#terrifier fan fiction

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

[horrorwhores-posts]

Halloween haze

Summary: you lose your boyfriend at a Halloween party and things get a little hazy.

word count: 2,605

warnings: SMUT (minors do not interact), plot before porn, gore, murder, infidelity.

Authors notes: first time ever writing smut so if it bad please let me know 🥹

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Dressing up, whether it be spooky or sexy, was always fun. This year my boyfriend decided to take me to one of his frat parties to celebrate with booze and music. I waded through the crowd of tightly packed bodies, balancing my drink above my head to keep it from spilling. When I was finally free from the mob of drunk party goers I smoothed down my skirt. Today I was dressed pretty simply, just a black tutu, a white crop top with a bow tie, and clown makeup adoring my face. It was the easiest thing I could muster at the last minute. I made my way back to where I left my boyfriend, before I went to get my drink. The spot where he was sitting on the couch was empty and I scanned the bodies around me to see if I could see him. Slightly tipsy and not minding my step I accidentally bumped into a hard, warm body. My hand gripped onto a white, satiny costume to try and balance myself despite my spinning vision. I craned my neck up the tall figure to see a fellow black and white clown. His costume is a lot more intricate than my own. I finally looked at his face and he smiled down at me with a big smile.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. But hey, at least we’re matching.” I giggle my last words as I let go of his costume. His smile seemed to widen as he gestured to himself and then back at me, giving me a thumbs up. I drunkenly giggle again before I ask my next question. “Hey have you um- seen my boyfriend? He’s brunette, dressed as the Grim reaper. He was just over there.” I gesture over to where he was sitting on the couch. “But now he’s gone.” I look back at my fellow clown companion with the best puppy eyes I could muster. The clown frowned at my face before shrugging his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. I huffed with annoyance. Not at my new friend of course, but at my boyfriend who was notorious for ditching me and showing up out of nowhere an hour later with a plausible excuse. “Well..” I sighed. “Thanks anyway, if you see him tell him to find me, alright?” I looked at the clown expectantly. He placed his palm to his forehead in a salute and marched away. I giggled as we parted ways.

Continuing my hunt for my boyfriend, I found myself on the second floor with the bedrooms, bodies pressed against the walls in feverious making out. My eyes landed on my boyfriend’s room, the door was shut and I could see his red light emanating from under the door. My stomach sank even in my drunken state. I was VERY familiar with that red light, with all the nights I spent under and on top of him. Everything started to spin as I got closer to the door, the cold metal of the knob nipped at my hot skin. With a shuddering breath, I twisted my wrist, cracking the door just a smidge. I could hear faint moaning and the sound of skin slapping skin. I closed my eyes as I leaned towards to crack, praying silently that I was overthinking. With one last shaking breath I willed myself to open my eyes. My world came crashing down as I confirmed it was him. I know that head full of brown mussed hair, those broad shoulders, and that big tattoo on his back. My eyes watered as I fought back the urge to sob, or to wretch, I’m not fully sure. As I backed away from the door my body collided with a familiar body. I craned up and saw the clown from before. He frowned at the crack in the door and finally back at my tear stained face. He gently caressed the side of my face, his thumb wiping my tears away. The surprising act of kindness caused the dam to break behind my eyes. A sob ripped from my chest as I roughly pushed past my new found friend, running to get as far away from the scene as possible.

Before I knew it I found myself in the backyard, on my hands and knees, gagging into the grass. The cry’s that came from me were almost animalistic, as a crowd gathered around me. A body gently kneeled next to my shivering body and wrapped a thick, heavy object around my shoulders. I looked up through wet lashes and saw Trevor. My boyfriend’s best friend. He gave me a look of pity and understanding as he gently rubbed my shoulders in a reassuring manner.

“Come on, leave the girl alone!…” he barked as he picked me up and made his way through the crowd. “Get out of my way!” He pushed us through the crowd and led me away from the wandering eyes. We ended up in a little gazebo surrounded by tall, dense bushes that provided us the isolation we needed. Gently placing me on the bench, he sat next to me and gently rubbed my back. My crying had died down to sniffles, gazing at the ground. Trevor moved his hand away from my back and I heard him shuffle around for a little bit until I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter click. Before I could fully register there was a cigarette in my line of sight. With quivering hands I grasped into the small stick and brought it to my chapped lips. Inhaling the smoke deeply, I felt the familiar burn at the back of my throat. “How long.” I felt my raw voice croak. I felt Trevor tense next to me and I slowly moved my head to look at him. He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t want to know.” I felt my heartbreak even more and something bubbled in me. Taking a drag, I tried to calm my nerves but I couldn't help the question that came out of my mouth. “Has it been the same bitch?” I asked him, a hint of anger lacing my words. He looked up from his fidgeting hands in surprise and when he made eye contact he knew I was playing. “At first, no. But he’s been consistently seeing this one girl lately.”

“Lately.” I chuckled in disbelief, taking a puff of my cigarette.

“Yeah. A freshman, Cassidy smith. He’s been fucking her for three months now.” He murmured. Something about that sentence stoked the fire in my chest. I took a final hit of my nicotine stick before throwing it down the ground. I stood and pretty much marched back to the house, completely ignoring Trevor’s pleas to come back and not to go in. My chest heaved as I walked through the back door, my rage spiked as I looked around the crowd. I must have looked feral because all the eyes I met had fear laced through them. I stomped towards and up the stairs with a passion. Once again I was face to face with my boyfriend’s bedroom. The same red light was glowing around the border of the door. I debated on pounding and screaming on the wood, or just barging in. Deciding on the latter I gripped the handle and pushed the door open. “You stupid son of a-“ My eyes finally focused on the scene in front of me, and all the rage drained from me. The only emotion I was left with was terror as I slowly backed away from the horrid sight in front of me. My boyfriend, or what was left of him, was laying on the ground. His head resembled ground beef and his body was mutilated, his arms were broken at the elbows and one of his legs was crushed. His stomach was gutted open and his insides were spread out everywhere. Even some of his intestines hug from the ceiling fan. Still backing up, I heard the door shut behind me. I jumped and turned to see my new friend. His black and white Silhouette was covered in blood and his face was emotionless. He stepped towards me and I took an unconscious step back.

