#he is creepy but now it makes sense why

[felidacy]

Batfam meets dead boy detectives agency

Shenanigans of ghosts Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian set in an alternative universe where they never met as brothers, having died long before that, but become family all the same. While following around young, poor psychic Bruce Wayne and tormenting him into staying alive through finding purpose in solving cases and bringing justice.

Bruce Wayne nearly dies alongside his parents on that fateful day when they are shot when the Dead Boy Detectives were close by, solving the case of a victim from the Joker. Impulsively, because he saw himself in Bruce, Jason possessed the body of a young police detective by the name James Gordon and followed the instructions of Tim to save the boys life before the ambulance arrived. They were now at risk of being discovered for breaking a rule by the Lost & Found Departement, but none of the boys could find themselves to regret the decision to help Bruce.

Against their better judgement they stick around, using the excuse of solving cases to keep an eye on the boy. They see how he is consumed by grief and got into more and more reckless situations as if he was daring death to take him. Bruce was unable to live with the fact that he was spared and his parents weren't. Dick saved Bruce from falling to his death by appearing in front of the boy and screaming, neither prepared to the fact that Bruce can see ghosts. They think at first it has something to do with his near death experience, but Bruce then reveals that he is a psychic and because of that always seen as an outsider and bullied regardless of his wealthy status.

It was then decided by the Dead Boy Detectives that in order to remind Bruce that he still has purpose in living, they will show him how he can thrive through justice and that his gift isn't a curse. Some more reluctant than others bring him into the agency and together they go through many shenanigans and cases, all the while Bruce grows in age and talent alike under their tutelage. And before they know it they are a very unlikely and supernatural family.

And family always likes to help Bruce even when he becomes Batman and gets the title of greatest detective, takes in his own children and becomes a mentor. They love him forever, but that does not stop them from absolutely tormenting him as big brothers should.

In a bittersweet way it gets way less awkward to explain the strangeness of Bruce Wayne when his own wards go through near death experiences and finally meet their uncles.

~

~

What I think the boys would have died of and their circumstances as ghosts. While tempting to just give backstories from Edwin and Charles to two of them, I thought it would be more appropriate to give them their own version.

Dick was killed in 1936 at a concentration camp after having been separated from his family because of his Romani ancestry that made people (Nazis) believe him to be dirty. He died nameless, one of many, and with no grave for his body as he was left to carelessly rot away. His family lived, but they never knew what happened to him and were unable to follow through with their funeral rites to guide him to the afterlife. He found himself unable to move on however as he wished to bring justice to all those that were killed and merely labeled casualties in war like he had been.

It was Dick that started the Dead Boys Detectives Agency, hence the awful name as everyone proclaims with his terrible naming skills.

Damian was the youngest when killed and not too far back in time too, the 1970s. He had grown up under the restricting rules of his family back in Arabia Peninsula when he discovered plans of his grandfather that wanted to rip Damian of his own future plans. Still a young boy, he wanted none of that and after packing his things and stealing some money he ran away to the land of America where the TV always told him it was the land of the dreams. Anyone could become wealthy there. Damian wanted to show his grandfather that he knew better and would bring honour to their family, in his way. But Damian soon found himself without money, stranded and in a country where he barely understood the language. Then one day he was too desperate and despite his instincts telling him not to, he followed a man and trusted him. Later on he was killed by John Wayne Gacy. Damian only wished to stay around until the man was discovered and his family took his body back, but instead his family rejected him despite recognising the body.

Damian was a rage full and miserable ghost for a long time after his death and being discarded by his family as he couldn't understand why he was seen as dishonorable when he had been the victim, his family never once blaming the killer. As he wandered aimlessly and wished to bring misfortune on everyone, it was Jason that found him then when a witch wanted to use him for power and slowly got his trust after being rescued as the older boy taught him tricks to stay safe. Damian kind of just stuck around after that.

Tim despite not looking the part, is the oldest of the four, having been accused of witchcraft back in 1692 for simply wishing to heal people and yearning for more knowledge. His methods were unfit in their eyes and he was also seen as witch for looking too naturally feminine, blaming him to be putting up a false front and using bodyshifting to allure men. He was burned at the stake in Salem without ever having been listened to for once in his short life. This settled his resolve and he refused to move on, too stubborn to listen to death and instead find his own path.

In a strange way, Tim did not miss living as he soon realised. He had endless time now to learn whatever he desired. If it be science, languages, politics, autonomy or actually witchcraft now. Hah. He had so much to learn and he was delighted to just learn the laws and tricks in the world of the supernatural. This made him the expert in the Dead Boys Detectives Agency and he was called 'Old man' by the others for his behaviour and wisdom.

Jason just like all his brothers had been wronged. His death in 1950 was not out of the ordinary itself, a cop that shot him for the colour of his skin when he had done nothing wrong. It was an injustice and an action of racism, but in the grant scheme of things that just made him one of many and his family was able to mourn him for one thing. Unlike his brothers conflicted history. What truly wronged Jason however was when a careless necromancer came around and played with his body, just after he thought he was finally at peace and could move on. Instead he was yanked back into a body that was his but also not and he had no control over himself, left spiraling, as the body attacked others and gnawed at their skin. It sickened him and this time around he was glad when he was shot again. Murdered twice by the same man, one injustice one a saving grace. Jason from then on decided to never let others carelessly harm the innocent again.

Jason held some anger issues that he always attempted to hide away from others. Having grown up under heavy scrutiny of his father and the eyes of society that saw him as a dirty rat he had a lot of it bottled up inside. This makes him the most vicious ghost.

[theultracharmingladynoire]

.

[corvid-ghost]

Damn I seemed to have gotten a very different read from Anthem than everyone else ig

[hauntedtotem]

I think the biggest red flag for me regarding the hopelesspeaches and lio convoy stuff, their entire group (especially lio) has near identical speech patterns and dynamics as my mom's online friend group. Which is less of a red flag and more of a raging wildfire tbh

[rainbowsunshinegeesus]

this episode was so bad but look how cute he is :3

[greyedian]

oh my god I was thinking about a jayvik fallout new vegas AU and was like "hm maybe Viktor uploads himself into one of those robots until he can get a different body by like repurposing power armor or something idk" and then I remembered that this guy's name actually is Victor

[orcelito]

Ok I kind of am glad to have given this Isobu arc a chance. I'm not entirely sold on the Guren and Yuukimaru stuff, but I'm getting to see a lot more of the minor characters I don't usually see. INCLUDING so many female characters!!!!! Started off with Hinata, then Sakura, and now Ino, Shizune, AND Tenten are all here!!! Five female characters active in one arc!!! Practically unheard of for Naruto!!!! Plus Guren makes 6 I guess, though I don't really like how they're like "here's a Ruthless Woman who thinks of nothing except becoming one with Orochimaru!!!! ...except now here's a child, and after just a few days her Motherly Instincts are thawing her heart!!!!!! She's not so ruthless after all!!!!" Like I mean it's sweet, but also it sucks that they're doing this with one of the few female villains. Like why are most of the women reduced to mothers and girlfriends??? In the end, basically all of them get this fate. Or they die. Come on can't we have a woman that just sucks??? Smh.

