#circus themed decor

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Circus inspired bathroom.

Mindy Leah’s daily aesthetics FB page

[bittermarching]

So, I had a clown mobile as a baby and I've loved them ever since, so I have bits of clown-themed decor around the house. I have, like, whatever the opposite of coulrophobia is. I just think they're neat. Very lucky my wife doesn't mind.

[aaabatteryy]

got a new sketchbook! would anyone like to help keep me responsible for drawing something everyday? :Dd

[maburp]

minimalism actually drives me insane it’s so ugly idk how anyone looks at the white and greys and thinks this is what interior design is like pls bring colour pls why are u using a boring ass colour everywhere it’s absolutely fucking terrible

[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[inkskinned]

for the longest time my family used to host one of the biggest haunted houses on my block: elaborate, themed amateur haunts that pearled out along our lawn for one-night-only. spinning circus wheel-of-terrors and walkthrough alien crash-landings and spiders that arched over our driveway, leaking venom onto your feet.

we didn't have a lot of money; and honestly i don't know how we afforded what we did have. there were not going to be pneumatics or projectors or any supply over 20 dollars - and even 20 was a stretch. we were lucky, and we lived in a town that had a "swap shed", where people would drop off any banged-up-but-usable items that they wanted to get rid of. the whole year, my family would pick over someone else's discarded fans and lights and weird decorations, asking each other - what do you think? for halloween?

we would strip the motors out of rusted fans and spraypaint vases and saw broom handles in half and apply a very thick coat of cardboard and duct tape to everything. for our pirate year, i made the mistake of individually drawing woodgrain onto each strip of cardboard that made up the ship. i then gently painted and distressed the "boards" so they'd each have lichen and cracks and unusual patterns. i hid eyes in the knots and shaped skulls. you couldn't see any of it in the dark, even under our "spotlight" (someone's target-branded workshop flashlight).

i have a lot of very strange skills as a result. i know how to make a flying ghost appear both physically and in the mirror. i know how to make a witch's brew that stirs itself. i know how to burn and cut and paint until there is an iron throne you can sit on, or an alien brushing your ankles, or a hearse trundling along. i can't say we ever made it beyond our local newspapers, but we tried so hard that the town would regularly shut down our street.

i can't put any of these skills on a resume, and i haven't been able to put them to use for a while. i live in an apartment, there's no lawn for me to decorate. for years i've wanted to do an alice in wonderland theme, and have been collecting ideas like coins in a fountain. at other houses, i am transfixed by 12 foot skeletons and paper mache spooky lanterns; easily wooed by the knowledge of how much time people put in.

someone asked me once - so what was the point? and why didn't you guys charge anything to show up?

in truth, we probably needed the money. for years there, we were a 1-meal-a-day kind of a family. i was being polite earlier up in this essay: we furnished both our house and our halloweens using things left a recycling center. we live in new england and still didn't turn on the heat until the end of november, no matter how low the temperature.

every year we would collect donations for unicef and other charities. on an average year, we would collect enough to pay for our food for weeks. every year, without fail: we donated every penny.

this endeavor took months to plan and design and execute. we had to organize any volunteers and check safety and hope-for-the-best. it took at least 24 hours to set up, a week to take down. the motors and fans and lights all had to be packed tight. the cardboard would scatter, pangea in the rain and sleet. i remember picking up a plank from that pirate ship, the paint blown clear off, all my hard work completely erased. a new kind of driftwood.

if this was a poem, and not a memory, i could wrap this up prettily. i could say that these skills landed me a cool job in the haunting industry or that it taught me the value of friendship and responsibility. but i actually think it's something better, something very pretty: there wasn't ever a moral to it.

the night was a long one. yes, there were assholes, people who broke stuff. but mostly it was just kids like us in cardboard costumes, dressed as an incredibly niche kind of truck. good parents who were friendly and laughing. teenagers who slunk in at late hours, wide-eyed and secretly delighted; who asked us can i help next year? like, do y'all take volunteers, or whatever? every year more people came, and told their friends, and offered to pay. and every year we said maybe next year and meant absolutely never.

we did it because it was enough to love something, and to make that love visible. we did it because there is very rarely an excuse to have fun. i think maybe especially, for me - we did it because every year, there was one first "customer" somewhere around 3-4PM, while we were still putting on the final touches. the sun would still be up, and we were frazzled and always-running-late, and these kids saw our vision unfinished in the bright light of day.

something about their parents murmuring say thank you and telling my mom this setup is so sweet while this little kid would grin up at us, dazzled by our artistic mediocrity. the fall air and the chill and their coat-over-a-panda-princess-costume. that first phrase of the night awkwardly managed over a pair of overly-large vampire teeth: a beautiful and excited trick or treat!

[gffa]

When it really comes down to it, no, I don't think the Star Wars prequels were "better" than the originals (if we absolutely must pit them against each other), I don't think the prequels could have legitimately Changed Everything in the genre in the same way that the originals did, I don't think the prequels were as polished and well-done in the same way as the originals, but I also think the prequels tickle something in my fandom brain that the originals can never hope to replicate. The worldbuilding and themes of the prequels have so much crunch to them that I want to chew drywall about the smallest of details, I've got it so bad for the prequels that I have listened to every George Lucas interview I can get my hands on because I want to know what was going on in that three-ring circus brain of his, every ridiculous choice and every brilliant choice he made and hell I even want to know about every mediocre choice he made and the bad choices he made, I want to know the narrative intention of Star Wars because it enhances what was shown on the screen, that it threads the needle between being a fairy tale and something with solid political and thematic foundations that are actually being woven into the storytelling of the prequels. The originals are a foundation and frame to build a house on that the prequels can never compare to, but the prequels are adding in architectural structure and decorative setting that's the stuff I'm actually going to stare at every day for the rest of my life and constantly fiddle with, in a way that the originals can never reach the same heights of. They both fulfill a function that the other can't, that without both of them I wouldn't be here, but also that's why I spend all day talking about one more than the other.

[bambihrt]

Celebrating your Anniversary with Lucifer

This is a lil self indulgent piece for my favorite dilf

summary: just some established relationship fluff with lucifer

part 2 here!

"Baby you're back!" your blonde boyfriend greets you as you walk through the door to his office.

"Hey Luci, sorry my appointment took longer than expected," you apologized while rubbing at your eyes. You've been working nonstop on a surprise for Lucifer but you'd finally finished organizing it and could now rest.

"Aw my love, here let me take your things upstairs. I'll draw you a bath just rest here for a moment please," you could count on the king of hell to always look after you.