“Did you do this?” I asked cautiously. He smiled and opened his hands out in a tada motion. My head was reeling with a lot of different emotions as the clown stood in front of me, his smile faltering as I stayed silent. His eyes lit up and he stuck a finger out towards me, telling me to wait. He turned and fumbled around until he finally turned to me, his hands clasped around something. He knelt down on one knee and opened his hands to reveal his gift. In his large palm sat a severed female finger, with a beautiful pearl ring adoring it. “For me?” I asked in shock, my hand flying to my chest, feeling my heart beat rapidly. He nodded enthusiastically and then finally looked at the gift himself. Scrunching his eyebrows together he tried removing the ring from the finger, but it seemed to be stuck. Anger flashed on his face as he stuck the digit into his mouth and yanked back. That seemed to cause the ring to dislodge and he spit the phalange onto the floor. The pearl band sat in his large hand, sticking my left hand out, he slid it onto my ring finger. Before standing back to his full height he gave my hand a gentle kiss. I felt a blush creep over my face as I shyly hung my head, looking at the ring on my finger.

I felt a large hand softly stroke my cheek, slowly dipping down to my chin, pulling it up to look at the man in front of me. My breath caught in my throat as he bent over to my height. His dark eyes were swirling with emotion, and his long nose lightly tapped against mine. I let out a breathy chuckle and his shoulders shook with a silent laugh. I finally closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his. They were surprisingly soft as our lips melded together. I felt the man let go of my face and slowly let his hands travel down my sides.

His hands halted on my hips, deeply kneading the skin there. The kiss deepened as I softly whined into his mouth. Our tongues danced as his hands slipped from my hips down to the swell of my ass, roughly grasping it, lifting me to his height. I wrapped my arms around his neck as my legs went around his waist, moaning as he lifted me like I was weightless. He broke the kiss with a smirk as he quickly turned and pressed my body against the cold wall. A shiver wracked up my spine as he pinned me there, his arms braced on either side of my head with his thigh bracing me up, and meeting with my thinly covered core. I needily ground my hips down as I whined. The friction caused my sensitive clit to throb. The clown in front of me watched me with his full attention. His mouth hung open as his hand slowly moved from the wall, sneaking up underneath my top and grabbing onto my bare breast. His thumb swiped over my nipple right as my clit rubbed perfectly against his leg, and my orgasm came to me in waves. The clown muffled the loud moan that escaped me by crashing his lips against mine, continuing to tweak my nipple to help me ride out my high as my hips slowly stopped jerking against him. Breathing heavily, I slumped against the wall as he grabbed my ass, lifting me up yet again. My arms limply supported myself as he turned back around and started walking. After a few steps he came to a halt, and I suddenly felt the sensation of falling.

I landed on something soft and wet. Realizing the clown dropped me on to my boyfriend's blood soaked bed, I felt another wave of want flow straight to my core. I perched myself on my arms as I looked at the black and white clad man in front of me. His smirk grew as he watched my eyes follow his hand down to the very noticeable tent in his outfit. His head was thrown back as he palmed himself over the satin material of his costume. My legs slowly widened for him as my cunt clenched around nothing. He looked back at me with hooded eyes and watched as I slowly slid my panties to the side. I dipped my fingers into a puddle of blood that was next to me; the thick slime coating them. I watched the man in front of me, his eyes locking onto my hand as I slowly led my fingers back to my aching cunt. The cold liquid caused me to close my eyes and hiss in pleasure as I dragged my fingers around my still tender bud. The sound of ripping fabric caught my attention, suddenly looking back at the clown. There was a new hole on his costume and his hard dick poked through. It was red, hard (almost pulsing), long and curved. My mouth watered and he gripped the base and slowly stroked his length. Precum dripped from the tip as he leant over me, slowly dragging his tip through my slit. I fell onto my back as his head nudged my clit, moaning embarrassingly loud. Slowly trailing back down, his tip sat at my entrance. I locked eyes with him and whispered out a breathy “please”, he slowly slipped into me. My eyes rolled back with my mouth hung open, he stilled as he was fully seated inside me. His hand gripped the back of my neck and yanked it up a bit. My eyes fluttered open and he looked back at me, almost as if waiting for the go ahead.

“Fuck me.” I almost commanded the man as a sinister smile broke out across his face. His hands immediately gripped my hips with a bruising strength, and snapped his hips out of me. With the tip barely still inside me, his dick snapped back into me. I yelped as he continued the fast and brutal pounding, the tip of his dick dragging right against that special spot, causing me to see stars. The knot in my stomach continued to tighten as the sound of my wet pussy taking him filled the room. Tears fell out of the corner of my eyes as my mind melted into pleasure. I could feel my knuckles turning white with how hard I was gripping the sticky sheets below me, almost at the brink or my climax. I suddenly felt a tight grip on my throat as my oxygen and blood supply was cut off. The room started spinning as I felt my pussy clench him with a vice grip. My orgasm crashed through my body as my vision blurred and my pulse pumped in my temples. I clawed at his arm as his hips stuttered and I felt him cum inside me. Finally his hand released its grip from my neck and I heaved a breath into my burning lungs. His large figure laid limp over my body and I felt sleep overtake me. As I curled up under his warm body like a blanket, I finally felt protected and at peace.

[twyrrinren]

while in other fandoms mpreg is mainly written as angst or fluff, in laios' case it would be HORROR. like he's terrified of having children? and also a baby is nurtured by his parent's body???

[gowonzu2]

The Glory Girlfriends Art by Mikezzzzz

[sleepy-crypt1d]

X Reader Fic Requests are open!

I want to get back into the swing of writing and buff up my skills while I'm at it whilst in the lull between larger fic projects, so here i am! plus i love doing requests lol

This is mainly for male x readers! Are you a guy who barely has any x reader fics to read??? This is the place for you! :D

Fandoms I am most comfortable writing in:

Borderlands - willing to write for any of the games.

Subnautica - willing to write for any of the games.

Inscryption

Portal - willing to write for any of the games.

Fandoms I will take some requests for but have not written much in:

Stardew Valley

Dialtown

Outlast - only willing to write for Outlast 1 and The Whistleblower DLC.

Watch Dogs - willing to write for any of the games.

If you have questions about what characters I'm willing to write for, or other fandoms I might be willing to write for, just ask! Don't be scared to haunt my inbox :3

I WILL write smut, angst, or fluff! Hurt/comfort? Awesome. Sick fic? Awesome. Omegaverse? Sure, why not. All pain no comfort? Amazing.

(Also please please please only request smut if you are an adult, there's no real way for me to check this so I'm going off the honor system here, PLEASE DO NOT REQUEST SMUT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!! Wanna ask for fluff or angst? Awesome! Nothing more.)

I will NOT write non-con, underage, or incest. Dub-con is alright depending on what it is. Again, if you have a question, just ask!

I WILL write poly relationships!

I WILL write AUs! modern AU? Cool! Switched roles AU? Let's do it! Things go differently? Sure!