[angstandhappiness]

HOLY HANNAH THIS SUCKS ME IN

ok, so since it's apparently give Macaque trauma time (one of my favorite times) how long does the Bone King take away his hearing for? and do they use that as a punishment on Macaque often after they see how effective it is? or is it saved for when he really misbehaves? Because i could see it as being used as this looming, overarching ultimate threat, but i could also see it being used by degrees, One set of ears, then another, then silence, punishment in proportion to the offense

i think...the most effective use of it would be after he attempts escape again (he was only trying to work out a method of magically covering his tracks but BK Knows), the bone king calls him over very gently, and holds his head oh so carefully and tells him that his punishment will be light, they understand he is upset, a fair king shouldnt give out punishments they wouldnt take for themselves, had they committed the crime. the bone kings crime was existing, and for this they had forfeited both of their previous names. so must the six eared macaque.

and then macaque feels the cold on the sides of his head, he feels the ice creeping from where hes being held and he tries to wrench his head back, but their hands are immovable but still gentle and he cant move. he tries to talk, manipulate, pacify, panicked lies and questions spill out but the ice creeps higher and he can hear the bone kings heartbeat, unchanged, and his own- frenzied- he can hear the sounds of his own hair on his ears and the bone kings pulse in their wrists. he claws at their hands, making no marks on their skin and he hears the ice creaking as it takes his namesake away from him. he is terrified, crying and convinced this is going to be the last thing he ever hears because suddenly he cant even hear his own heaving breaths and part of him thinks hes died because for the first time in his entire life, macaque hears silence and it is deafening.

the bone king leaves him like that for two full days.

when they give him his hearing back, they arent even in the same room, all of a sudden macaque, the six eared macaque, can once again hear everything and its so much and so sudden and so relieving and terrifying he ends up curled on the floor where he stood

[catinheadlights]

Susan strikes again

[vaguely-concerned]

My two cents on how much of Mind!Varric is Rook’s mind trying to fill the blank space and how much is Solas actively talking through a convenient blood magic paper doll of the mind: I think it's a mix of both, a truly collaborative psychosocial horrorshow if you would, but waaaay more towards the second. It feels too directed and tactical at times to be anything else. Rook's mind is willing to go along with the denial phase as far as it can fucking carry them to not have to face the grief and regret and does its part in papering over details that don’t make any sense, the way brains will strive to create coherent meaning even out of deeply confusing input, but to my understanding it's a collaborateur in how that plays out, not the instigator or control center. Solas is using it as a path to agency and to gather insight into Rook as a person unguarded as he can't count on in his own guise. (That stoic option that leads to him being like 'oh I see you're cautiously denying me access to your inner life. well. at least you still have Varric to talk to. y'know as an outlet :)'. You absolute BITCH Solas! That alone convinced me that he HAS to have an active hand in it on some level.)

My guess is that it takes considerable effort on Solas’ part to make Mind!Varric do anything more involved or complicated than seeming to sit up in bed and give casual commentary, and that’s why he keeps having eerie five minute shallow pep talks with you before he announces he conveniently needs a nap aaanyway good luck kid you got this haha. When he’s just spouting NPC lines from his bedrest, I’m ready to believe that could be Rook’s mind being allowed to improv lines for him more freely because it’s less about Solas trying to get something out of them or working an angle and more ‘Still here! Still totally alive and fine and the mentor figure you know and love and trust :) don’t even worry about it! Thankfully there is no war in Ba Sing Sei, as we all know’ upkeep work lol. Rook’s mind is allowed to set the tone of Varric, the outlines, but not always the content. 

AND, on a (beautifully fucked up) character psychology level, I feel like Solas is indulging in actually getting to be the good supportive mentor figure to Rook with one hand to assuage the guilt he feels about what he's done -- and what he's going to do -- to them with the other. Same internal logic as he uses in Trespasser about the Qun. ‘Almost everyone is going to die from the course of action I’m doggedly pursuing eventually. But at least I can make their last years happier and freer and kinder than they would have been otherwise. and that kind of makes up for it right. a little bit. doesn't it. doesn't that make it better at least. I need that to make it better)'. Did I really take your beloved mentor and friend from you if you don’t know yet that I did? Some philosophers would argue not really! So it’s probably almost ok actually. Isn’t it even a little noble that I’m taking all this grief and guilt on myself and shielding you for now. With undertones that I’m not sure he would realize himself (and might be mortified by if he did) that he is so incredibly lonely, and even a dishonest and indirect emotional connection is more than nothing when you’re that desperate. In this setup he gets idk. Both the control he craves so incredibly badly in relationships and over himself, and the scraps, the fading afterimages, of intimacy and warmth and companionship, even second hand. The one thing Solas and Rook agree on deep deep down is that they really wish Varric weren't gone. They're handshake memeing this in the saddest and most creepy way possible.

I think an important element too is that Solas needs Rook and their team to *succeed* —  up to a certain point. He needs someone to hold the two other elven mean girls off until he can get out of here. Ideally, in a perfect world, even do all the hard work of killing them so he can swoop in at the end and do his thing when both sides are exhausted and out of resources to stop him, and then Bob’s your uncle! Same logic as he was using with Corypheus, and after that worked out so well, too! King of choosing to never learn from a single solitary mistake he’s ever made even though i fully believe he could have the capacity to Fen’Harel <3 The underlying idea isn’t flawed, you see, it was just unforeseen circumstances getting in the way. This time for sure it’ll all work out the way I cleverly imagined it in my head beforehand. Cue By Talos this can’t be happening etc. in the form of a statue almost crushing him like a bug. 

So he's providing guidance and forging Rook into a leader from two angles: one Rook might not trust, and one they probably will. Shaping them into what he needs slowly and carefully. He’s helping you hone your team into their most effective state, as he might have done with his own agents back in the day, setting up his chess pieces even if he has to squint through two glimpsed realities to do it haha. Pincer maneuver of an insidious stealth mentor you never asked for. Also… at one point mind Varric gives you a whole little monologue about how Solas' problem is that he’s always seen his interpersonal connections as flaws and see where it’s landed him, all alone and the worst part? it hasn’t even worked. it’s all been for nothing he’s back where he began with nothing to show for it but his mistakes. Like...that has such strong 'uh okay happy to play your therapist from two rooms away here what the fuck kind of traumadump is this' energy to me, I’m not sure Rook like. Thinks that much about Solas as a private person. So much of Solas' self-loathing and futile insights into his own flaws seem to shine through in Mind!Varric's dialogue all the time — I just can't believe that there's no guiding hand behind it as it were. 

Most of all. I feel like people underestimate the degree to which Solas is incredibly funny. As in, he has a very consistent and recognizable sense of humour. It’s one of my very favourite things about him. We must remember — it is crucial that we always keep in mind — Orlesian accent and wig Solas from May The Dread Wolf Take You (my beloved, the explanation for why I love this dude even with the. All of the everything else. No one does it quite like him). He is not at all above doing things or adding little flourishes for his own obscure amusement, in fact that seems to me to be one of his most consistent traits. The Randy Dowager Quarterly comment Varric has? The ‘Maybe this is the Dread Wolf’s revenge. Forcing us to house sit for him’ thing? To Me this is 100% Solas amusing himself in his boring Fade jail surrounded by the screaming hellscape of all his regrets. Source: it came to me as divine revelation through pure vibes trust me bro 

If nothing else I find it much more narratively interesting personally if the connection between Rook and Solas really is that defenselessly intimate and entwined (and so unbalanced!), and the sense of violation and invasion and betrayal afterwards consequently all the more nauseatingly intense. Even if you kept him at arm’s length in the open, he’s been under your skin the whole time, looking around, gathering what he needs to destroy you, wearing the face of a friend. Regretfully, probably, but choosing to do it every step of the way anyway. (Sound familiar, Inquisitor? Solas doesn’t have that many tricks when you actually look at it, he keeps returning to old tried and true ones like a dog with a bone haha.) Maybe he even genuinely meant some of it as mercy, which only makes it so much worse. It makes his sin against his own core principles of autonomy and the freedom of all beings in mind, spirit and body so much more juicily grave if it’s something he pursues actively and consistently, rather than it half-falling into his lap as a happy accident mainly orchestrated by Rook’s own subconscious. Solas, too, is at his very lowest point, the closest to giving in and becoming his own antithesis fully that he’s ever been, and it makes the choice of whether you still reach out your hand to him one last time or not all the more impactful and difficult.