"Let's just go to bed, there's other ways I'd like to spend my night."

The next morning you got up earlier than your partner and snuck out of bed. You made a quick phone call and put on your game face to not give away the surprise. You rushed back to the bedroom and shook Lucifer awake exclaiming,"Charlie's called, she needs our help at the hotel!"

An hour later you stood with your boyfriend in front of his daughter's hotel as he fiddled with something in his pocket, anxiously awaiting someone to come to the door. Once Charlie arrived she led her father to the back of the hotel and outside only to be met with it covered in decorations. Going along with the circus theme in hell, there was a whole carnival set up with lots of games and food everywhere.

"Surprise! Happy anniversary Luc!"

"(Y/n) you set this all up?"

"Yep! Now before you get all teary eyed let me show you the best part, you're gonna love it!" You couldn't help your excitement as you showed your boyfriend a handmade game. There in front of you was a hook-a-duck game where the rubber ducks were his creations and you passed him a snake and apple themed lure.

As Lucifer stood there appreciating the work you put into his gift, you couldn't help but sassily say, "Can't believe you forgot our anniversary though."

"Sorry, my love it must have slipped my mind." Little did you know that as he said this he pat a little box inside his coat pocket that held a sparkly gift for you that he'd been planning for longer than your surprise carnival.

[splatloafbud]

a very vivid splatoon 3 splatfest dream i woke up from this morning at 2am:

the splatfest theme was: "which shape is the best?"

the teams were: circle vs triangle vs square

i had joined team circle because the colors reminded me of team future, the grandfest team i joined irl

before playing a ton of turf war (the turf war part of the dream was a blur to me), i was too preoccupied taking in the sights and sounds of the splatsville city. all of the idols were performing there, each wearing new outfits for this event (shapes fest had a lot of energy like it was grandfest 2.0)

there was a part where i was taking a bunch of Marina pics cuz she looked cute in the outfit she was wearing (which i don't remember, but it looked vaguely like a mix between her grandfest + suffer no fools outfit)

after the turf war part that i don't remember a whole lot on, cut to a scene where me and the family are out going to store: specifically Target

we had all split up to buy whatever we needed and i came across some cousins there were shopping there too, so we chatted for a long time (some of the store assistants would join our conversations too). it turns out that the shapes splatfest was BIG in town. even the ppl who weren't gamers were talking about it, including my cousins

"triangles are obviously peak. like, they're mountains. they literally have a peak." ok bro

after what felt like a long time, the unimaginable happened..... on a big screen display, inside target, the SPLATFEST RESULTS were announced for all of us to see. everyone inside the store froze to watch the results... for every score that showed on-screen, me & everyone inside that store was excitedly reading the numbers out like, like how the audiences do in gameshows

the sneak peek scores were won by Team Circle, whose numbers i don't remember exactly, but the POPULARITY VOTES WERE INSANE: circle (80%) -> triangle (10%) -> square (10%)

and finally the clout appeared..... winning the Open and Tricolor clout....... was Team Circle. and when the clout numbers appeared, ME AND EVERY PERSON IN TARGET WAS CHEERING SO LOUD- we were celebrating, applauding & hugging each other like we won the lottery or some shit

and my ass was over here going: "YESS!!!! THE CIRCLE!! INFINITE SHAPES!! INFINITE- LIKE THE FUTURE!! TEAM FUTURE!!! ZERO IS INFINIIIITE!!!"

once we all calmed our asses down, a cutscene played immediately after the results, daylight outside in-game (as always after announcements)

a few team circle inklings & octolings were standing around in the city, the splatfest decorations still hanging around. one of the inklings go: "we won, but i'm hearing people say that we lost..."

things then took a turn for the worst

nighttime fell across the sky, like darkness covering the world. a vehicle rolls up in the center of the city, with this bowl structure attached to chains... then suddenly... Mr. Grizz appears from inside the bowl!

when he's speaking, the dialogue box doesn't appear, it's just text. his voice had his dialogue voice tone, but he was speaking in english. music started playing: like slowed-down circus music that sounded distorted & unsettling, with a choir sounding like it was mourning.

once he stepped out the bowl thing, mr grizz then placed a hand on each inkling/octoling's head. one by one, they all transformed into little bears that then shriveled up into these sad-looking teddy bears. they were still sentient, but could not talk or move, lying on the ground making distressed cries.

then the scene faded to black with text at the bottom, like it was the end of a nintendo direct. then the mr. grizz cutscene played a second time, for those inside the store that missed it (when it replayed, the dream's pov switched to the game, so everything was in full screen and the music was amplified)

...... that was when i woke up lol

[ianrkives]

Hi hi!! Idk if ur still doing discord channel inspo? If so could I get like a gothic circus/carnival themed channels? Thanks!!

🎪⠀ ﹏⠀ 𝓒.ARNIVAL X 𝓖.OTHIC (SERVER DECOR)⠀.ᐟ ⠀⠀ REQ

⠀⠀ do not steal. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ do not copy. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ credit if you use.

🎭﹒﹒﹟channel﹒⚰ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⭒⛦⭒⠀ ⠀𓆩🎪𓆪⠀ ⠀⭒⛦⭒

⛓﹕🎪﹙channel﹚﹒⛦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ☸⠀—⠀ ๋࣭ ⭑𖤍⭑๋࣭ ⠀—⠀🎠

⛐﹔𖤤﹚cha﹒nnel﹒⚰️ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ๋࣭⭑ོ⠀. .⠀.ᘛ♰ᘚ.⠀. .⠀ོ⭑๋࣭

𓃶﹕⊶﹕channel﹗ 🪆 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⸸⠀⠀⠀ﾟ₊ 𓆩𓄋𓆪 ₊ ﾟ ⠀⠀⸸

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𖦆﹒﹒†﹒channel﹔🎈 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⁶⁶⁶⠀₊⠀𓊆ㅤ᯼ㅤ𓊇⠀₊⠀⁶⁶⁶

🜏﹔🎡﹚ch﹒annel﹗﹗ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ 💥⠀ᤴ⠀꒲ 서커스⠀۪۪۫۫ ⠀ᤴ⠀💥

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 15 - Noncon

Ghost x Reader - 4.6k (on ao3)

summary: You find yourself cornered in a Maze of Mirrors. (Reader POV)

cw: noncon everything, face fucking, pussy slapping, degradation, kinda a wedgie? like a front wedgie? is that a thing?, orgasm denial

note: if you like this (or hate it but like the concept) read Halloween Haunt by Harley Laroux <3 her erotica is top tier

You’ve always loved Halloween - always been the kid with the scariest costume in class, always had the house decorated with uncomfortably realistic decorations. When your sorority sisters dressed up as black cats and sexy witches, you spent hours painting the most realistic zombie makeup you could. (Your sisters complained for months that you ruined the pictures, but the frat boys had all thought your makeup was far more interesting than theirs. God, you do not miss college.)