Now, getting to how to request! (putting it under the cut so the post doesn't get too long ;w;)

Message me through my inbox! Anon is on, don't worry <3

Tell me what you're looking for! Whether it's angst, fluff, or smut! Alongside specific kinks, moments you'd like to happen, established traumas, and established relationship statuses.

Also tell me if you the reader have anything specific that needs to be added. Disabled? Trans? Mobility aid? Top? Bottom? Lemme know!

Give me character, what fandom, and if you have any particular headcanons you'd like to be incorporated. I will default to canon personalities and appearances, alongside story lines and backstories, if you want something changed, tell me! :D

You can be as detailed or as simple as you want. You can give me something with a rough outline or a simple 'they have a bad day lol' and I will do my best to work with it.

I will be posting about these fics once I write them! I will answer your ask with the link to the fic alongside the summary and tags for easy access to finding it.

I won't have a specific word count or timeline for writing, since some ideas I'll have more motivation for and when I have time/energy to write is sporadic at best.

Do not send more than one message for the same request. Have multiple different ideas? That's okay! But please keep it to one message per request or group them into one bigger message!

I think that's everything! I will be deleting this post once requests are closed, but if I enjoy doing this enough I will open them again at some point probably idk :3

[enthblaze]

bye tell me why im watching a horror gameplay at 5am when i have debilitating paranoia and fear of the dark

[mantraamo]

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝟸 ? 🪚🩸

𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜-𝚘𝚗-𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚂𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢!

'𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍'𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é!

[elliotts-personal-property]

Hey y’all how would we feel about getting a Joe one shot??

I have an idea in mind because I was listening to this song I love and like that… BAM inspiration hit me.

I’ve never posted any of my writing on here so that’s a bit scary but… if y’all are interested I will.

[silencingspellsongs]

would it be crazy to say that i think playing a ttrpg type game based in the redactedverse would be like so much fun actually 🫣

don't ask me what system or how to adapt it to work because i don't have the technical brain for that, i just know that the worldbuilding and the magic system and everything is so interesting and well thought out and the idea of making and roleplaying ocs in this universe with other fans seems like it would be sooo much fun can you tell i'm having withdrawals from my dnd group not playing for months and so i'm projecting it onto my other interests 🫠

[blueiight]

Coming slowly to know his evil, or being catapulted into it ... was all the same. I wanted none of it finally. And, deserving nothing better, I closed up like a spider in the flame of a match. And even Armand who was my constant companion, and my only companion, existed at a great distance from me, beyond that veil which separated me from all living things, a veil which was a form of shroud. (IWTV, 1976)

[horrorwhores-posts]

Arts pet.

Summary: Your family decided to reopen the miles county carnival. And you soon catch the eye of a certain black and white clown.

Word count- 6307 (it’s a doozy)

Warnings: blood, mentions of dead bodies, sexual themes (but no smut), torture, reader/ character was written as afab but you should be able to read it as gender neutral.

Authors notes: this is my first ever fan fiction I’ve written so please be gentle on me. Also not proofread so there might be some errors. And this is about Art the clown soo, yeah. This big ol’ dork has me wrapped around his horn.

Maybe reopening the rundown carnival in Miles county wasn’t a good idea. But no matter how many times anyone told my father not too, he’d just brush it off. Working with your family is hard, even harder when you’re a carny family. My family and I have been on the road ever since my parents got married back in 93’. Soon after they had my older brother, sister, me, and finally my little twin brothers. My father joined the Barnum and Bailey circus when he was a teenager after his grandmother and sole guardian died. Being 15 with no other options, the circus became his new home and they welcomed him with open arms. My mother was the complete opposite, coming from a prestigious, well off, loving family; well if they liked you that is. My mother never really fit into her family, she had always been the black sheep and problem child. And no matter how hard her parents tried, she was never suited for their perfect world. She actually met my father when she was on a date with a “proper'' young man, as her mother put it. After spending roughly an hour listening to the high collared sleaze belittle every performance and worker he came in contact with, they got to my father’s act. Over the years he had climbed the ranks from being a cage cleaner to the circus’s headlining daredevil, and he was really good at it. His stunt that night was riding his motorcycle around a metal cage that was lit ablaze. Even my mother’s date was dumbfounded. After the show was over my mother refused to spend another second with her dick headed date. She snuck away from him and with the help of a hopeless romantic bearded woman she was able to go back to my fathers trailer. He said the second he laid eyes on her he knew he was going to marry her. And that night my mom decided to run away with him. My parents have been inseparable ever since.

Growing up the way we did, my siblings and I have developed multiple talents and were able to pick our own personal acts. My oldest siblings are aerial artists. I was one myself for a while and will even join in on their performances, but my actual love is contortion and fire breathing. The twins are in their teens and still learning about themselves every day. My father had always wanted to own a circus/carnival for himself, and over the past few years his craving to get off the road grew. Through the grape vine he had heard of the Miles county carnival being sold for little to nothing, we later found out that there were multiple murders there, which explained why the value was so low. My mother, sister and I all had our reservations about buying the place, but yet we still found ourselves standing at the entrance of the carnival in all of its glory. It took us months to spruce the place up, fix broken rides, and rebrand the whole park. My father even built a circus tent in the park where my family and other performers could perform if they wanted. We had our handful of protesters over the past few days but we also had a lot of tickets sold for tonight, opening night. I stood in the circus tent, looking at the time on my phone. 8:30; 30 minutes till opening and an hour till the show starts. Deciding to practice some of my aerial work for tonight's show, I gripped the soft silk as the music blasted through my speaker in the corner of the stage. I started going through the routine one last time, not noticing the black and white figure watching intently from the shadows. I ended on my finishing pose and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard loud, sporadic clapping coming from the echoing seating area. I safely dismantled and shielded my eyes from the spotlight to see who was there. A black and white clown stood in the middle of the aisle between the seats still clapping with a large smile on his face. I felt my face heat up from embarrassment and anger.

“The show doesn’t start till 9:30, I’m sorry but you have to leave.” I said from atop the stage as I quickly gathered my items. The clapping ceased immediately and I glanced over my shoulder and saw the clown standing there, arms stiff at his sides, an emotionless face looking back at me. A shiver of dread prickled up my spine and I quickly exited backstage, still feeling his icy gaze on me. I briskly walked to my dressing room and locked the door behind me. I glanced at my phone screen and noticed it was only 8:50. ‘Wait, if we aren’t open yet how did he get into the tent?’ My thoughts were broken when three gentle raps came from my door, a common knock my sister used to let me know she was the one wanting in. I strode to the door and unlocked the handle, my sister stepped in and gently shut the door behind her.

“You okay? You rushed into this room like your ass was on fire.” she asked as I sat at my vanity, my head in my hands. With a deep sigh I rubbed my hands down my face and finally looked at her.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I weakly responded. She lowered her eyes at me, assessing if she believed me or not. Her eyes softened as I guess she decided it wasn’t worth pressing.