[abyssruler]

arguments and odd positions

lyney x gn!reader

you knew lyney was a magician, but opening your fridge only to see him inside instead of your recently bought groceries is taking it a little too far. or — you refuse to talk to lyney after an argument, which leads to lyney putting himself in various odd positions in order to get you to speak to him.

comedy-ish, just lyney being weird and lynette being his accomplice

Lyney’s not one to let you stew in your anger after an argument. He’s persistent in getting you to speak with him to try and resolve the issue, which leads to a few… ridiculous and frankly odd situations he puts himself in just so he can talk to you.

An hour after you rushed off after a heated argument, you open your door only to find a little note stamped on it with the words I’m sorry :( written in a loopy handwriting. A bit creepy that he sneaked into your bedroom without your notice, but while the note makes you soften a bit, you’re still angry with him.

Which then leads to more… drastic measures. The likes of which Lyney has to force Lynette to help him with.

Two hours after your argument, you’re opening your fridge, only to lurch away and bite back a scream of surprise when you see Lyney standing inside your fridge.

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but you’re quick to close the door on him.

It escalates after that.

Everywhere you go, Lyney is right there.

In the middle of watering the plants in your backyard, you shift a few leaves from a bush and come face to face with none other than Lyney. He smiles sheepishly at you, a few twigs stuck in his hair. You don’t know how he managed to hide himself in that bush, but instead of acknowledging him, you spray him with water and leave.

You’re in the middle of cooking when you open your cupboard and see Lyney crouched inside the small space (how did he even fit in there?) He gives you a little wave which you ignore as you close the cupboard on him.

It goes on like that for a while. You turning around and seeing Lyney in bizarre positions that make you question how he even managed to end up in the first place.

You check in on your aquarium to feed your fish, only to see Lyney inside the aquarium. You open a book to read, but Lyney’s face is printed on every page. You try reading the newspaper, but the headlines are filled with nothing but Lyney’s name and why you should forgive him. You play a song, but Lyney’s voice echoes instead of the opera singer’s. You open your closet to change clothes, and Lyney is inside the cramped space wearing your clothes.

He’s everywhere.

You shift the curtains open, and Lyney. Is. Right. There.

You swear the windows had been firmly shut, and there hadn’t even been the slightest outline to tell that a person was hiding behind the curtains.

“Darling, please—”

You swish the curtains close on him and stomp your way to the bedroom. You make sure to lock the door, double checking the windows to prevent any chances of Lyney sneaking in.

When you’re sure that not even the hydro archon can break into your room, you sink down on your bed, exhaustion settling in as you turn your head over this bizarre day.

Lyney was persistent, yes, but never to this degree. He showered you with all sorts of compliments and bent over backwards so you can always have your way. In hindsight, the fact that you’ve never once argued before should have been a hint that Lyney has always been careful to make sure you’re happy—too careful, at that. It makes sense, you think, that he’s so desperate to make peace with you now that you’ve had your first argument.

Still, despite how odd his actions were, it was a little touching to see how far he’d go just to apologize to you. Maybe tomorrow you’ll finally acknowledge his existence.

You shift, turning to the other side of your bed—

And Lyney is right there, laying on his side and watching you with a smile on his lips.

You feel your anger and resolve crumble in the face of that smile. And really, it’s been a long day. Staying angry isn’t going to do anyone any good.

He opens his mouth, but you interrupt him with an exasperated sigh, shuffling forward and snuggling your head in the crook of his neck.

“I forgive you,” you murmur.

You feel him circle his arms around you, letting out a happy little sigh of contentment as he buried his face on top of your head, pressing a kiss that sends a spark right down your spine. He’s dressed in a soft shirt and cotton shorts made for sleeping, clearly having expected to sleep here beside you. Sneaky. You’ll get him back for the near heart attacks today, but for now, you’ll settle for basking in the warmth he radiates, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

And you think that’s the end of it, that the two of you will drift off to sleep in each others’ embrace, but then—

“Lynette, tell Freminet to cancel the fireworks show! Plan Y version two is no longer needed!”

[incognit0slut]

REFLECTED BLISS

When you discover a mirror attached to the wall in your hotel room, Spencer decides to take full advantage of it.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) afab reader, established relationship but they're being sneaky, fingering, guided masturbation (f), unprotected sex with a mirror involved, creampie, and spencer being spencer a.k.a he uses fun facts as dirty talk ~3.9k words A/n: Told myself to make this 'cute and sexy and less filthy' but… idk man, from a scale to 1 to 10 how filthy is this be honest Requested: Here

“Oh my god.”

“What? What is it?”

“Spence,” you urged, pulling him into the room. “You need to see this.”

He followed you, stepping further in, and his eyes widened as they landed on the wall opposite the bed—a wall that wasn't just a wall, but a vast, floor-to-ceiling mirror reflecting the entire room. “That’s… interesting.”

“Interesting?” You mocked before peaking your head out the door, making sure no one was in sight before clicking it shut. “It’s terrifying.”

His duffel bag hit the carpet floor. “You’re scared of a mirror?”

“No,” you responded, placing your own bag alongside his. “I’m scared of the idea of it. I mean, look at it—it’s like it sees everything.” 

“It’s glass. It can’t actually see us.”

“Yeah, but still,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s placed right in front of the bed. Who would want to watch themselves sleeping?”

His eyes shifted back and forth between the mirror and the bed, the reflection capturing every detail of the room, including the bed’s plush pillows and crisp white sheets. “You know, I don’t think it’s used for sleeping.”

“What do you mean?”

His lips quirked up into an amused smile. “Think about it. Why would anyone want a mirror like this in front of their bed? It’s not for sleeping, it’s for... well, other activities.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as realization dawned. “Oh, you mean—that’s even worse!”

He laughed, closing the distance between you, his arms resting comfortably around your waist. “Actually, visual stimulation can significantly enhance sexual experiences. Mirrors can add a whole new level of excitement by engaging our sense of sight.”

Your face flushed even more. “I… did not know that.”

“Yeah, it’s all about the brain processing the stimuli.” He pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “It can heighten our arousal and make the experience more intense.”

You could feel your heart hammering against your chest, knowing what he was trying to do. Every time he initiated something intimate, it never failed to fluster you. There was a time when Spencer was uncertain and hesitant about these aspects of your relationship. But the more you spent time together, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms from time to time, the more his confidence grew.

Now, you could feel it in the way he was holding you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His touch was firm yet gentle, and the way he looked down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and a hint of mischief, was sending you into a frenzy. There was something different in his gaze—a new assurance, a quiet strength that made your pulse quicken.

He smiled down at you, a secretive, knowing smile as if he held a secret of his own, one that he was eager to share with you in these private moments. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. 

“I guess that makes sense.”

His smile widened. “So, while the mirror might seem creepy at first, it actually has its perks.”

“Perks, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing at him. “Are you trying to convince me to have sex in front of the mirror?”

“Is it working?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh escaping your lips. “A little.”

He laughed along with you, the sound warm and infectious. “Can I convince you more?”

But before you could answer him, his lips were already down your neck, drawing a sigh from you. You tilted your head to grant him better access. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“I thought—” You let out a moan when he sucked a spot just below your ear. “I thought we agreed… no funny business tonight.”

“Was that really your plan when you begged me to stay with you?”

“I didn’t beg,” you defended. “You offered. I told you this town gave me the creeps and you said you’d sneak in my room to keep me company.”

His lips paused momentarily, hovering just over your pulse. 

“You’re right, you didn’t beg,” he conceded with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin. “But you have to admit, the offer was mutually beneficial.”

“Mutually beneficial? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“It’s accurate,” he murmured, drawing back to look at you. “And I seem to remember someone saying how much they appreciated the company... especially at night.”

You could feel the smile forming on your lips, even as you tried to maintain a semblance of indignation. “Well, maybe I did say that. But that doesn’t mean—”

His lips cut you off, soft and persuasive, making it impossible to continue as your protests melted away. The kiss deepened, driven by a mixture of long-held desire and the thrill of his hard body pressed against your soft frame.

“You make a pretty convincing argument,” you murmured against his lips, your earlier resolve softening.