Regardless, you’ve always been known to love any and everything scary. There’s something about the thrill of a scare - the creeping horror as you start to realize what’s coming, the ultimate reveal - that always gets you a little squirmy in your seat. Your first crush was Skeet Ulrich in Scream - specifically the scene where he’s covered in blood, licking his fingers. 

You get all those ooey-gooey good scared feelings as your friend drags you through the decently crowded fairgrounds. The actual fair - the one that comes yearly, that no one ever calls anything but the fair - had left only two weeks ago, so this travelling fair had set things up in mostly the same arrangement and, you suspect, to trick certain people into thinking they were the same company.

You’ve already forgotten what your friend said the event was called. She hadn’t needed to give many details to convince you - you heard travelling circus, horror themed, interactive workers, and you were in. The branding isn’t very strong anyways, the only place the name was displayed was the entrance booth, and none of the workers seem to wear any sort of logo, so you don’t feel too forgetful for letting it slip your memory so easily.

You’re not very impressed with the fear factor so far. You hadn’t done too much makeup (hadn’t wanted to risk being mistaken for a cast member) but since it’s the night before Halloween you’ve got a half-done costume on - a clown. Just some white face paint, black lips, and overdrawn triangles around the eyes, a little smudged to make it look like you’ve been chasing someone down and working up a sweat. Your hoodie and tennis skirt look a bit out of place, but you’d wanted to be comfortable since you hoped you’d be spending your night running from actors.

But even a face full of makeup feels like it might’ve been too much effort for this place. Most of the costumes look like they’re from Party City at best - some of them even look very lazily hand-made - and none of the workers seem particularly interested in scaring people. Still, the crowd is easily amused and even a wave or a feint towards a customer has shrieks ringing in the air every few minutes.

You sigh a little disapointedly as you and your friend linger on the edge of the fairgrounds, off to the side and in the dark so you don’t have to deal with the crowd. She pulls out a cigarette and offers you her light.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lighting the stick between your teeth when you lean forward. “I really thought it would be scarier than this. Some of the posters…” she exagetates a shiver. “I thought they’d at least have better costumes.”

You eye a man in a werewolf mask across the pathway, pissing into the dirt. He’s got a flannel and jeans on, and the mask is a little bit crumpled like he pulled it out of a Walmart bin this morning. You’d bet money the flannel was just a happy coincidence he noticed when he showed up for work.

“Yeah,” you sigh, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching the actor try not to get his dick stuck in his zipper. “Not really your fault, though, these things always look scarier in the ads. Wanna get out of here soon?”

You pass the cigarette to her. “In a bit,” she replies. “I want to try and find some food first. You hungry?”

You shake your head with a grunt. “I wouldn’t trust anything cooked here, honestly. Might just pick up something on the way back.”

She passes you the cigarette for one last breath. “Well I’m too hungry for that. You good on your own for a bit?”

You crouch down a moment to stub out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the gravel. “Yeah, sure. Might see if these fun houses have anything worth seeing in them.”

“You should!” She smiles over her shoulder at you as she starts off to a more well-lit section of the fair. “You never know, maybe they stick the real scares in there!”

You give her a final wave and shout, “Here’s hoping!” at her back as she leaves. 

You linger outside for a little longer, scanning the few structures nearby to decide which one you want to waste a few tickets on.

There’s a Freak Show, but you already know you’d be horribly disappointed if you went in there, something labeled a “House of Horrors” that you’re sure is as much a scam as the freak show, and a few games that have cheap prizes lined up above them.

Across from you, with no lights around it and just one attendant - slumped over, hopefully sleeping - at the front, is a House of Mirrors. Figuring it’s the least likely to be a waste of time (and knowing the kid won’t wake up to charge you), you head over to the building.

The closer you get the more you worry about if he’s asleep or dead, but his snores rattle the little tickets resting on his desk so you figure he’s just a slacker. It’s almost too easy to get by him with all your tickets safe in your pocket. There’s no one else around the darkened corner of the fairgrounds, but you’re quite sure no one would bother snitching on you this late at night. All the parents with little kids left hours ago, leaving mostly teenagers and adults of varying ages left to wander the park.

There’s music playing from speakers that you can’t see, an old clown-themed song that sounds like it’s playing on a scratched up DVD. You’re pleasantly surprised as you make your way through the dusty lobby and into the main section of the building, creatively labeled MAZE OF MIRRORS.

Their branding could definitely use some work, but you’ll give them points for ambience - the lights are turned so low that it’s nearly too dark to see, making all of the mirrors even more difficult to spot. You find yourself a little spooked as you start to make your way through the maze, grinning to yourself.

It’s a shockingly difficult maze, you quickly discover. The music is so loud in some spots that you can hardly hear your thoughts, and so faint in others that you think it might be turned off. The maze itself is a series of either tight, tiny hallways or large open rooms. Whoever designed it clearly knew how to take advantage of the space they were given, the maze feels ten times bigger than it looked on the outside as you wander through.

You know the trick to mazes - keep one hand on the right wall and eventually you’ll find your way out - but it’s fun to just wander around the place, so you let yourself get stuck wandering in circles. You’re glad your friend isn’t here to see how many times you manage to walk into a mirror fully confident that it’s not there, only to whack yourself in the face. For how low maintenance the rest of the fair is, you’re surprised that the hall of mirrors is what they focus their upkeep on.

You’ve been in the maze for about five minutes when you see him.

He scares the shit out of you at first. You spot him behind you in a mirror - one you’d just walked into, which is the only reason you can see well enough to notice him - standing at the entrance to the hallway you’d turned down. He’s clad in all black, except for the skull mask over his face. You think he’s just something taped onto the wall with the way that he blends in, but then that mask titls to the side and you’re struck with the bone-deep knowledge that you’re being watched.

“Shit!” You shout when it first registers that he’s not a piece of paper, one hand coming up to clasp at your erratically beating heart while the other steadies you against the mirror. He doesn’t move past tilting his head a bit further, and after a moment you relax.

You don’t turn around, but you study him a bit in the mirror. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of his body, but he’s big. He looks like he’s wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans with the mask, and he must be wearing gloves to cover his hands since you can’t see them.