“Maybe you should take a nap before you go out on stage, I’m going on first so I can wake you up when it’s almost your time to go on.” My eyes light up at the thought of getting some sleep.

“You promise? Like really?” I ask with hopeful excitement. She nodded her head, opened the door, waved, and gently closed it behind her. I glanced back at the mirror and saw the dark bags under my eyes, deciding a power nap would be best. I got up, turning off my main light, leaving my vanity lights on, and crawled on to the small gray couch. I had some burgundy throw pillows and a black blanket, I used to get nice and comfortable. In the dim light I could barely make out the posters I had adorning my walls. Mostly old Barnum and Bailey posters my dad snagged before he left, but there were a few photos of me performing. After a few minutes my eyes felt heavy and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

‘The colorful lights were twinkling against the night that engulfed it. My nose was invaded with the sweet yet salty smell of popcorn and cotton candy. Energy buzzed around me like electricity, lightly shocking my senses. All around me were people playing games, eating food, and laughing with pure joy. In the distance you could hear the screams of ride goers as they raced into the air, some of them twisting and turning along the tracks. The environment was warm and inviting, glowing with delight. I soaked it all in. Embracing the happiness that flooded me, I pranced around the carnival, seeking out my next adventure. As I wandered through the fair I accidentally ran into a figure. He was tall, holding a bunch of red balloons, concealing his face from my view. A black sleeve emerged from the crowd of latex, holding a floating sphere out to me. I gently took it from his gloved hand, immediately hearing a loud, threatening crack from the sky above. Glancing up I noticed a fiery red glow erupt from behind the thick clouds rolling in the darkness of the sky. Suddenly the cheery demeanor of the festival dissipated and the screams of joy turned into ones of pure horror. I whipped around and saw multiple rides on fire, the patrons festering in their seats. Mutilated corpses laid strewn across the park, blood and guts splattered everywhere. My tears were singed on my cheeks from the heat of the flames. The scream that was bubbling in my throat was cut short as long, strong arms wrapped around me.’

I was startled awake, my body jerking up and my brain still fuzzy. I looked around my dimly lit room, looking for what caused my sudden consciousness. There were alarm bells going off in my head, but I couldn’t place what was causing them. Scanning my room for a second time, I immediately froze when I noticed the figure in the dark corner, my breath catching in my throat. Panic coursed through my veins as I fumbled to come up with a single coherent thought. The figure slowly stalked out of its hiding spot and into the dim light. My eyes finally focused on the lanky black and white clown towering over me, the same blank expression on his features as before. With my heart racing, I choked back a scream as he slowly bent down to my eye level, getting uncomfortably close. His dark eyes were threatening as he looked me up and down, assessing me. For what? I’m not fully sure. My chest was heaving from my rapid breath and pounding heartbeat, something he picked up on. He reached forward and placed a gloved hand on my chest, rolling his eyes back and breathing in deeply through his nose. I sat frozen as he smirked, opening his eyes and making intense eye contact.

My mind immediately went blank as the panic dissipated from my body, being replaced with a strong need. As I gazed into his onyx eyes I felt a strange, intimate connection to the man in front of me. His hand climbed from my chest to caress the side of my face, gently gliding his thumb over my lips. I slowly opened my lips, inviting the digit into my mouth, and sucked lightly as it hit my tongue. His taste was bitter and salty, and he smelt of fire and sweat. Normally I would be repulsed but for some reason I was intoxicated. The clown’s mouth was hung open with lust, chest quivering from his deep breaths. If he had pupils, I knew they would be dilated. My eyes closed as I savored the flavor of him, moaning softly. He pulled his hand away, I released his thumb with a soft pop. My eyes shot open as I felt a rough yank on the ponytail atop my head. I fell back and the man followed me, climbing on top of me. His long lanky frame just barely fit on the small couch with me. His hands roaming my sides as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, sucking and biting with a hunger I’ve never experienced before. I moaned as his hand snaked under my shirt, roughly grabbing at my chest.

A sharp pain radiated from my neck and I shrieked. His hand quickly clamped over my mouth as he continued the assault on my neck, warm blood trickling down my shoulder. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to get out of the grip that was holding me down. Finally the man sat up, blood adorning his mouth and filled his smile. Hand still over my mouth, he ripped my shirt exposing more of my chest. A muffled scream was ripped from me as the clown dug his finger into my fresh neck wound. He then took said digit and proceeded to write something on my flesh. Once he was done, he leant back over me with a sick, mocking sad face. Dragging his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear. Finally placing a finger over his mouth in a shushing manner, he leant down and kissed my temple with a surprising gentleness. The hand covering my mouth moved to wipe the tears off my face. I whimpered as he placed another tender kiss on my forehead. The mysterious man gave me one more smile and wave of his fingers before he was gone without a trace. I laid in silence, my mind completely blank try to make sense of the last 10 minutes.

A loud banging startled me out of my daze, as whoever knocked started to come in. Fearing it was the man from before, I sprang up and used my entire body weight to slam the door shut. I heard a muffled grunt and exclamation of “what the fuck” as the lock clicked back into place, preventing anyone from coming in.

“Hey, you missed the whole performance!” My older brother yelled at me from the other side of the door. Ice ran through my veins as I scrambled for my phone and noticed it was 10:45 pm.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” I exclaimed while throwing my phone back down on the couch. I caught a glimpse of myself in my vanity mirror and I looked horrible. Somehow the bags under my eyes were worse, my body was flushed, and my hair was completely disheveled. My neck was still dripping crimson, with obvious teeth marks. My shirt was jaggedly ripped with dried blood marking the visible skin. In messy, dripping lettering, ‘Art’s pet’ was written across my chest. A strange shiver ran back up my spine, and I stood there wondering if I’d ever see this man again. Most of me hoped I never would, but a tiny part of me begged to differ.

A few weeks have passed since the strange encounter with the black and white clown, I now know as “Art”. He’s also known as the miles county clown with a long list of victims. I thought for a second he was just a weird fever dream, but the tiny teeth shaped scars on my neck prove otherwise. I’ve constantly been thanking the powers above that it was getting colder out, with me having to wear turtle necks to obscure my markings. My dreams have also been haywire since that night, filled with decimated remains and burning fire. He’s always there too, welcoming me with his demented gifts and acts of passions. Whether it's a still beating heart, a crude mural of me in coagulated blood, or gory jewelry from his victims, he always has something to give me. Greeting me with his signature wide smile, accompanied by some flourish to produce the gift of the day. With his palms out stretched, eyes blinking innocently, he’ll traumatize me yet again with a morbid curiosity.