He pulled away from you before taking your hand in his. “Come here.”

He led you gently towards the mirror, the expanse of glass revealing your intertwined figures in the softly lit room.

“Oh my god, we’re actually doing this?”

He positioned you in front of him. "Only if you're comfortable.”

You watched your reflections, the way his hands settled more firmly around your waist, how your bodies fit together so perfectly. Your gaze met him through the mirror.

“Convince me more.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, fingers hovering above the buttons of your shirt. 

“Well," he began. "Did you know that mirrors don't just reflect visuals? They can also amplify emotions.”

You watched him in the reflection, the depth of his clear, brown eyes pulling you deeper into the moment. "It's like being both the spectator and the participant," he continued, his fingers deftly beginning to unbutton your shirt with gentle precision. "It makes everything more real, more intimate.”

You found yourself nodding, drawn in by both his words and the tender yet confident way he handled you. 

"So," he concluded as he folded back the fabric, revealing more of you to the cool air of the room and the warm glow of his gaze, "If we're talking about enhancing our senses, using a mirror could make every touch, every kiss, feel even more intense, don't you think?"

Words failed you; you were too overwhelmed by his presence, by the heat that radiated from his touch, so instead of speaking, you nodded again. He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that suggested he was aware of the effect he had on you.

"See?" he murmured, slipping your shirt off your shoulders. "Everything feels more alive, doesn't it?"

More than alive, your body was burning. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the mirror, where every movement and touch vividly reflected back at you. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body envelop you as his lips found the curve of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses.

His fingers slid down the strap of your bra, the motion slow and tantalizing as his gaze traced the path. His other hand remained at your waist, holding you steady as if he knew how his actions were making your knees weak. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he urged when he caught you staring intently at your reflection.

"I'm thinking," you started. “That this mirror might be magic.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, amusement flickering through his gaze. "Oh?" 

“It’s making my clothes disappear.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm in the quiet room. “I thought maybe I had something to do with that.”

“Well… you do love a good magic trick.”

“I do love a good magic trick.”

You felt his fingers on your back before he unhooked the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosened, and you felt a flush of warmth that had little to do with the room's temperature. His hands slid from your back to your shoulders, gently pushing the straps down your arms, allowing the fabric to slip away gracefully. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

You swallowed, trying to concentrate as his arms circled your waist before his fingers found the waistband of your pants.

“You’re… you’re pretty too.��

His chuckle was low and affectionate, his breath tickling your ear. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You felt his fingers undo the button of your pants, his movements slow, almost teasing, before he gently slid the zipper down. He gazed into your eyes through the mirror, seeking permission, and you found yourself nodding, your breath catching in your throat.

His hands shifted, not only guiding the fabric down your legs but also making sure your panties followed suit as he kneeled behind you. He let out a strained groan when he caught the evidence of your slick arousal clinging onto the fabric, momentarily pausing to kiss the back of your exposed thigh.

You were so pretty, so warm, so inviting. Spencer let his lips linger onto your skin while he pushed the last piece of clothing gently past your knees, allowing it to fall gracefully to the floor. He stood back up and led you both backward until the back of his knees met the edge of the bed.

With a smooth motion, he sat down, guiding you to sit between his spread legs. He carefully nudged your legs apart with his hand, and you couldn't resist looking away when you saw yourself in this position.

“No,” he said, his hand tracing along the column of your neck, coming to rest gently against your jaw before tilting your face toward the mirror. “I want you to watch.” 

Hesitantly, your eyes met your reflection in the mirror. You could clearly see yourself, how exposed you were, how you seemed to look smaller compared to him with the way you were naked and the way he was still fully clothed.

His hands traced a path from your jaw down your neck, and he watched himself move over the swells of your breasts. He gave them both a firm squeeze, admiring how they looked in his hands, how your skin radiated beneath his own. 

You gasped when his thumbs brushed your nipples. It seemed like it wasn’t much, but the sensation you were getting from it was making you wetter. Your nipples were so sensitive that you let out his name in an airy moan.

“Yes, baby?”

Your back arched instinctively. He knew what he was doing with his sweet, gentle voice and the way he was rolling your nipples in between his index and middle fingers.

You shifted your head to the side. “Can you kiss me?”

Of course he could, he’d probably give you anything you asked for. Spencer leaned forward, his lips met yours that melded with sweetness an intense longing. One of your hands found its way to his hair, pulling him closer as you kissed him with a clear desperation, but his hunger was unmatched.

He was kissing you as if he wanted to make sure he memorized every curve of your lip, the way your tongue felt, and how it felt good to get a moan out of you. You were moaning loudly, way too loud, and all he could do was swallow your moans—tongue exploring all over the inside of your mouth or press his lips hard against yours. 

Finally breaking the kiss just enough to speak, he whispered against your lips. “Should I continue?”

You nodded as his other hand, which had been skillfully teasing your nipples traveled down, tracing the lines of your body, over your ribs, pausing at your hips. He gently guided your hips to shift slightly, adjusting the angle, spreading your legs further apart.

“Can you keep your eyes on the mirror for me?”

You fixed your gaze on the reflection and felt a surge of heat rush through you. A glistening sheen of your arousal coated your inner thighs, and it almost embarrassed you, but it seemed like he didn’t mind. His large hands moved down your thighs, his touch alternating between gentle brushes and firm grips, exploring the softness of your flesh.

The moment his fingers made contact with the slick wetness, sliding effortlessly through your folds and parting them, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. The image in the mirror was boldly erotic, and he continued with practiced movements as he pushed you further into a haze of pleasure.

“Look at how responsive you are,” he murmured, his fingers rolling over your clit. "Visual stimulation can greatly enhance the physical sensations. Watching yourself like this, seeing how much you enjoy it, can intensify everything you feel."

Your stomach churned with a violent delight as he began to put more pressure, rubbing your swollen nub in a circular motion. You gasped, focusing on your reflection–your head tilting back, your eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again. It was intensely arousing to see yourself in such a raw, unguarded state.

"Watching can make the pleasure more acute," he continued, guiding your hand down to feel where his fingers were at work. "Try it."

Your eyes met his in the mirror. “W-What?”

“Here,” he encouraged, taking hold of your hand before placing it at the center of your cunt. The warmth and wetness were startling, even more so because you were witnessing it unfold in the mirror. His fingers guided yours, teaching you the rhythm and pressure that had drawn those sharp gasps from your lips.

"Like this," he murmured, his own hand adjusting yours, showing you how to circle and press. Your breath hitched, seeing the flush spread across your chest and neck, the way his fingers moved above yours.

"It intensifies, doesn't it?"

Your head fell back to his chest. “Y-Yes.”

“Keep going,” he instructed, and you followed, playing with your clit with the right amount of pressure you desired. When his fingers traveled further down, his fingertips grazing your entrance, your jaw slacked open.

You whimpered as he began to sink his digits into your cunt, savoring the way you clenched around him. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head before you instinctively closed your eyes. 

You felt his free hand gripping your jaw.

“Eyes on the mirror, Sweetheart.”

You obeyed, reopening your eyes. You settled to watch how his hand flexed as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of your dripping cunt before adding another to stretch you out. You whined, your own fingers moving fast against your clit.

“Good,” he murmured, burying his face against the side of your neck, face nearly pressing into yours. His stubbled jaw scraped across your skin, causing you to shudder in pleasure. “Keep watching.”

You could barely think straight, your breaths coming in short gasps now, your focus split between the sensations rippling through your body and the erotic display in the mirror. His fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect angle to press against your most sensitive spot. 

The room was quickly filled with the lewd sound as he kept a steady pace, fingers rutting into your tight hole, your slick inner walls clenching around him with each thrust. Your hips jerked against him again as a tiny moan escaped your lips.

"I love seeing you like this," he confessed. "Are you close?”

You struggled to answer, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. But he felt the way you clenched around him, a clear sign of your approaching orgasm. His other hand traced a path from just below your breasts, gliding down over the smooth plane of your stomach. He paused, his palm resting just above where your own fingers were playing with your clit, and applied pressure there.