You huff out a laugh as you let both of your hands fall to your sides.

“You got me good,” you call, glancing over your shoulder. You almost jump again - he’s closer than you’d realized, but too far away for you to touch. “I didn’t even see you follow me in here.”

He doens’t say anything. You turn around more fully, leaning back against the mirror and crossing your arms across your chest.

“You gonna start chasin’ me now?” You ask, cocking an eyebrow. You’re playing up the sass, but it’s always fun to mess with theme park employees.

The man takes a few steps forward, heavy boots thudding against the cheap wood flooring. He really is an intimidating bastard, far scarier than any of the other actors you’d seen so far.

“Well?” You call out, standing up from your spot. “Do I get a head start?”

Still no answer. He rolls his head on his neck, then steps to the side and walks into one of the connecting hallways without sparing you a glance. When you step closer to see which direction he’s chosen, he’s already gone.

You huff another laugh to yourself, shaking out your limbs and bouncing a few times on your toes.

Now that you know there’s someone in here with you, the thrill of a scare is starting to get you worked up. You hope they don’t have any rules against physical contact between actors and customers, just imagining the skeleton man tackling you has shivers running up your spine.

You don’t bother to be any quieter as you keep wandering through the maze. You bump into just as many mirrors, continue to question the speaker placement, and keep an eye out for any skeleton masks lingering behind you.

You see him a few more times, always behind you, always just out of reach. He gets progressively closer everytime you spot him. You're reminded of the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who - every time you look away, he gets closer.

It’s fun. More fun than you’ve had all night.

He finally catches up to you what you guess is about half an hour later. Youre just turning another corner, thinking about how it’s been a bit since you’ve seen your shadow, when a hand plants itself firmly between your shoulder blades and shoves.

You’re sent to the ground with a cry, palms scraping against the floor. There’s a gloved hand collaring your throat before you can think to do much more than catch your breath, hauling you up and holding you in the air.

Your eyes fly to the mirror less than a foot away, staring wide-eyed at the image reflected.

There’s you, in your messy clown makeup and hoodie, being held up by a giant swath of black behind you. He’s not ducking down at all, his feet planted on either side of your splayed legs as he towers above you. The way you’re being held up, your head doesn’t even reach his belt buckle. The contrast of your shock and discomfort to his plastic mask has your thighs clenching, just a bit.

He doesn’t duck lower, just tilts his head in that now-familiar way of his and pulls you a little further up. His hand is absolutely massive, thumb resting beneath one ear and his fingers resting below the other. You choke a bit as you’re lifted, knees scrambling beneath you.

This close to the mirror you can see his eyes - bright blue, surrounded by black paint, and staring back into yours.

He lowers his head, his free hand tugging your hair until you lean back and look straight up. The hand on your neck shifts to hold you in that position, his other hand lifting to pull the black part of his mask up.

He’s white, with thin lips and a broad jaw. You pant as you stare up at him, incapable of processing what’s going on.

His jaw works for a moment, lips twitching, and before you realize what he’s about to do you feel something wet splatter against your cheek.

He spit on you. Who the fuck does that? Being tackled and manhandled is one thing but spitting? You recoil reflixivley, lips curling as you reach up to try and wipe disgusting liquid off.

“What the fuck-” You start, but before you can even finish your sentence you’re yanked forward by your neck.

You yelp as you’re thrown from between his thighs, hips twisted awkwardly and head slamming back against the mirror. You cry out at the sharp pain at the back of your skull, but before you can think of doing anything there’s a hand around your neck again, a body crouched in front of you - over you - keeping you from doing anything.

You gape up at the actor, panting and surprised. None of the other employees even got close to touching customers - half of them didn’t even look like they wanted to be there - what the hell is this guy’s problem? Does he just take his job way too seriously

He’s far too close to you now, your nose nearly brushing where his shoulder be, his boots on either side of your thighs, his chest pressed so close that you can’t do anything with your hands.

The hand not around your neck comes up to your cheeks, grabbing them both in one hand and pinching until your lips pucker up. You squirm, letting out a noise of surprise and pain when his thumb and pointer finger dig in between your teeth to force your mouth open. One eye squeezes shut at the ache, but there’s nowhere for you to go with him caging you in.

This time when he spits, it lands right in the little hole he’s made for himself. With how close he is, you see the way his lips twitch up in the corners.

You try your best to get out from under him, hands pushing at his shoulders and legs desperately kicking. But he’s like a statute above you, hard as stone and immoveable. 

He leans so close that his lips nearly brush yours, meeting your glare with a spark of amusement. 

“Like how it tastes?” He purrs, chest rumbling against yours.

You make a noise somewhere between offended and annoyed, trying to throw yourself every which way for even an inch of freedom. All you manage is a tighter grip on your jaw and neck, leaving you wincing.

“Lots more where that came from,” he promises.

It’s insultingly easy for him to manhandle you, and you curse all the times you swore to yourself you’d finally start taking self-defense classes. You can barely manage a single blow, and when your hands or feet do make contact he doesn’t even flinch.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do as you’re wrestled to the floor. He gets you flat on your back then kneels over your head, his knees so close that you worry he’ll squeeze them together and pop your head like a berry.

He doesn’t give you a chance to sit up, planting one heavy hand in the center of your chest and leaning his weight forward, knocking the air out of you. You finally regain the ability to speak when his other hand moves to his belt, undoing it right above your face.

“What are you-? No, no, get the hell off me!” You shout, desperately pushing at his arm and trying to get enough leverage with your feet to squirm away. “Don’t you fucking dare- help! Somebody help!”

Your screams go ignored, blending right in with that stupid clown music and bouncing off the mirrors just to come straight back to your ears. Your noise doesn’t deter him at all, and he’s got his belt off and jeans yanked down despite your resistance. 

“No, no, no, don’t- stop, please, you can’t-” you gasp, eyes flying wide as you find yourself staring up at his cock above you. 

He doesn’t give you any warning, just grabs your jaw, holds it open, and sheathes himself down your throat.

Your limbs spasm, every instinct in your body screamin to get away as he slips right past your gag reflex. You’re terrified that you’ll vomit and choke on his cock, the fear dousing you in icy cold and leaving you limp for a minute. All you can think about is breathing around the intrusion in your throat, finding some way not to suffocate and die on a sticky mirror maze floor.

“Finally,” you hear him grunt from above you. He grabs both of your wrists, easily ignoring your weak pulls and tying them together with his belt. “Somethin’ to shut you up.”