Luckily I’ve been able to push his invading presence out of my mind during performances and when I’m around my family. My sister has noticed I’ve become a bit more reclused and only asked me about it once. When I snapped at her with an anger she hadn’t seen before, she never pressed the issue after. Tonight I sat in my heavily decorated trailer, covered in old rock n roll posters, tapestries and sentimental trinkets. I had a small dark brown vanity sitting in the front of the small room, my burgundy red twin sized bed laid adjacent to the vanity. My clothes and costumes were strewn about and hung up on a small portable hanging rack, a small bookcase sat at the foot of my bed with a vintage, delicate, lamp sitting on it. Books lined the shelves, ranging from the classics like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and Bram Stokers’ Dracula. Tonight I was reading The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe, my head was laid at the foot of my bed, my tiny lamp dimly lit the pages. I lounged lazily in only my black satin robe, trying to turn my mind off for the night, preparing for sleep. A sudden loud knocking came from my front door. With a jump, I bookmarked my spot and slowly sat up. The pounding came again, even louder and more aggressive than last time. I stood up and wrapped the robe tighter around myself, slowly reaching for the curtain covering the small window on my door. The fervent banging picked up once more, and with a flourish of anger, I ripped the door open without looking first. There, in the misty night, stood the clown of my nightmares. The white and black mirage stood stone still, eyes wide, a bouquet of wild flowers outstretched towards me. ‘No , no, no’ raced through my mind as the door started to close. My ragged breath caught in my throat as a large gloved hand slammed on the door as I tried to shut it. He slowly climbed the feeble stairs and stepped into my tiny trailer, hunching to prevent from hitting his head on the ceiling. I stared up at him with pure shock and a hit of fear. He gleamed down at me and he stretched the bouquet back to me. With shaky hands I gently pulled it from his humongous mitt, ogling the beautiful flowers in my hand and gave them a gentle sniff. The scent of fresh florals and the musky scent of the impending rain wafted towards me and I hummed with satisfaction. He bowed down, gently grasped my other hand, and gingerly pressed a kiss to my knuckles. A blush creeped up my face as I shyly looked away, pulling my hand from his grasp. He smirked and stalked towards my vanity, taking a seat on my small chair.

He patted his lap and looked at me expectantly with a big smile. I gingerly placed the bouquet on my bed, wiping my sweaty palms on my robe and approached him sheepishly, finally standing in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his long arms around me, pulling me into his lap, causing me to yelp. He nuzzled into my neck, his warm breath tickling the sensitive scar tissue, sending shivers down my spine. Smirking at me through the mirror, he rubbed my sides, gently squeezing, almost threatening to tickle me. I made direct eye contact with him in the mirror, trying my best to give him the stoniest stare I could. He frowned, looking down, twiddling with the satin belt. I swiftly grabbed his hand before he could untie my robe and I just stared at his reflection as he continued to look down with his ‘sad’ face. Slowly his eyes connected to mine in the glass and we just sat there staring at each other for a long pause. My expression stayed cold, and his frown curled up into a scowl. With a silent huff he rolled his eyes and pushed me off his lap. I stood, stunned, as he walked over to my clothing rack and palmed the sequined outfits. His face broke out with a wide smile as he grabbed a shiny red one piece body suit from the hanger, rushing up to me and pushing it towards me. I jumped at his erratic actions, my arms limply holding the outfit. I looked up at him with confusion, as he started miming taking off his clothes sensually, almost in a cartoonish manner. I gulped and tightly gripped the belt of my robe till my knuckles were white. With another silent, irritated huff, he tapped his clown shoes impatiently on the ground and looked at his wrist as if there was a watch there. Not wanting to anger the man in front of me, I turned around and with trembling fingers I picked at the knot holding my robe together. It finally fell free and it gently slinked off my shoulder. I laid the one piece on my vanity and slipped the robe completely off, avoiding my gaze from the mirror entirely. I was never one to stare at myself naked, let alone in front of the miles county murderer. Somehow I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me, instead being scared by his hands snaking around my waist.

“Why?” I whisper, finally locking eyes with him in the chrome glass. His chin was buried into my neck and his breath fanned against my cheeks. His eyebrows quirk up in a question and his face falls to the side, feigning innocent curiosity. With an annoyed huff I yank my way out of his grasp and turn to face him. My hands cemented on my hips.

“What do you want?” I ask rather gruffly. The look of shock briefly took over his features before being taken over by a look of malice. I felt the spurt of confidence I had immediately disappeared as he reached forward. His hand gripped my throat and in a flash I was thrown onto my bed. He laid atop of me with a look of glee as he watched me struggle for breath. I knew my face was on the verge of turning purple when he finally let go. He leaned over me and stuck his long sharp nose into my neck. I could feel his hot breath against my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. Somehow I just knew he was breathing in the scent of my fear. That thought caused yet another shiver to rack through me, and the clown wasn't oblivious to it. I felt something warm and wet run up the side of my neck. His tongue left a prickly sensation in its wake as he faced me again. A smile adorned his face and his finger came up to boop me on the nose. Clumsily, he crawled off of me and I remembered that I was nude. I grabbed my blanket and covered myself as Art grabbed the one piece setting on the dresser. He brought it to his face and took a big sniff. Yanking it from his nose he made a silent gagging motion and threw the one piece at me. It hit me in my chest and with caution I took a small smell of the fabric. My eyebrows drew together as the scent of laundry detergent invaded my nostrils. The clown had his nose pinched between his fingers, sticking his tongue out in yet another gag and I rolled my eyes.

After dressing in my red leotard, Art led me to the performance tent. I felt uneasy as I stood on the pitch black stage. A loud crack emanated through the room as the lights sprang to life, eerie silence followed in suit. I was temporarily blinded, squinting my eyes until they adjusted. Almost immediately I recognized the 5 people sitting in the front row. My family was duck tapped and gagged, unconscious in their confines, blood coming out of differing cuts and scratches on their faces, proving they put up a fight. My family wasn't the only people in the crowd. Decapitated torsos, gutted stomachs, and carved up bodies surrounded my family. Staring at the mutilated and bloody corpses caused bile to rise in my throat. Panic wracked through me causing tears to cloud my vision, falling to my knees, wretching. Art started clapping in a way to get my attention. I turned my head towards him, a giant blanket covering something behind him. He gestured to my family, an evil smirk adorning his face as I slowly looked back at them. They were gently stirring as they slowly started becoming conscious again. That’s when it dawned on me. 5. The twins, mom, dad, and my older brother. I whipped my head back towards the black and white clown.