A shudder tore through you, the sensation bordering on overwhelming before a sharp, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. Your body shook as your orgasm washed over you in an intense wave.

The mirror captured it all—the way your head tossed back against his shoulder, your eyes squeezed shut, then snapped open to catch glimpses of his fingers thrusting into your throbbing cunt while his other hand pressed gently on your lower stomach.

Your own movements paused as you tried to catch your breath and Spencer held you, making sure you composed yourself even though his erection was digging into the swell of your ass, itching to be inside of you. Fortunately, he had patience—you, on the other hand, not so much.

You gripped onto his thigh, noting the fabric underneath your palm. “You’re wearing too much clothes.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Am I now?" 

"Definitely too much.”

"Maybe we should fix that," he suggested, shifting slightly to allow some space for you to turn in his arms. Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt the moment you faced him, fingers itching to rid him of the unnecessary barrier.

He watched your every move with a slight smile playing on his lips. letting you push the fabric over his shoulder. “Better?”

"Getting there.”

You worked at the buckle of his belt before you unbuttoned his pants, urging him to lift his hips as you slid them off. "How about now?”

You reached out, your hands gliding up his now bare thighs.

"Almost. Still too much."

Spencer responded immediately, his hands removing the last piece of his clothing in a fluid motion. Then he was finally naked, and the sight of his cock, visibly aroused and gleaming slightly at the tip, drew a sharp intake of breath from you.

"Now we're talking," you breathed out, a satisfied grin spreading across your face.

His hands found their way to your waist, urging you to face the mirror again. “Get on your knees for me.”

“You’re really into this mirror thing, huh?"

“It’s hard not to,” he quipped, his hands gently guiding you into position as he settled behind you. "Don’t worry, all the attention is on you."

“Oh, really?” you responded, turning slightly to look up at him. "Or do you just like seeing how good you make me feel?”

“I do make you feel good, don’t I?”

“Cockiness does not suit you.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, gripping your hips with one hand and the other positioning himself right at your entrance. “Arch your back a little.”

You obliged, accentuating the curve of your body. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

His hand on your hips adjusted you slightly, ensuring the angle was just right. You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his cock brush past your folds and you both moaned as he pushed himself further into you. Once he was all the way in, pausing to take a breath, he slowly slid back out to give you an experimental thrust. 

You whined at the sensation before adjusting your knees, spreading them further apart to give him better access. This new position deepened the angle, and when he thrust back into you, the pleasure intensified.

"Is this better?" He asked breathlessly, watching your expressions in the mirror for any sign of discomfort or pleasure.

You nodded. Your face felt hot, your mind was fogging up. The feeling of being filled was too good, but you wanted something more. Your hips, as if you had no control over them, started to grind against his.

Spencer groaned in pleasure, head going blank. His hands rested on your waist, pulling back to slide himself out before going back in slowly, meeting your movement. But he was treating you as if you were fragile, his thrusts were gentle, and despite how vocal you are with your little whimpers, it still wasn’t enough.

“Baby,” you gasped, pushing your hips back into his. “Can you—can you go faster?”

Spencer's response was immediate, his breath catching slightly at your request. His gaze met yours in the mirror, searching for any sign of hesitation, but when he saw none, he began to pick up the pace.

“Faster?” His hand tightened on your waist as he gave you a hard thrust, jolting you forward. “Or rougher?”

Both, you wanted both, but a breathless yes was the only thing that managed to slip out of your mouth. His grin was sharp, almost predatory. His movements became even more deliberate, each thrust gaining force and speed, driving into you with an intensity that matched the urgency in your voice.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough with desire as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin. 

"Yes, I—fuck," You blabbered. The pleasure was building, coiling tightly within you. “S-So good.”

Spencer’s other hand moved forward, finding your chin in the mirror and gently turning your face towards his. “Look at us.”

The reflection showed every detail—your wide eyes, his focused expression, the way your bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm. It was overwhelming, and even more intense when the hand on your waist slid around you, fingers brushing your clit.

You mewled, your back pressing against his chest. The visual of watching it all happen, of seeing how your bodies worked together, amplified everything. The combination of his thrusts and the relentless circles his fingers traced over your clit drove you closer to the edge. 

"Spencer, I’m—" you started, breathless, the words catching in your throat as the building pressure within you neared its peak.

"I know," he replied. He could feel it too, the way your body clenched around him, and he was just about at his limit. “Me too… I’m so close.”

You felt every muscle in your body tighten, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter. “Wanna feel you,” you gasped. “Cum… inside…  me.”

Spencer’s response was a deep, guttural groan, his breaths growing even more labored. “Yeah? You want me to fill you up?”

“Please," you whispered, urgency lacing every syllable. “Want your cum in me.”

That did it. He just couldn’t say no to you.

His fingers moved rapidly on your clit as he drove into you. The combination of his deep, determined thrusts and the relentless stimulation of your clit overwhelmed your senses. The room was filled with the sounds of the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and you could see in the mirror how each movement affected you.

Then, with a few more powerful thrusts, you felt him tense, a deep groan escaping him as he reached his climax. The hot rush of his release inside you was the final trigger your body needed. Your vision blurred, your mind blanked, and you surrendered to the intense wave of your own orgasm, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling and breathless.

Spencer continued to move gently, riding out the aftershocks of your climaxes together, his movements becoming slower, more soothing. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he wrapped his arms around you more tightly, pulling you back against his chest protectively. His breaths were slow and deep, calming against the back of your neck.

You were panting, tired yet blissful, and your eyes met his gaze in the mirror once again.

“How many couples do you think the mirror has witnessed?”

Spencer chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against your back. "More than we can imagine."

He then pulled out from you and a soft sigh escaped you as his hot release slipped from your cunt. Spencer noticed it too, which was why his hand went back between your thighs, his fingers pushing the white, warm liquid back into you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “What–you—” You stared at him with wide eyes. “You are filthy.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

You sighed, because he was right, more so you were enjoying it too much because his fingers continued thrusting into you and you found yourself pushing back against his hand.

“Spence…” You warned him, although it came out too breathless to make it sound like a real threat.

He grinned, clearly enjoying your response. “Do you want me to stop?”

You paused, pretending to think, but there was no real doubt as you quickly shook your head. Because how could you want him to stop when his touch was so intoxicating, when he was focused so intently on your pleasure more than ever before?

Your eyes drifted back toward the expansive mirror in front of you.

Maybe you should get one for your room.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader | SMUT | CW: reader is married to an abusive husband | reader uses drugs/alcohol to cope with her abusive marriage | murder/killing mentioned

This story is extremely explicit and deliciously fever dream-ish imo. Hope you enjoy it, my fellow clown fuckers ❤️

What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

That’s what you were thinking as your common sense peeked out briefly from the fog of alcohol and weed in your system…a moment of sobriety just long enough to make you question what motivation you could have for the decisions you were now making.

He smelled. Like dried blood and sex, the kind of sex that hurts you, but doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Maybe it would have been enough to stop you, under any other (sober) circumstances. But as it was, you were already sitting in this strange man’s lap, in the middle of an empty mall after closing. And what made the situation even more surreal? The fact that he was dressed in a goddamn Santa suit and wearing gaudy black and white clown makeup all over his face.

Yeah, you really needed to stop sneaking into the mall bathroom and getting fucked up. Swiping a pack of edibles and two travel-sized bottles of cinnamon spice vodka from the gas station had been a bad idea to begin with. Using the privacy of the bathroom to get wasted and scroll through your phone for two hours would have been considered strange behavior by most people. But most people (in fact, no one) knew the reason why you avoided home like the plague.