You try and make a sound around his cock, yanking your hands away and panicking even more when you feel how firmly tied they are. You make another sound, insitively trying to cry out even with something stuffed in your mouth.

He moans above you, lowering himself to his elbows over your body. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Mouth feel’s fuckin’ heavenly.”

You go silent, determined not to give this piece of shit anything he wants. Tears pour down your temples and across the tops of your ears, and your throat burns.

His hips move slowly against your face, grinding himself as deep as he can get before pulling out just a few inches and sliding back in. He’s got an unfairly large cock, and there’s already an ache developing in your jaw from just seconds held so wide open.

His foreskin catches on your teeth when he pulls the whole way out just to fuck back in, and you’re sharply reminded of the fact that you have teeth.

When his cock bottoms out, his balls resting against your eyes, you bite down, praying it’s enough to break skin.

It’s not. Instead of blood pouring into your mouth and a screaming man falling off of you, you hear the man snarl, pulling his dick out entirely and slamming it back down your throat so harshly that it feels almost like he’s punched you in the face.

“No fucking teeth,” he snaps above you, and you feel his weight shift back onto his knees, then his hands grab at your thighs and throw them open. He flips your skirt up and before you can think to bite down again lands a stinging slap against the gusset of your underwear.

You nearly scream around his cock, hips snapping closed to try and smother the pain. He only growls another sound, using one hand to hold you open and the other to rain down a series of progressively harder smacks.

Your breath hitches as you sob, hardly able to get any air in around his thrusts as he starts them back up again. Every time he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, he lands another hit to your poor pussy. You can’t help but wail around him.

“There it is,” he moans, the sound loud and unrestrained. “God you feel good screamin’ around my cock. Good fuckin’ hole, huh?”

He punctuates the last four words with slaps, leaving his length inside your throat and going back to that horrible grinding against your face. You go silent again, using all of your willpower to keep from screaming. What little thought is left in your head is used to figure out how best to breathe through your nose without choking on snot.

He doesn’t smack you again, but you feel his fingers trace around the edges of your panties. Your hips wiggle against your will, just trying to get away from the violation. One of your legs is pinned to the floor by the thigh, but the other oscillates between going limp and trying to get leverage and force your body up.

His fingers hook around the gusset of your underwear, but before you can even worry about him touching you there, he pulls them up towards your body.

He does it with such force that you’re left squealing, hips flying off the ground to try and lessen the pressure against your clit. His hand pulls so far up that you feel it resting nearly at your belly button. You can’t help the little gasping, gagging noises as he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth again.

You hear - you feel - him laugh, swaying his hand from left to right. Your hips try to follow naturally, just desperate to alleviate any of the pressure you can.

“Like a little puppet,” he murmurs, yanking even further up, moaning when you scream.

He lets them go only a few thrusts later, big hand smoothing the fabric down over your cunt. You can feel that it’s stretched out, a little looser around the meat of your pussy, and the thought only makes you cry harder.

But you go silent again. It’s the one thing left in your control - even pinned to the floor, hands tied, legs useless, mouth stuff, you can decide how much noise you make.

He doesn’t like that. He groans a little when you go quiet again, tapping your thigh sharply.

“No, come on, make your little noises again. Feels real nice on my cock.”

This time you’re ready for the smack against your vulva, and you remain silent. You stay silent for the next three too.

His hips work with a little more force again, balls smacking against your face and leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut. After the next slap his hand doesn’t lift again, just rubs over your vulva slowly.

It’s pure luck on his part that he happens to rub over your clit. It’s a pure lack of luck on your part that you moan at the sudden and unexpected pleasure, completely taken off guard.

He stills above you, then slowly repeats the movement. You’re helpless to the little whimpers coming from your throat, and you curse the fact that you’ve always been loud during sex. He zeros in on exactly how to rub your clit unreasonably quickly, fingers sure through the fabric of your underwear.

“That what you need?” He rumbles a laugh above you. “Pain won’t make you noisy, but pleasure will? I can work with that.”

Before you can even begin to question what that means, your underwear are tucked to the side, and there’s a face buried in your pussy.

He doesn’t bother taking any time to explore or try and learn your body, just dives tongue-first to your clit. His technique of lick first, figure out what feels good later unfortunately works on you, and you’re left writhing beneath him, eyes rolled back in pleasure and moans muffled.

He groans agaisnt you, too, lips vibrating against your clit in a horrible and delicious way. “There you go.” You can barely hear him over the sounds of your own choking, especially with his own voice muffled in your folds. “That feels good, keep going.”

You don’t want to, but the magic he works against your clit leaves you no choice. You can’t help the hitched cries spilling from your lips, even if they make you cry all that much harder as you hear them.

He doesn’t take much longer to come, and you’re torn between resenting the fact that it’s your sounds that get him off and being glad that he does so he can get off of you.

He comes with a loud groan, sent right into your cunt and dragging you far too close to an edge you do not want to see, and sends thick ropes right down your throat. It’s almost a kindness that you can’t taste him, only have to swallow as quickly as possible so you don’t choke. The movements of your throat only draw out his orgasm though, and you’re locked in a terrible cycle for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t get you off. You’re not sure if you’re thankful or not.

You gasp when he finally pulls out of your throat, taking uninhibited breaths for the first time in far too many minutes. You can’t shut your jaw from the pain, but you also can’t kick your legs when he kneels up more fully.

He’s silent as he takes back his belt, and no matter how much you beg your arms to move, they remain still on your stomach. He shifts off of you, and you whine wordlessly when he grabs a handful of your hair, wiping his flaccid cock off in it.

Still, you don’t move.

He stands and redoes his belt silently, the jingle loud even with the clown music still playing. You stare up at him, and he holds eye contact with you. For some reason, you can’t look away.

He crouches down again before he leaves, and you can’t help but flinch away. He doesn’t touch you sexually again, though, only reaches out and pushes your jaw closed with two firm fingers.

You hate that he still has the mask pulled up, because it means you can see his smirk.

“That was fun. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

He’s gone before you manage to understand what he’s said, and the tears start all over again when you do.

—

It takes you a while to scrape yourself off of the floor. You only catch sight of yourself in one mirror before you stare at the ground.

Your makeup is ruined, teartracks running down your temples and both cheeks. There are smudges along your jaw where his hands grabbed. Your lips are swollen and red. It could not be more obvious what’s just happened to you.

You plant one hand on the wall to your right, and keep your eyes firmly planted on your sneakers as you leave the maze. You feel almost detached from yourself, unable to truly understand what happened, what it means.