“Where is she?” While Looking straight at me, he reached up, grabbing the thick white tarp. Yanking down, the cloth fell from the giant round shape. It revealed my sister strapped to the wheel of death, the spinning circular board we used for our knife throwing acts. She was also coming to lucidity, fear flooding her features once she was able to comprehend a little of what was going on. Art slowly stalked towards my crumpled frame, bending down and dropping daggers in front of me. Immediately looking between my sister and the blades I was able to piece together what he wanted.

“No, fuck no!” I screamed, crawling backwards away from the sharp knives. Art grabbed my upper arm in a Vice grip, almost immediately bruising. Picking me up by said arm he pushed me towards the pile of metal. I violently shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the ground. He pinched my chin between his fingers and jerked it towards him. I stared at him with glossy eyes. He frowned at me and gestured his hand towards my sister. My face morphed from fear to complete hard anger.

“No.” I glowered, refusing to break eye contact with him. His face became stony as he pushed my chin from him. Standing to his full height he glared at me and walked off stage. With him gone I rushed to my sister to untie her from the spinning board. As I got to one of her wrists she looked at me with tears streaming down her face. Muffled words escaped her taped lips.

“Hold still, I’ll get you down faster.” As I was distracted with the buckle my sister seemed to notice a familiar figure creeping up behind me. Her silence quickly turned into muffled screaming and thrashing. Finally focusing back on my sister, her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know. Looking over my shoulder I saw the clown raise his arm with something in it. With a quick strike down, I felt searing pain rip through me. I was lurked forward with the sheer force of the whip, screams being torn from me with every strike of the weapon. My sister's tears rained down on me as I clung onto her for support as the lashing continued. My back felt like it was being sliced open by a million little knives. The searing pain caused my consciousness to start to waiver. My sisters muffled screams faded from me as my ears started ringing, only hearing the crack of the cat o’ nine tail. My mind focused on nothing but the constant burn radiating from the wounds, refusing to let my legs buckle from the pain. Finally the lashing came to a halt as I heard a voice ring out.

“Okay! Okay. She’ll do it, just stop!” I looked up at my sister, noticing the tape dangling from the corner of her mouth. Her tears must have loosened the adhesive. “Do it. I trust you. Just get it over with.”

With heavy breath I slowly and painfully turned, looking at the demented man in front of me. Cautiously limping towards the pile of throwing blades, my knees wobbled slightly. I stopped to regain my balance, before bending down to grab the steel daggers. The cold metal bit at the warm skin of my palms, and the weight of them threatened to pull me down. Turning back to face my sister, I saw Art forcing her mouth shut with fresh tape. She struggled a bit, glaring with a hatred I’ve never seen. I stole a glance back at my tied up family, differing levels of horror adorning their faces. My mothers face was covered with tears and my fathers face was hard with a fire licking behind his eyes. Nothing but fear adorned the twins faces, and my older brother was looking around. Forming a way to get out, I assumed. Clapping for attention, I turned back to the black and white demon, watching him grab onto the wheel, to heave it down with his full body weight. My sister started spinning and I took a deep breath. Separating a knife from the bundle, I aimed it, cocking my arm back and tossing the blade directly at the board. It landed right between my sister's legs. Grabbing another blade, I wretched my arm back and threw it again. Thinking was never a good idea when it came to knife throwing. Just aim, breathe, and throw. The more you stall, the more you hit the target. Before I knew it I only had one dagger left. All the other throws were perfect misses and I readied myself for a final good throw. A loud piercing honk rang into my left ear. My throw was ruined. And I watched in horror as the sharp steel plunged itself into the soft flesh of my sister's thigh. Her muffled scream was drowned out by the intense ringing in my ears as I turned and looked at the clown. He was pointing at my sister and silently belly laughing, holding his stomach.

“I hate you! You stupid, annoying motherfucker!” I ran up to Art, hitting him on his sturdy chest. He barely reacted as he looked down his nose at me, watching me pound onto him with my full weight. He snatched my wrists and held my arms out, staring at my red face as I continued screaming profanities at him. Smiling sinisterly, he let go of my wrists and stalked towards the, now still, round board my sister was still attached to. I had no clue what his plan was but I tightly grabbed his arm, refusing to move. Realizing he was anchored, he slowly faced me again. “What will make you stop?” I basically whimpered. His grin widened even more than I thought it could. He stood back up to his full height, and I couldn't help but gawk at his towering stature. Gazing up, he tapped his chin in a ‘thinking’ manner until he snapped his fingers in a eureka moment. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned at me, leaning his face down. Becoming eye level with me he gently tapped his cheek, as an indication to give him a kiss.

A wave of nausea hit me, but I also got a fuzzy, warm feeling course through me at the same time. I hated it. I hated myself, for having some sort of affection for the man who’s done nothing but torture me and my family. I snapped back to reality when a loud clap erupted in front of my face. I blinked and refocused on the man in front of me. His face was almost child-like as he watched me with pure, I’m not sure, adoration? I took a deep, quivering breath, and stepped forward. Wrapping my arms around his neck, balancing on my tip toes, and I gave him what he wanted. Granted it wasn’t on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips still had that rich smokey flavor as last time. His hands immediately found my hips and pulled me in closer, almost desperate to get me closer. His tongue licked at my lips and I opened eagerly. I just let him have control, not feeling strong enough to put up a fight. I pulled back with a gasp as a sharp pain came from my lip. A small trickle of blood ran down Art's chin, causing me to reach up and gingerly touch my bottom lip. Pulling my hand back, there was warm blood covering my finger tips, and my lower lip throbbed.

“Let them go.” I croaked out. Art still had his grip on my waist, and squeezed almost threateningly. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes squinted together in distrust. “If you want me, let them go. I’ll be all yours, no questions asked. As long as they’re safe.” I gently cupped the side of his face and placed our foreheads together. Our breathing slowed and we shared a moment of peace. Running my thumb over his jagged cheek bone, I felt my eyes water.

