooth & glistening in pale bathroom light. Overall, for a woman of her age & status, she may very well embody the stereotype of an enchantress.

   Only she would carry herself with such decency in public restrooms. Albeit the theater being on the rather expensive side, ticket-wise, they’re not as well-maintained as they could be. Then again, she’s well aware of how underpaid workers in such conditions are. That doesn’t make her feel a single shed of pity. If anything, she feels mildly disturbed & considers filing her complaints via phone call later - wouldn’t want to ruin her pristine image before her prey. Shiny red nails, manicured to perfection, reach for a tear of toilet paper that suddenly seems grey & filthy compared to her flawless complexion. She holds the piece in one hand, the other delicately lowering her panties. Noise disturbs the restroom’s peace. Her shifting is audible again once it ceases.

                            And then -

                                                              — BANG!

           The door bursts open.

   A puzzled glare is thrown to her stall’s lock, secured safely. At this time, she may have to share the space with a fellow movie viewer. The way they slammed that - maybe even KICKED that - door open, however, remains very rude, in her opinion. Though now there’s more pressing matters at hand, such as making sure her underwear won’t accidentally touch the floor. Shadows of footsteps peer under her stall’s metal door, and thin brows furrow in suspicion. They don’t look very ‘lady-like’, nothing like what she’d expect to see. They’re too big, in her opinion. And she holds her own opinion very high. Brown shoes stand outside her door. It is then that anxiety hits her system, adrenaline pumping her heart. This scares her in a way that stupid horror movie she’d been wasting her time with never could.

   " Customer service, any ladies in the restroom? "

             That hoarse voice.  Oddly familiar.

   Alas, the feet merely cast an ominous shadow under the stall. Deathly silence ensues. Amidst her panic, Clara finally breaks & releases the question that's been tickling her lips. " Who is this? What are you doing here at this hour? " Her tone conceals her anxiety, instead coming off as demanding & assertive. It runs in her veins, that entitlement.

    " Did’ja miss the sign, mademoiselle ? " A high pitched chuckle ensued. And then she remembered, but part of her wished she hadn't.  “ It’s maintenance hour. ”

   The next moment a filthy ragged mop banged at the stall door. Once, twice, sweeping under the opening, its abhorrent tips licking her heels. Scream overshadowed the rhythmic bang on her door but it was doubtful that someone would hear. And what fate would await them should they make the mistake to come to her rescue? Snickers escorted the repeated attempts to shove her door open. In despair, the woman crashed her shoulder against it, her hand pressing on cool metal in an attempt to keep it shut. Shrieking continued, albeit a tad breathless now.

  At this turn of events, her predator switched to slithering the back end over the stall & shoving it downwards, in repeated attempts to whack her head. It was both whatever remnants of courage she had left and survival instincts that made her dodge a few blows. Unyielding, the clown sweeps it under the opening once more. And in this quick shift in motion, he strikes her ankle. Jackpot. Weakened by the panting yells, she loses her balance and stumbles backwards against the toilet seat, allowing broad shoulders to knock the door down. It falters on first try. And thus the form she expects to see is revealed; albeit many times more terrifying when his presence is realized. The Clown Prince of Crime himself, Jerome Valeska, in a janitor’s uniform. How did he get away by simply wearing a costume when his features are ravaged beyond salvation?

   Heels kick back until she’s pressed against the corner, tight space denying her a smidgen of security; as does the clown’s shadow, towering over her. Pearly teeth growl a few stuttering warnings to his direction; ‘ You won’t get away with this ! ’, ‘ People will hear ! ’, ‘ People will know ! ’. They are all met with comical bemusement. Pucker lips click as shoes drag on filthy floors. Disposable gloves crinkle under his fidgeting. And though stiff, the stoop of his back adds a tasteful stroke to the villainous visage. Strong jawline ticks to the side.

  “ Hm? ” Comes the grunt in retort, hummed over her desperate attempts to plea with him. “ ‘Scuse me? ” Hoarse voice humors her whimpers. A sudden lunge forward and he’s kneeling beside her. Heel shoves into the tender spot over his groin. That earns a yelp &  a curse under his breath. However, he merely spares her a few breathy giggles before leaning forward to seize her wrists. Spit lands on his cheek. A chuckle. She’s a feisty one. A scarred upper lip curls into a sneer as warm liquid drips down his jaw.

“ Kinky. But I ain’t here for that kind’a fun, ma’am. ” Had he not been grinning at her, perhaps it would have come across as reassuring. However, most words painted in that fluctuating pitch & raspy voice fail to resemble anything of the sort.