The throbbing between your thighs is distracting. You worry you might chafe from how soaked your panties are.

It doesn’t take long to find your friend once you finally make it out. She takes one look at you and laughs, teases you about having fun without her. You can’t bring yourself to correct her, and she picks up on your tone quickly, dropping the subject.

The two of you walk silently to your car. You hate it, but you can’t help but scan every actor. Thankfully - or maybe not thankfully? You don’t know anymore - none of them are even close to as big as the masked man in the hall of mirrors was.

You tuck your hands beneath your armpits as you finally make it to the parking lot, walking as quickly as you can get away with without running. Your limbs go a little looser as you get to your car, mind relaxing as it recognizes how close you are to safety. 

You freeze when you finally make it to the driver’s side door, lungs going still and heart beating so quickly you worry it’ll pound right out of your chest.

There, sitting in the driver’s seat, is a skeleton mask sewed onto a balaclava.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

You walked down the street and sighed. The hotel had been a bit too much today, with Alastor and Lucifer going at each other’s throats and the lovey gazes Angel and Husk shot each other, and the new residents that were coming in, there wasn’t much more you could take today. So you slipped out and proceeded to take a walk. Looking up at the red sky you smiled, part of you thinking that the sky was much prettier than the sky you were used to when you were alive.

Being someone who died more recently than the other occupants at the hotel, you could still remember the blue sky and the sun that would caress your skin each time you stepped outside during the day. You stopped abruptly and turned on your foot and started to head back to the hotel, almost instinctively not wanting to be too far from the hotel.

After you first found the hotel, you became a sort of assistant to Alastor and Charlie and you cursed the sense of responsibility you felt due to this. The guilt for even leaving the hotel just now was a bit too much, but the walk had done you good. You walk into the hotel, expecting anything but what you see.

Alastor was in his half-demon form, not truly taking up the whole lobby, but at this point, he might as well have. Charlie telling - more screaming at Alastor - to calm down. Somehow, Alastor had gotten Lucifer in his grasp and was about to eat him. You blinked hearing the King of Hell telling Alastor to put him down, with promises that he would be quiet. Alastor just laughed and continued to lower Lucifer to his mouth, everyone partially petrified not thinking Alastor would go this far.

You sigh and walk up to the scene and clear your throat. Alastor and Lucifer both looking at you but your eyes were on Alastor. You could feel the displeasure on your own face and felt the start of a stress migraine. You spoke, not raising your voice whatsoever.

“Why are you trying to eat Lucifer?” You asked Alastor, who slow blinked at you.

“I don’t know! I was just making some adjustments to the interiors and fixing a curtain-“ Lucifer’s voice was cut off when Alastor squeezed him a bit harder. You sighed and closed your eyes for a minute, really reconsidering all the choices that led you here to deal with two children.

“Now, you both are how many years old?” You ask. Alastor starts to answer and you cut him off, not even caring if he were to kill you now. “Too old. Let me tell you that. Too fucking old to be acting like CHILDREN.” You scream the last part. “So, put Lucifer down, Alastor, de-Hulk yourself, and agree to disagree on the decor. This is Lucifer’s hotel Alastor, originally, and Charlie is in charge.” You turn to Charlie who is staring at you wide-eyed.

“Charlie, do you like the decor that your father has created here the yellows and reds with the apples and the-“ Your cut off by a radio scratch.

“TaCKy CirCUs DEcOr?” Alastor says cutting you off.

“Those would not have been my choice of words, but the question still stands, Charlie?” You ask gently.

“No, no, no” She starts, shaking her head, you watch as her eyes widen and she stops. “I mean yes, I love the decor, no, I don’t hate it or think it’s tacky circus decor. It reminds me of my home… but I want everyone to feel comfortable here!” She explains.

“So, then maybe you both can collaborate on decor?” You say looking at them, Alastor still gripping Lucifer tightly. “Maybe taking the golds and reds of the decor you like Lucifer and then intertwining the forest feeling of the decor Alastor likes, giving it a cottage core, Moroccan vibe?” You ask.

“A what now?” Is the only question from Alastor as he peers at you. You assume this means you aren’t dying just yet. 

“Cottage core is more forest themed and the Moroccan would incorporate the reds and the golds that I’ve been basing all the designs off of, and with the gold that’s been used all we’d need to do-“ You start to interrupt Lucifer as you see Alastor’s eyes narrowing at his head as he keeps talking.

“All that would need to really be added is more textures, textiles, and some more incorporations of color.” You finish. Alastor regards you for a moment, looks at Charlie, and then drops Lucifer. You sigh in relief as Alastor magically shrinks back down to his regular form.

“I’d rather not work on anything with him, so long as there isn’t any more of this decor for clowns, it will be fine.” He grinds out and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“As our gracious hotelier, we must have you involved in this Alastor, and since Lucifer has such a knack for design and creating things out of thin air, why I think this is a project for all three of us.” You say, a sarcastic tone in your voice, taking a few steps away and heading to your office. “Come now, we need to get a general theme down so Lucifer can start creating.” You stare at both of them expectantly.

“I don’t think you are in any position to be giving orders,” Alastor says and you shrug, realizing this might be the closest to death you may get with the Radio Demon.

“While I may not be above either of you, I am on assignment for the Princess. Is that not right Charlie?” I look at Charlie, pleading with my eyes to follow along. She perks up and rushes toward me.

“Yup! Y/N is here to help! I gave her this task like so long ago!” She says as you stare at her, thinking she couldn’t be more obvious.

“Well, now, you don’t want to disappoint her do you?” You ask Lucifer. “And I truly think that Lucifer may just one up you on design, Al.” Lucifer bristles at that and walks over to you. Alastor blinks and narrows his eyes at you as you use a nickname to refer to him.

“I can do more than one-up him,” Lucifer says fixing his hat.

“Can’t one-up what was lackluster to begin with.” Alastor retorts back.

“C’mon, let’s get the interior of the hotel sorted…” You say walking off with Charlie yelling ‘thank you’ behind us. You shake your head as you pull up your laptop at your desk and start getting to work on the mood board for the hotel. All the while, the bickering between Alastor and Lucifer is the background noise. You smile as you pull up a few images. Being in hell wasn’t all that great all the time, but you couldn’t lie saying you weren’t fond of it.

authors note: it’s been a while since i’ve published ANYTHING… so please be kind.

[dearestdolly444]

Can tadc have victorian goth witch ? Her favourite film probably would be Love Witch...

Her dress and her witch hat has spider and siper webs accessory..