“Please.” I whimpered. Tears ran down my face as I finally looked up at my tormentor. His eyes almost softened when he saw me. His hand moved from my waist to my cheek, brushing the tears off as they fell. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he stretched up to his full height and stepped back. He turned to the side and lifted his arm towards my sister. I slowly looked between the appendage and her. Making eye contact with the man again, I nodded and sped walked up to my sister. She was barely lucid. I lightly slapped her face and her eyes finally focused on me. Pulling a knife out of the board, I cut away at the leather straps holding her to the panel. When she finally tried to put weight on her leg she screamed. She grabbed the knife sticking out of her thigh and I supported her the best I could. I looked over my shoulder to see Art was gone. Not waiting a single moment I hobbled her across the stage, refusing to listen to her pleas to stop. We finally got to our trapped family. They sat there with nothing but pure terror and tears on their faces. With the dagger I cut my father loose first. Immediately he wrapped me in a bear hug, almost squeezing me a bit too hard. He held me for what felt like years but was no longer than a few seconds. My sister struggled to release my mother from her confines when we heard a loud boom. The heat came soon after as the back of the stage was lit ablaze. The fire grew to the top of the tent within seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” My father hollered as he, and the rest of us, scrambled to free our brothers. The smoke was thick and dark, making breathing almost impossible. Coughing, we were able to untie my brothers. We all were kneeling down toward the ground, trying to avoid the thick musk above us. “We’re not gonna be able to make it!” My mother screamed, as the loud crackle of the flames almost drowned her out. I could tell my sister was worse for wear, and I had no idea how to get her out. While my head was swimming with panicked thoughts, my eldest brother noticed the dagger I still had clutched in my hand. He grabbed the blade out of my hand, dashing towards the closest tent wall and carved into it.

“Come on!” He screamed as everyone rushed to the new opening. I grabbed my sister and supported/ dragged her out of the tent. Her consciousness was faltering when I laid her on her back. We hacked and gagged as we finally got some of our breath back. The tent was completely ablaze. I heard sirens wailing in the distance as my head started to spin. I started dry heaving while slowly crawling away from my family, not wanting them to see me like this. My vision blurred from the tears and the spinning when I suddenly saw I black shape in front of me.

“Get away from her!” A distorted familiar voice rang out as I looked up and saw a blur of white and black. For a split sec I was able to focus and I saw Art standing there. Blank faced and fists balled to his sides, he raised his foot. In a split second everything went black.

Waking up was almost like a nightmare to me. My head pounded and I was freezing. The room was still spinning and My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to move, but I was cramped in something small. With a groan I reached out and touched something cold and metal. But it wasn’t solid, it felt like it was made out of metal wiring. I adjusted myself and once again heard the ringing in my ears start up. The floor was solid underneath me, but I could see outside of my confines. My fingers once again grasped the walls around me and it all clicked. I was in a steel cage. Visions of what happened before I was knocked out bombarded my brain. Adrenaline mixed with panic and caused everything to come into sharp focus. There wasn’t much to see, it was dark and dingy, a single light swung above my cage. A smashed tv sat on the floor across from a table with a little stool. Blood and various sharp objects littered the table. I immediately scattered backwards until my back hit the chain wall. The reality of what I agreed to dug its way to the forefront of my brain. I agreed to be with this man. For whatever he shall need me for. My stomach flipped as all the possible scenarios ran through my mind. My leotard -covered body shivered in the corner of the cage. My erratic breathing caused me to notice that there was something around my neck. My throat felt constricted and panic wracked through me as I clawed at it until I got a decent grip, ripping it from my throat. In my hand sat a collar. A. Fucking. Collar. My ears weren’t ringing, it was the bell on the collar the entire time. I was drowning in my thoughts when The entire cage rattled, as someone else shook it. I snapped my head up and was greeted with Art's smiling face. He lifted up the top of the cage, revealing the door. His face slowly morphed into frown as he looked at my face, then my neck, and finally to the collar in my hand. He held out a finger initiating to give him a minute and closed the cage. Prancing over to the table I saw him pull a thin sparkling string up and hold it close to himself. After finagling with it for a moment, he walked back over, and completely flipped the top of the cage open. He held out his hand, dangling there was a necklace with a heart dog tag. It read “Arts pet”.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

It's dead af at work. We got through our four reservations and have had no walk ins, and my manager won't cut me because he hates doing my job (and we're friends and he knows I need the money) and tbh I don't want to be cut (can't really afford to be) but I'm actually going insane from sitting on my stool, going through Tumblr, Insta, Kindle, then standing up and going through those apps again, then sitting down and going through those apps again, etc. it's nice to get paid to do nothing, because tbh if I was cut then I'd just be doing this but in my bed, but I'm getting so fucking restless.

[nehswritesstuffs]

With All the Lessons I Did Not Learn, I Found Some Good Ones in the End

As I get older there are times when characters in this series sort of snap into place for me. Sometimes it’s a “damn it he’s actually kinda hot” factor, but other times it’s characterization bits and real-world parallels and other such things. This is something that snapped into place recently, as I muse on Smoker’s backstory while being the same age he was when introduced in Logue Town. Why? Because Oda-sensei took the near-universal truth of bad shit happening when you’re a tween and went in harder than anyone realized, even him. That tween/middle school age is rough because you don’t know what’s going on with anything from the world at large to your own body and depending on what the bad shit is and how it’s dealt with can really fuck someone right up.

4586 words; taken some real-world inspiration not from any one person, but from tales involving other people who were twelve years old around the same time I was and the knowledge of what my own life could have become; my tenses are all over the place but that’s on purpose so be warned if that’s something that gets to you; I fully expect the end of this to be nullified within ten chapters of me posting this (I'm currently waiting on ch. 1098, for reference) but that’s the life of a fanfiction-ka for you; spoilers from Logue Town through Egghead so make of that what you will

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is twelve when he watches the Pirate King’s execution.

It’s a sordid affair, watching a man die on a platform for all to see. His mother didn’t want him to go, but he skipped classes just because it felt like the right thing to do. He had to watch it—this was history—and so he made his way down to the town square that day, hoping the rain would ease up enough so they would not cancel the proceedings.

The entire square was packed, more than the boy had ever seen it, even worse than festivals. He was one of the youngest people he saw out of the entire crowd, which made something in the back of his head start ticking. What it was for, he did not know, but he was very much aware that something stirred in him that day that would change him forever. He felt it in the air, tasted it on the tip of his tongue, and shivered as he watched the sea of adults around him react so viscerally to this criminal’s execution that he found his classmates to be more orderly. The only reason he’s not crushed in the stampede that follows after the Pirate King’s last words was the fact he could shimmy a lightpost and climb onto the awning of a shop. He has an excellent view of the chaos that unfolds… of the things his mother didn’t want him to see.

These grown adults—pirates and civilians and Marines alike—so many of them were crying? They were not tears of happiness, glad that Justice had been carried out, but tears of sorrow, of fear, of uncertainty and pain. He did not understand it; could not understand it. Hadn’t the Pirate King done a lot of bad? Wasn’t he the symbol of evil and chaos in the world? Why would the Marines execute him otherwise?

Justice was good. Pirates were bad. It seemed pretty simple, really. Even a kid like him could understand that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is fifteen when he joins the Navy.