Your husband was abusive, in every way possible. He controlled every aspect of your life, to the point that sometimes, you worried he could even read your thoughts. Where you went, who you spoke to, your finances, your diet, your sex life; everything about you belonged to him. It was suffocating. And while your habit of stealing from the gas station and hiding in the mall bathroom was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you were coping. Even if eventually it bit you in the ass, like tonight. When you got a little too high, a little too drunk, to notice the time, or the fact that the mall outside the bathroom stall you were locked in had grown quiet…

The mall was closed. Fucking closed, with you locked inside it. You’d staggered out of the bathroom like a fucking zombie in what looked to be a post apocalyptic scene. The mall was empty, devoid of life. Everything was eerily silent, apart from your footsteps shuffling across the tile floor as you took in your empty surroundings. The mall was dimly-lit, the only light source coming from high above, moonlight streaming in through the big panel windows on the mall ceiling.

You found one of the exits, and tried the door. It was locked, or maybe you were too high/drunk to figure a way out? It didn’t matter because regardless, you weren’t going anywhere for awhile. Either you’d sober up and figure out how to get out, or you’d be stuck waiting till security came by in the morning and let you out. A pleasant thought tickled at the back of your mind: your husband had no idea where you were. It felt good to be so far beyond his radar that his ability to oversee your every move was completely fucked. What did scare you, however, was the thought of confronting him in the morning. How would he react to you staying out all night? Obviously it wouldn’t go over well, and just imagining what your husband’s punishment might involve had your stomach twisting.

So instead of ruining your high by worrying about the inevitable, you decided to finish the last of your vodka, yelling “fuck it!” into the empty void around you. Your voice echoed back at you off the walls of the empty mall. It was creepy, and a little exciting, being unsupervised and alone with this kind of freedom. The excitement you felt only heightened when you noticed him. Your mouth twisted into a grin of disbelief, because how fucking high WERE you that you were literally seeing Santa Claus in front of you right now?? You took a step towards him, still unsure if he was even real.

He was sitting in an ornate wooden chair framed by two massive Christmas trees. The strands of lights decorating them weren’t on, just like all the other lights inside the mall. Above him, a sign written in ridiculously large print read “SANTA,” as if the scene itself would have implied anything other than the jolly old elf’s presence. You forced your gaze to focus on the man/hallucination in front of you, the smile on his face as big as yours. And he was a…clown, too? You laughed out loud, the absurdity of it all becoming too much. Your laughter was tinny and soft, like the sound of jingle bells, and it seemed only fitting considering you were standing mere feet away from the man, the myth, the legend himself: Santa Claus.

He patted his lap, encouraging you over. The fact that he apparently didn’t speak made the vodka-soaked dreamworld you were currently wandering feel even more like a dream. As you approached ‘Santa Clown,’ the possibility of him being a figment of your imagination became less believable. When he reached for your arm and tugged you onto his lap, you were certain. He was absolutely real.

You gasped, a surprised giggle spilling from your lips. The clown seemed to enjoy your amusement, bouncing you on his knee just to hear the string of excited giggles that tumbled out of you. He was playing with you, and you were loving it. His hair, or the wig he wore, spilled over his shoulders in off-white waves, flecked by bits of red. It took you a few seconds to register that the red bits were actually dried blood, and that the same blood was caked onto the beard that hung loosely underneath Santa Clown’s chin.

Should you have been alarmed? Probably. But instead of sensing danger coming from the clown, you felt oddly protected, safe. Whoever that blood belonged to, whoever he may have hurt, the clown didn’t seem in any hurry to hurt YOU. In fact, based on the stiffening pulse of his cock under your ass, it seemed like the clown was enjoying your company very much.

To test your theory, you decided to tease him a little and see where it led. Shifting intentionally on his lap, you reached to smooth the blood-crusted strands of hair back from Santa Clown’s face, revealing his sharp cheekbones and smooth, painted-white skin. He was oddly handsome, attractive in a dark kind of way. The way villains are always more appealing than heroes, or more philosophically, how Eve must have felt when she was seduced by the serpent’s persuasive tongue. There was something forbidden about the clown, something instinctively, inherently wrong about wanting him. And yet, that wrongness was precisely part of the reason you did want him.

His smile faded slowly to an expression you couldn’t name, his eyes going dark. Had your flirting upset him? A chill ran through you as even the air around you both seemed to go colder. A sudden sizzle of electricity made you flinch, and you watched as around you, the lights on the Christmas trees were illuminated. You smiled, a pleased chuckle of surprise leaving your lips, and the clown smiled with you. He seemed to enjoy making you feel good; and perhaps the dark supernatural forces that followed him came in handy in times like these, when manipulating electricity could be used to impress a pretty girl?

The rest of the mall remained in darkness, with only the Christmas lights illuminating the festive scene. “It’s so pretty,” you said, and you realized it was the first time you’d actually spoken to the clown. He nodded, feigning a kind of bashful grin, and extended his index finger toward you, tapping lightly against your breasts. Your eyebrows lifted at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since anyone had called you ‘pretty,’ and somehow, even in the absence of words, the clown had said everything right.

“Me?” you asked coquettishly, feeling emboldened by the vodka thundering through your system. “You think I’m pretty?”

The clown nodded vigorously, his big, toothy smile returning. “Well y’know what?” you asked through a giggle. “I think you’re pretty handsome, Santa.”

The clown’s mouth made the shape of a surprised ‘O,’ and he pointed to himself, his lips forming the word ‘me???’

“Yeah,” you replied. “And, as a matter of fact-.” You leaned in so your lips were at the clown’s ear, the coppery scent of blood stronger by his face. “-I’m ready to tell you what I want for Christmas…”

You didn’t expect to feel his hand on your chin, turning your head to face him. His expression had shifted back to the one you’d been unable to read earlier, the look you’d mistaken for him being upset. Now, as his thumb tugged your bottom lip downward and his dark eyes studied the shape of your mouth, you realized his expression was one of lust.

You sucked in a breath, extending your tongue to meet his thumb. The metallic tang of old blood met your tastebuds, melting over your tongue as the dried blood under the clown’s thumbnail was wetted by your spit. You didn’t care whose blood it was, because in this strange new reality, nothing beyond this space in the empty mall mattered. His eyes followed his thumb as it pressed deeper, your lips closing around its base, sucking lightly. You shifted again on the clown’s lap; it was so bumpy now that he was fully hard, his erection making it difficult to sit still.

His gaze was fixed on your lips, the space his thumb had disappeared between. You backed your head away slowly, letting his thumb slide out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your hands closed over his thighs to balance yourself as you slipped off his lap, locking your eyes with his as you settled between his boots on the ground. Resting your head against his right thigh, the heady smell of piss and sweat filled your senses. His hand was on your head, fingers laced through your hair and guiding you, inward. Closer. Closer to the space he wanted your mouth, where he needed it to be.

You wet your lips with your tongue and watched as the clown worked the large buckle of his belt undone. He tugged the waist of his pants lower, just enough for his cock to spring free, smacking against his stomach, pre cum clinging to the white fur trim of his jacket. Your mouth fell open at the sight of his member, its impressive length only half as striking as its girth. He closed his gloved hand around himself, pumping up and down his shaft in a few slow, unhurried strokes. The look in his eyes was almost wicked; he knew the thought of him filling your throat intimidated you, and he liked that fear.

With his other hand locked in your hair, the clown pulled your head closer, till your mouth was poised at his tip. He pressed the fat bulb to your lips, admiring the way they parted obediently for him. Urging his hips forward, the clown pushed his cock inside your mouth. The salty taste of his skin on your tongue was unpleasant at first, but you quickly forgot about any discomfort once he’d established a rhythm back and forth inside you. The head of his cock pushed the salty taste to the back of your throat, and you swallowed it down. From there, the only challenge you faced was opening your throat enough to take him. The clown’s hand on your head continued to guide it, pumping your mouth over him like a sleeve. You needed to breathe, to swallow the air his cock was denying you. Just when you thought you might be sick, the clown removed himself from your throat, allowing you the chance to breathe, a long line of saliva trailing from your bottom lip to the head of his cock. He grinned down at you approvingly, patting your head as if to say ‘good girl,’ before lifting you once again by the hair, and shoving himself back between your lips.