And calls them all with a "darling" nickname in a platonic way and kinda she is like a rich aunt to them and she is a good listener and has dark humor too

İ loved your blog btw

⛧°。⋆TADC x witchy!reader⋆。°⛧

Giggles this is my first anon request

As a witch, this made me so happy to get! I love that movie so much omg. And thank you cutie💕

If you’d like a part two let me know<3

Warnings: implied platonic, but could be seen as romantic

Characters: Caine, Gangle, Kinger

now playing…

Caine

- Lets be honest, he’s not going to approve of your choice in movies. The Love Witch isn’t exactly PG… but he’ll let you watch Sabrina The Teenage Witch! That’s close enough, right—?

- He might let you tone down the colours of your bedroom, but doesn’t let you change it to dark colours like black, sadly. Still have to keep the circus theme!

- Caine likes your style but would try to coax you to wear something more colourful. Maybe try a bright yellow! Or a neon pink! No? Oh well, maybe next time (it won’t work next time either).

- Calls you nicknames right back! A shortened version of your name, “dear,” or maybe “toots.” Gets a bit more peppy-in-his-steppy when you call him something when he’s not expecting it.

- Appreciates when you listen to the other circus members issues. It means less abstractions, which means less work for him… but really, he does find it quite helpful and sweet!

- Does not, however, appreciate your sense of humour. Will probably slap a censor on you when he thinks you’re being ”inappropriate” so you’ll have to tone it down, at least around him.

Gangle

- She’s attached to you, honestly. She just gets so happy and giddy when you call her “darling.” Depending on her mask, she might even give you a small nickname back. She’s be very shy about it, though…

- Adores your style even though she wouldn’t personally wear it. It just looks so good on you, probably not on her, though. She’s feel very flattered if you offered to dress her up, or even in the real world AU do her makeup. She’d probably let you but don’t go to heavy on everything. And it’s not staying on for a long time. She doesn’t like to feel very confined.

- Gangle will vent to you if you let her. If she’s feeling sad, she’ll seek you out to help her. She’ll either want comfort or light advice, so ask her beforehand.

- She finds 1/2 your humour hilarious and the other 1/2 kind of spooky… it really depends on her mask that day. She might make jokes with you or she might just give you a “😨” kind of look, LMAO😭

- Might watch movies with you, but she’ll cling to your arm when scary parts pop up. It’s not that she doesn’t like the movies or shows, it just creeps her out a little.

Kinger

- He’s a little afraid of you at first. He thinks you’ll curse him or something. He gets used to you, but sometimes he’ll scream and run away when you just appear there (He didn’t see you walk in).

- Once you’re there for a couple digital months he gets much more comfortable and even invites you in his pillow fort! Please say yes, it’ll make him so happy. Speaking of activities, he would also ask to find insects with you, seeing how you seem to like spiders. He probably thought you had real spiders on your clothes before he realized they were just decoration.

- Bless his soul, he doesn’t understand your humour. He asks about your jokes every time, and at this point you just pat him on the head and tell him not to worry about it.

- He likes to rant to you about anything. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense, but you still listen. It makes him really excited to talk about how he once saw a game show that starred dogs in his dreams. And he also likes to vent, but it ends up in him talking about his next grand pillow fort..

- He giggles slightly when you call him petnames. If he had feet, they would be kicking. He probably doesn’t call you anything back, but he appreciates it! If he does call you something, it’s “dear.”

[writingoddess1125]

I’m now imagining Bee and Dee are the exploding distraction from Ali and Ari who steal everything in sight 🤭

Circus of Trouble

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Check out Old Men Series <<<

• Buggy felt truly blessed- A famed pirate, a loyal crew,He had a beautiful partner, two healthy boys and now two healthy girls. What more can a man ask for!?

• The famed clown pirate was overjoyed to have his daughters, he'd always had wanted daughters and he finally got them.

• He had painted the nursery on the ship, decorated it fully in pastel circus themed and had custom cribs for each girl. {He also got the twins their own room and decorated it with them, He let's them share a room since they prefer it anyway but have custom separate beds}

• Spoils them rotten- Absolutely rotten from the very beginning

• You can already tell from a early age that the girls have more of Buggys personality then most would expect-

• Ari was the embodiment of Buggy's egotistical ways- She was loud, bossy and had his temper. While most of the time she was a sweet girl who loved to make those around her happy if you told her no-

Better prepared-

• Ali was his more Quiet side- A manipulative petty backbone that was quiet but prepared to strike. She was a adorable girl, shy beyond all belief and clung to her brothers and dad- However piss her off she knew how to use other people.

• However both twins had two things in common-

• One was a infinity for shiny things and stealing...

• And second was stealing..

• The discovery of this was then the twins were just 5 months old- their eyes focusing in anything that was shiny and immediately bolt for it- taking whatever it was and either chewing on it or stashing it away.

• In short anything was a fair game for the Twins.

• "I'm missing my medallion-" Buggy huffed as he searched His cabin room he shared with you. You also looking around "I can't find my earring-"

• You two look at each other blankly before going to the nursery on the ship- already knowing only two people could have stolen from you.

• Quickly you both find Ali chewing the medallion and Ari clenching several shiny things in an iron grip-

• "Sorry Cherry's but you can't have these" Buggy starts, Kneeling down to take them. Immediately being met with resistance by both girls-

• You look at Buggy amused as he kept an eye closed at to try and tune out Ari screaming bloody murder on his left side while Ali pouted and tears silently ran down her cheeks in his right.

• "Can't wait for those teenager years huh?" You mused and Buggy gave you a glare at daring to mention that-

• He wants them to stay his baby forever..

Bonus Story!-

• Buggy had done his best to keep his family away from his work- Especially when he joined the Cross Guild and accidently became their leaders.

• No one besides his crew who were all quiet about his family knew- not wanting to put you or the kids in danger.

• However it seemed some thing just didn't work out for Buggy-

• Both girls had gotten a cold when a important meeting with Crocodile and Mihaek was taking place-

• You had a cold as well worse then the girls so you were at the hospital and couldn't watch the girls- The twins who were 14 did try their best but 14 year Olds watching 2 year Olds didn't exactly mix.

• He couldn't have Cabaji watch the girls since he was watching the Twins and Alvida wasn't exactly a baby person- Mohji was out on a mission with Galbido

• Aka. He was fucked-

• So he had to improvise! With both girls in a stroller he snuck into his own building and quickly went up to the conference rooms

• So he got to the meeting room early and found a side room that connected to a secondary conference room-

Perfect.