“ You won’t get away with this! “ Another violent jerk, a futile attempt to escape his grasp. Yanked forward, she finds her vision blurring through a stream of tears. Penetrating gaze darts to the side as he pretends to nod in agreement, a thoughtful hum released soon after.

“ Yeaaah, I guess ‘ya have a point. ” Tongue clicks over the ‘t’. “ This isn’t gonna look good on my record. But - ” Disfigured face inches closer at that. “ - it still won’t top Hathead, so I’m good. ” Maniacal snickers ensue. He wheezes in her face and delicate features distort with a whimper. More pleas slip past her lips, red & swollen from those ineluctable sobs. But they don’t seem to touch the clown. If anything, his expression is laced in feigned compassion, humoring her despair.

   “ Shh, shh, toots, here, come here, hear me out. ” Hands force her to sit up, that stray auburn strand dancing on his forehead pressing against her locks as he leans closer. Inches away, his breath on her face. It earns a few more sobs. His voice drops to a husky reassuring tone, though so clearly feigned it’s probably hilarious at best. That is, unless you are in that poor woman’s shoes. “ All you haf’ta do is answer a feeew lil’ questions and we can both get goin’, me to slip into something more comfortable and you to give yourself a good scrub down. ” He pauses, piercing greens roll over the lamps. When they return to meet her mortified expression, comical bemusement is painted on his mutilation.“ Scrub down? ” Expression is repeated in a mocking fashion. There is another momentary pause, bracing her for the punchline.

  Digits seize a fistful of silky locks, wrist violently twirls her hair in his grip and forces her face down into the waste. Murky water bubbles, manicured nails claw at his wrists. But it is futile. The cruelty in his laugh informs her of such. That forceful hold insists for a minute - a minute that, to the poor chairwoman feels as an eternity. He finally yanks her back up to spit a threat close to her chin, his nose reflexively wrinkling under pervasive stench. “ Are ‘ya feelin’ a lil’ more cooperative yet, Ms. Quimby? ” Lower jaw protrudes as words are uttered in malice. He need not accentuate his point any further. The terror in her eyes & her muttered pleas reveal the answer; his question was rhetorical to begin with. Soft noise resonates through his chest;  a satisfied chuckle.

“ Good. Your dad says hi, by the way. ”

                                               — ✵ 🃏 ✵ —

[rancidmeat09]

i’m a clown, you’re a clown, we’re all clowns in one big fucking cesspool of a circus.

god. just kill me. fucking commit clown murder. hit me with your 1950s clown car and honk your dumbass clown car horn and listen to the sound of my pathetic little clown nose deflating as my clown friend toots a horn next to my mangled corpse in a descending ‘wah wah wahhhh’ fashion. after that you gotta hold a big circus funeral in my home in my name and my friend with the horn is going to have to lock pick my front door because the key in my pocket got crunched and mangled in the car wreck and inside my little polka-dot decorated house you find a cat wearing a clown suit mewing pitifully because i haven’t fed it in four days because i’ve kept forgetting to buy cat food because of my undiagnosed clown ADHD and undying apathy for anything and everything in the world around me including self care and caring for others. you find all this out through hundreds of empty bottles of clown prozac laying around my living room and there’s a polaroid photo thumbtacked above the fireplace of what it used to be, and it was a giant tower sculpture of empty pill bottles spelling out the word ‘MINECRAFT’ before a gas leak happened in my house to unstick the glue from itself. the circus of folks crowding my home speculate about whether the car accident was really an accident or not because of my deeply suicidal tendencies and one of the clowns in the posse steals my cat and pulls her into her own clown car and honks away into the sunset and my house spontaneously combusts, killing everyone inside. every single person in the circus who died all join the level of hell that i’m getting fucked and sucked in with satan and we spend the rest of our days honking away in hell while the clown girl who did me the service of hitting me with her car lives for eternity after my clown cat synthesizes a clown potion of immortality for the both of them.

[dog-teeth]

guess what!! my first shift as a cook was really good my kitchen manager said im on track to becoming a superviser once im trained in the front and in the kitchen! and im like almost done learning both kitchen positions so maybe even this summer ill b promoted :o)!!!!!!! also the morning shift guy is gonna get roasted by the kitchen manager tomorrow bc a girl half his age (me) did was better at closing the kitchen on my first shift soo yikes but also B) not to toot my own clown nose ( :o) toot toot) but im doing 2 years of high school at once and being better at running a kitchen than adult men