He leaned forward and closed his other hand around your throat, feeling his cock fucking you from the inside out. Your cunt was dripping, a pearly string of your wetness slicking the ground between your knees. You squeezed your thighs together as the clown used your throat, desperate for some kind of stimulation. He could sense your desperation, and offered you his boot as a relief, wedging it between your legs to give you something to grind on. You humped it gratefully, rocking your swollen cunt against the clown’s shoe. He stilled inside your throat, buried deep, his fingers tightening in your hair to the point your scalp was stinging. A gush of semen washed down your throat, followed by another. You struggled to swallow it all, your throat constricting as the clown’s cum filled it to capacity. You gagged and choked, and he pulled you off his cock just as vomit began creeping its way up the back of your throat. His wild eyes and wide grin beamed down at you, his chest rising and falling quickly in the aftermath of his climax. Semen you hadn’t been able to swallow dripped down your chin in a thick line. When you attempted to wipe it away, the clown stopped you with a swat of his hand against yours. He wanted to see the results of his work in and on you, his work of Art.

He jerked his boot where it was wedged between your thighs, bouncing you on top of it. You whimpered at the sensation, your neglected little cunt aching and engorged. You needed to come, so badly that it hurt. The clown watched as you stayed knelt at his feet, straddling his boot and humping it like a bitch in heat, grunting and panting, no more than an animal. Your orgasm shook you to your core, your muscles gripping and sucking around nothing, clit throbbing against the clown’s boot as you rubbed yourself into it, moaning and spitting a string of obscenities into his pants leg, where your face was buried.

After your body ceased shaking, you looked up to see the clown still grinning down at you. He offered his hands for you to take hold of, and helped you back into his lap. An hour passed, and then another. You couldn’t say for certain, but you think you must have fallen asleep in the clown’s arms for an hour or so, because at some point, you noticed that the stars were beginning to fade in the sky. Morning was coming, and that meant going home. To your husband. To your abuser.

Fear roiled in your stomach, along with the alcohol and cum filling it. You despised this feeling of dread, of being scared by a shit stain of a human being like your husband. If only you could live free of his tyranny, you imagined. How much better would the world be without the influence of such a toxic man as your husband…?

…And then, the idea formed in your mind. You tilted your head to the clown’s face. Studying the blood on his hair and skin once again, you decided to ask a favor of him. “Santa,” you began, because you didn’t know what else to call him. “You’ve killed people before…haven’t you?”

The clown feigned an apologetic expression and raised his hands as if to say “guilty.”

You nodded your head, a hopeful smile on your lips. And then, you asked him: “How would you like to kill my husband?” 🔪🩸🤍

PART TWO

@arts-bloody-gloves

[unknown7s]

Can I just say that I really fucking HATE how the majority of the Arcane fandom praising Season 2 is deeply in the mindset of Piltover in reality? Like, it's not even funny, and I don't know where to begin.

I'll just start with Silco because he's this huge metaphorical character who is clearly written as the embodiment of a long list of sociopolitical agendas in the real world. And before I start, pardon my English, since it's not my first language.

I know y'all in the Anglo-American sphere tend to focus more on classism, inequality and police brutality theme. But the way I see it, THAT and every single dialogue plus the specific word choice of Silco & Sevika literally SCREAMS of postcolonial discourse (I guess F. Fanon is most well-known to y'all) and even some part of M. Foucault's philosophy, etc. I'm writing "etc." because the list will go on forever if I describe all these creepy historical parallels between the depiction of Zaun's internal conflict and what real countries that have been (or still are) colonies went through, and what real colonizer propaganda looked like during that time—like how those characters who fight for the nation's independence are the big bad villain and psychotic monsters who need "redemption arc" therapy, while those who cooperate with the oppressors are the good-hearted familial heroes of this story.

So upon reflection, if this fandom were to be a collective intelligence, we should have asked ourselves, "Is this show truly not problematic for portraying such a character as villainous?" and thus, "Is this show thematically implying far-right propaganda?" even before Season 2 presented us with this insane plot that glamorized the militaristic fascist aristocrat proclaiming martial law as a 'romantic revenge arc'.

But what did the majority of the fandom do since 2022? They were so busy shitting on this dead villain, claiming he has done so much wrong that he doesn't even deserve to be praised as a character. So instead of trying to understand where this character's point of view is coming from, they blindly hate him to the point where they are now fabricating a list of crimes that he didn't even commit, editing false information on the fandom wiki profile.

What's more frustrating to me is that I thought the problem was media illiteracy all along, but oh no, I was being way more optimistic than the reality. Now that I’ve read all these interviews from the showrunner and main writer—Linke and Overton—I get the sense of why Season 2 turned out like that. The more they babble on about this show, the clearer it becomes that they don't even acknowledge how messed up their political views are, which are so far-right. Taking the seemingly-centrist line doesn't make you fair, you're just passively siding with the oppressors. And lesbian sex scene doesn't make this show "progressive", in fact, hiding oppressor fantasy behind a rainbow flag makes it even more treacherous.

So yeah, I think critical voices should be much louder than this, but watching the majority of this fandom neglacting problems only to praise the show? I think my hope for humanity kind of get lost more and more as time passes, lol.

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[sovasleepy]

jealousy (valorant x reader)

[ chamber, gekko, sova, omen x gn!reader ] — in which valorant men get a little jealous

tw: jealous and a little overprotectiveness but they’re (mostly) healthy about it. a little cursing for some flavor. random guy flirts with you in chamber's but hes not creepy about it. different guy is also creepy in omen's but its not talked about in detail. chamber makes a sexual joke in his.

CHAMBER ━━━

hot take: he’s so protective at all times idc idc

but he hides it so so well

he’s absolutely enamored by you, there’s no denying that. that’s only half the reason why he tries to show you off so much though

the other reason is because that means he is showing you off as his. he’s staking his claim on you in his own odd little way, but it works and neither of you mind it too much

━━━━━━

“are you sure this shirt doesn’t make me look weird?” you asked, tugging at the material.

as much as you loved it, you couldn’t quite tell me if it was ‘you.’ you stepped out of the changing room of the store you were in and into the hallway, where chamber sat patiently waiting. he loved a fashion show if it was yours, after all.

he pretended to inspect it thoroughly, leaning forward in his chair and narrowing his eyes.

before he could answer, however, a different voice sounded out. it came from the door next to yours, where a different man had walked into the hallway to look at his own clothes.

“it looks good,” he spoke, smirk creeping its way onto his face. “but i imagine you’d look good in anything, huh?”

both you and chamber sat still and quiet for a few beats, as if registering what had just happened. the line was well delivered, but seriously? could he not tell that you were with chamber?

“well,” chamber spoke loudly. “they do look good in anything. and in nothing. we could see how you look when the shirt is on our bedroom floor, how’s that, ma cheri?”

you attempted to ignore the warmth that rose in your face, but failed. again, you were stunned. the opposing man blanched and retreated back to his changing room, where he quickly shut the door.

“come now, love. i think a thousand dollars in one shopping trip is enough, no? or should we stop by one more store?” chamber was overly loud once again.

and lying through his teeth, as well — you’d come to retrieve a single shirt for an event. that said, you couldn’t help but laugh as the occupant of changing room next to yours fumbled over himself, apparently knocked something down, and released a string of curses.

he didn’t have to know chamber was lying, and you didn’t have to know chamber was lying because he knew he’d earn a laugh from you.