• He set up the stroller so it was more comfortable for the girls and gave them their sappy cups of water and a timer for their medicine which they couldn't have yet. Changing their diapers he put them to bed. Rushing out of the side room to the Main conference room right ad Mihawk appeared-

• It didn't take long for the meeting aka bullying to start- Buggy of course doing his normal yelling antics, However every 10 minutes or so would stop whatever he was doing and drifting to the side room.

• At first it was ignored till the third time- "Buggy what are you doing?" Mihawk questioned. Buggy glaring at him- "NOTHING!"

• Annoyed at this point Crocodile stood and marched to the side room to see- Buggy screaming in surprise.

• "WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING STAY AWAY FROM-" Crocodile cut off Buggys head and tossed it across the room before slamming open the door and seeing.. a stroller

• Both former Warlords looking surprised at the sight. Two toddlers bundled up well clearly with some form of sickness and a cool rag on their foreheads- The red noses cluing them both immediately.

• "Their mother has a too so I'm watching them.." He hissed angrily as he floated his head back to his body, clearly defensive of his children being found out.

• "I'm just surprised you have children at all- or that someone would sleep with you" Crocodile jest and Buggy glared at him as he picks up Ari who was starting to fuss and checks her forehead. Feeling her fever had indeed gone down.

• "I actually have 4 kids with the same women" He grumbled setting her back down with a sigh.

• For the first time the two other men actually felt some level of respect for Buggy- With all his flaws he seemed like a good dad.

• This ends with Mihawk holding Ali and Crocodile holding Ari while Buggy portioned out the children's cold medicine and talking over paperwork.

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Meet Lucifer!⭐️✨

Meet my take on Lucifer! The Big Boss of Hell himself!

Adapted a lot from his old look into here! I always liked the theme they went for with Lucifer, Circus ringmaster 🎪 !

Made him more snake like, allude to the animal he tempted Eve as. Also made him puppet like his Daughter, with the mouth, cheeks and joint lines! Lucifer def gives off muppet vibes to me. Perhaps connect to how he lowkey felt like a puppet/toy to Heaven that now wants control of his life(Pinocchio becoming real boy)🐍🌳🍎. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Pushed the star motif more ⭐️✨ Like with the buttons, bow tie and extra sparkle ✨ he’s MorningSTAR afterall! And was once part of the great skies of Heaven as a Seraphim(or atleats high ranked Angel)! Still wants to shine! ✨

Gave him a cape which is actually his wings. That may have gotten a bit burned from his fall. Fun fact seraphim are suppose to be red to symbolize fire, so I kept some of that color 🪽🔥

I really digged Lucifers Full demon form elements, like the epaulette shoulders, bow tie eye and overall demonic energy.

Made his hair more gray(actually seraphim face wings that were damaged) look like sideburns.

Reworked his apple cane into a red Ruby with a golden snake wrapped around it! 🐍🍎 show off that King of Hell status 👑

Made his hat snake’s head more snake like(kept the lines so people like Al could make jokes about it still being lowkey worm like)🐍🪱 also added some gold to the brim!

DAD BOD!!!!!!!!!! Like my Stolas 🌙

Added gold plating at the ends of his boots!

Made his vest black & red and also added gold trim for his collar!

Decorated his bow tie with a pentagram and eye gem! 💎⭐️

What do u think? I’d love to know💖

Also created his Daughter along with her friends and love Lilith, he still wears the ring too 💍 🌈🌙

Also done the Vees & even Mimzy

[notbecauseofvictories]

I'm still thinking about it, so---if you're a local, I highly encourage Rough House Theater's "House of the Exquisite Corpse". It's lovely, arresting, from the performances down to the smallest touches. I still can't get over the ripped umbrellas hanging upside down in dreamlike suspension from the ceiling; the way each "station" is wrapped in plywood and decorated in its own meaningful pattern and design.

But first, let me step back. "House of the Exquisite Corpse" takes its name from the old Surrealist parlor game, at the heart of which is the idea that you can collect a disparate group, then smash their ideas together and create something from the smithereens. This is something like what Rough House has done, which is pick a theme ("Superstition") and then let the artistic groups loose to create short scenes built around that theme.

(I want to call them tableaux, because watching the performances I was struck by how it felt like something out of time---as though we were 17th century courtiers in Paris ushered into a candlelit ballroom, or early 20th century farmers in Minnesota, paying our penny to see what the circus brought to town.)

The set-up itself does a wonderful job ushering you into a time-outside-of-time---you step into a space divided from the rest of the space by black sheets, chunky headsets dangling from wooden ladders suspended just over your head. The emcee is carrying a clipboard and speaks into an old-school broadcasting mic---which you can only hear if you're wearing the headsets.

It is, you'll discover, the central conceit of the performance. From there, you're directed from station to station by silent ushers, carrying flashlights so they can point you forward. Unless you are wearing the headphones at each station, you can only listen to the absent, ambient music echoing around the room.

Not only are the stations set up to wrap you in a specific soundscape, but they play with your vision too---most stations have you peer through holes or cracks in the wall, though one station had us line up in front of mirrors and watch the reflection of the performance, while another station placed shards of glass at every peephole, so you watched the scene and the character's experience of the scene in a strange double-vision. A couple of the stations used tricks of the light---strobe effects that made the puppets' movements seem even more uncanny or imply violence; a haze of smoke or fabric to disguise the human "prowling" in the puppet-shape of a tiger.

(I always like when I can tell an artist is reacting to something I've seen before, and the Rousseau "The Dream" vibes in that scene were exquisite.)

I will say that “A White Bird in the House is an Omen of Death” was my favorite, not in the least because it featured a whole choreographed song (feat. a lovely articulated owl puppet, plus some very effective shadowplay work). However, “Through the Looking Glass” was beautifully up my alley, from the unique staging---this was the station where you watched the performance in a mirror---to the creative puppetry, and a meditation on loveliness that had some bite to it. “Broken Mirror” was more traditional in its puppet work, but it also had the most elaborate staging, a fully-realized world in miniature.

I keep going back to how enormously creative so many of these artists were, in ways I simply can't ignore. “Step on a Crack” didn't necessarily work for me, but I can't stop thinking about it---its trippy setup, the inhuman knit masks the creator used; the spines dangling, neon-colored, from the nearest tree as the protagonist recited lines about loving his mother with increasing, feverish and horrible energy. The glimpses I got during “An ill fate befalls those who pluck from fruit in their dreams” of the puppeteer's face---how she shut her eyes and turned away, as though she too was affected by the puppet's horror.