GEKKO ━━━

gekko has like. a normal amount of jealousy?

he’ll bite back the small senses of it whenever you’re giving another guy a little more attention that he would like you to

or he’ll politely explain to you that he doesn’t really like you doing something because of how it makes him feel and you’ll talk it through

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just needs that extra little reassurance

if you’re willing to give up doing something to give him that peace of mind? all the better. if not? he can work on it, no questions asked.

overall 10/10 v good communication skills i love him

━━━━━━

you could tell that gekko was uneasy. from the way his nails picked at his fingers and the constant bouncing of his knee, to the avoidance of eye contact and the way his speech was quiet and mumbled, gekko’s demeanor screamed something was wrong.

you watched him carefully as you sat back down at the table. again, his eyes didn’t move from the place they were locked onto.

a few moments passed as you thought of what could have been wrong. the two of you were at some company party, with loud music coming through the speakers and an unholy amount of people piled into the room. everyone was dressed formally in either dresses or suits, their makeup done perfectly and not a hair out of place.

maybe that’s what was wrong. perhaps the music was too loud or his suit was too tight.

“mateo?” you had to yell over the music, despite wanting your voice to be soft as you spoke to him.

he finally looked up to you, soft eyes scanning your face. he didn’t speak, but he hummed to acknowledge you audibly.

“is everything alright? you seem a little off.”

the question seemed to stun him for a few moments as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked back down to the table. after a deep breath, he finally answered. “i just felt a little… i dunno. saying i was jealous feels a little funny, but there was this guy earlier you were talking to? he was kinda tall, darker hair. and uh- anyway, you went to grab a drink and he seemed to be really funny i guess. you didn’t stop laughing the entire time you were talking and before you left he kissed your cheek.”

you thought about it for a second, trying to recall the interaction, before you let out something like a laugh.

“he’s from mexico, he told me it was a common thing there? i dunno. i’ve known him since i joined the protocol.” you said, smiling at him. “it’s nothing, but if you don’t like it i’ll tell him next time. i highly doubt there’s gonna be any hard feelings about it on his end. is that alright?”

he nodded, sending you a soft smile. his face had relaxed significantly in the past few minutes. "thank you, amor."

SOVA ━━━

he rarely gets jealous,, he thinks

he has a hard time exactly placing the emotion, and it’s mostly shrouded in protectiveness more than anything

he loves you, he knows you love him, and there is not a doubt that trickles into his mind

…..for the most part, anyway

there is the occasional time when that warmth spreads in his chest and the overwhelming urge to take you under his wing spawns, only to realize you aren’t in any danger

so why does he feel the need to protect you?

━━━━━━

sova had never had any ill-will toward phoenix. the two of them weren't particularly close, but they had worked and lived together for long enough that they were closer than one might expect.

maybe thats why sova agreed to play games with he and a few others the other night. they played stupid ice-breaker games, despite mostly having known each other for years. a few embarrassing stories of his friends' youth were shared, including the time jett ate brownies without knowing weed was baked in, and the time raze got caught sneaking out in her teens.

at some point, sova was asked who he had feelings for. it was the late hours of the night, and you had long since passed out on the couch next to him. he'll never figure out how you slept through the laughing and talking, but you did. without saying a word, sova had smiled softly and nodded over to you.

there were a few gasps, and then there was the laughing and cheering of a few others. phoenix held out his hand, to which jett passed him twenty bucks with a disgrunted face. evidently, they had had a bet about his feelings.

little did he know that telling them--phoenix, in particular--about his feelings toward you would go on to be one of the worst decisions he could have made.

ever since that night, phoenix had made it his goal to flirt with you as much as he possibly could when sova was around. he would send the russian a wink and a smile after every interaction with you, driving the stake deeper. though you thought he was just being friendly and joking around, the interactions never failed to spark a sick feeling in his gut.

and currently, he was almost at his limit.

he was normally fairly calm, but his patience with phoenix had been run thin over the past few weeks and the interaction between you two was getting a little too close for his comfort. not that he had some sort of claim over you; you weren't dating, so why did he have this feeling?

"could you hand me my water?" you asked from your spot on the couch. you gestured to the bottle of water placed in front of phoenix, who was sitting beside you.

he watched as phoenix took your hand and brought it gently up to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "anything for you, my love." his voice was dripping with sultry as he spoke.

in a few quick steps, sova got up and grabbed the bottle before phoenix could. he stepped around the coffee table and handed you the bottle, sending a glare over to phoenix when he stepped away. the other man raised his hands in mock defense and leaned back into the couch. with a sly smile, he positioned his arm around the back of the couch and pulled you into his side. you laughed, but didn't push away.

"ok, fine." sova finally spoke. he had been glaring daggers at you and phoenix for the better part of two hours, and you couldn't figure out why. "what the hell is it for, phoenix? why are you doing this?"

you leaned up from where you were leaned against the man in question. "doing what?"

phoenix smiled impossibly wider and leaned forward. "yeah, doing what?"

sova grumbled. he huffed and took a moment to collect himself. "leave, y/n." he looked at you and his eyes softened. "please."

despite the look he sent you, you weren't leaving. you crossed your arms in defiance and glared. phoenix's hand came up to rub your back.

"that!" sova finally spoke again. this wasn't how he wanted to confess to you, but so be it. "i told you weeks ago that i had feelings for y/n and you have since made it your life's mission to flirt with them. you don't have the same feelings for them, so why? what do you gain?"

phoenix, painfully calmly, got up and walked to the other side of the room. "for one, you finally confessed. don't have to deal with your 'longing gazes' anymore. secondly, jett now owes me twenty more bucks."

OMEN ━━━

omen would like to pride himself in the fact that he was rarely jealous.

insecure? sure. a little self-depreciating? of course.

but jealous just wasn’t him. as much as he was dissatisfied with himself, he had full trust in you.

however, that didn’t stop the rare inkling of a feeling that you truly would be better off with someone else, especially when they flirt, and even more so when you don’t notice

━━━━━━

one more time. that was all it was going to take.

just one more time for that guy to slide his hand up your arm, one more stupid joke to roll off of his tongue, one more laugh from you. omen knew he didn't exactly initiate physical touch all that often, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it. he would kill right now to have that be him, for you to be so close to him, for you to be laughing at his every word like you were laughing at that guy's.

he had told you that he would come with you to grab some supplies. a kingdom worker had been at the facility at the time, however, and the two of you seemed to be getting along perfectly well. to hell with the company you had asked from omen, he supposes.

and of course there it was again, his arm coming up to rest gently on your back as he guided you down another hallway. omen was a few steps behind the two of you, not that either one of you seemed to be paying him any mind.

fine. he could go back to his room.

his disappeared into a cloud of smoke, materializing again in the darkness of his own room. the events of the last thirty or so minutes replayed in his mind, a taunting loop of your smile as you looked at the man responsible for it. its not that he hated seeing you smile -- he loved it. but it was a different thing entirely when you smiled so big because of a man he could never be. maybe in another life, but not now.

the thoughts swirled in his head for what felt like hours. it was likely barely half an hour in reality, being that it took fifteen minutes alone to get up to his room from where the two of you had been before and likely another few to finish your work.

finally, a knock on the door of his room regained his attention.

"come in." he spoke, not looking away from the ceiling tile he'd been fixed on.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" you asked, clearly angry.

the phantom sat up, looking over to you incredulously. "what?"

"why the hell would you leave?"

"wasn't interested in watching him flirt with you." he was curt, as always.

"oh, yeah," you said dramatically. you were walking over to him now, standing in front of him. "because i was enjoying it so much. loved it even more when my boyfriend got tired and left me alone with him."

oh. that makes more sense than you blatantly hitting on him in front of your own boyfriend.

"really? sure seemed to find him so funny."

"because what am i supposed to do? tell him that he's not funny and to shut up?"

"you could have told him not to touch you."

"i did! and you didn't see me brushing his hand away and walking faster so he wouldn't rest his hand on my back? or were you too busy wallowing?"

the reality of this set in on him suddenly. he really had been too caught up in his own mind to realize what was happening. he had left you in an uncomfortable situation all because he was too stubborn to listen to what was actually happening.

"i'm sorry." he finally spoke.

"its okay," you sighed, and crawled your way into his bed. "i'll file a report or something later. we deserve a nap."