The past three years had been kind to him physically. It seemed like the week after the Great Pirate Era began so did his first teenaged growth spurt. He’s tall now, and broad in the chest and shoulders, and easily passes their physical exams. They stick him in a training squadron with a bunch of other teenagers they don’t know what to do with. Some have volunteered, some are there because there’s nowhere else for them to go, most are too young and some are even younger than that; they’re a fairly pathetic lot overall.

They learn why they’re there: to combat the rise in piracy throughout the seas. All pirates are bad—there is no room for nuance. Justice is good. Pirates are bad. Marines are Justice. The law is what must be upheld; the natural order of things that has been established for generations. Safety, order, rules, respect. There was no way pirates could be good; look at the mess they caused. There was too much chaos, too much loss of property and life, to justify their continued existence. They must be stopped. There is no other choice but to eliminate them and those who inherit their spirit—their ideals—their dreams—because nothing good will come of letting loose ends run free.

A Marine in the North snaps and goes rogue, taking his entire crew with him. He learns the Marine took his own son as a hostage in order to get away. The kid was only twelve—the same age he was when he realized what it was he wanted to do with his life. Had he wanted to become a Marine one day too? Was his chance now ruined because of being pressganged into a life of piracy? Did he inherit those sins, simply because he had no choice? Why didn’t he just run away? Would he end up a pirate as well? No one really had answers.

People don’t get branded pirates for no reason, and pirates were enemies of the Government; of Law and Order; of Justice; of Peace. Nothing good would come from them.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is nineteen when he kills for the first time.

The battlefield is a sickening thing, wet and muddy despite the lack of clouds in the sky. He doesn’t like the feeling of standing there while waiting for the command to charge forwards. It’s concerning, watching the snipers catch enemy footsoldiers from such a distance, watching in real-time as people jerk and twitch before they fall. Finally, the command is given, and he grips his rifle tightly as he runs towards the fray. His cigar falls to the ground as he bellows a war cry with the others, the habit too new for him to think of its consequences.

He only has so many bullets, so he first lands a hit with his bayonet. The pirate in front of him—a contemptible woman who he knows has a bounty—curses him as she goes down with a gut wound. He can see her eyes grow dim and her body fall slack as he stands there, the battle still raging, unable to fully process the goosepimples on his arms and the churning of his gut. She could have avoided this, he thinks, if she had only followed the law… if she had not turned pirate…

It’s not an experience he recommends.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is twenty-two when he eats his Devil Fruit.

It was not on purpose, mind, as few things in life are, but he uses it to his advantage. He develops new ways for himself to fight, as his new abilities are wonderful offensive wildcards. Logias are powerful, he finds out, as he nearly suffocates a sparring opponent just by dissolving into his elemental component.

Okay, so smoke is not an “element” per say, but it still opens up a whole world to him he never thought possible. He gets a promotion, he earns accolades, he begins to butt heads with people who want to mold him into something more than he wants. His rose-haired colleague—two years younger and gifted her Fruit in a secret ceremony lacking pomp but not without ceremony—bails him out countless times while scolding him on his conduct all the while.

How had he been there for seven years and not learned how to move how he wanted without damaging the system? Without risking reprimand? He needed to learn, apparently, because there was only so long she could keep covering for him.

Naturally, he was given lenience. Between his years of service, his colleague’s interference, his Devil Fruit, and his firm views on Justice, he was granted clemency more often than he frankly deserved. Many of his exploits involved butting heads with his superiors, sure, but they would also involve some tussling with pirates and filling the prisons with more than a few bountied heads. He studies and trains hard for rank exams, throwing around his weight where and when he can. Things others would get a dishonorable discharge for he is given proud backslaps and cajoling encouragement. He sails higher than he should, quicker than is right, easier than the work he puts in warrants, but he ignores all that since it gets him closer to his goal.

The Northern kid who had been taken hostage by his pirate father enlists, the lone survivor of a massacre on a barren spit of land in the middle of frozen nothingness. There is a fire in his eyes and zeal in his step and words of disdain upon his lips for the man who abused him for years and treated him with contempt. It was wonderful to see as the kid changed how he spelled his name and refused to eschew Justice ever again. He takes the kid under his wing and is proud as he watches him soar.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is twenty-seven when his hard work is finally rewarded and he gets transferred back to his hometown.

For the record, everyone thinks he’s insane. Getting a transfer to Logue Town is like being put in charge of the world’s most vile nursery. The East Blue is the calmest of the Cardinal Blues, and yet it still produced the scum that he was dedicating his life to eliminating.

The Captain there is old and comfortable, used to doing things in a way that predated the Great Pirate Era. Don’t change what wasn’t broken—there was discretion to be used that he hadn’t been taught yet, that the higher-ups and Marineford brass were hesitant to teach because it did not align with the direction they wanted to pursue. It was not corruption on the most technical level, but it was still concerning. There was an equilibrium in his eyes, a way for good pirates to police the bad, and it was to be used to their advantage.

Except, there were no good pirates, that much was true. None of them could be trusted, let alone with the concept of self-governance. That’s what they told him… what he believed and was tested on. How could pirates and their sympathizers benefit a community? He couldn’t understand it. Whispers get passed around of a clandestine execution of the creature that built the Pirate King’s ship… a tool he could have not reached his infamy without. A reportedly talented and respected shipwright reduced to nothing but a portion of a footnote if he was lucky, all because he thought it acceptable to do business with a pirate… that he thought pirates did not threaten his community. Why deal with pirates if doing so risked a trip to Enies Lobby? The law was not that difficult to follow.

Nothing good came from dealing with pirates. They were all scum. Everyone who willingly dealt with them were also scum. It made things difficult to work when there were procedures in place that gave some even the most basic benefits. He hates it, hates them, hates his superior officer for turning a blind eye when there was so much that could be done. Maybe his officer is corrupt after all, taking bribes where no one else can see… many of his subordinates certainly are.

Any potential charges he can bring aren’t as water-tight as he needs them to be, so he lets it go. Or tries to. It festers and grows in a way he doesn’t like. Justice is not being carried out. This was not what he signed up for.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is thirty when he is given the rank of Captain, putting him in charge of all of Logue Town.

The former Captain retires in a ceremony that brings over vice admirals and local nobility and elected officials and other such stuffy dignitaries. Platitudes were made to commend his service, for working towards peace, for bringing the Government in Mary Geoise closer to their goals. It was a long and fruitful career of building bridges and fostering relationships. There are even some “local business leaders” there to send the old Marine off, an unspoken understanding that they were not to be asked their particular field as long as they did not tell.

As the old man takes off the mantle, he immediately dons it. He reaffirms his oath in front of the crowd, assuring that he will protect his childhood home from the threat of piracy… from the things that have only brought it pain and suffering.

He refuses to mention the Pirate King. This is no longer a town influenced by the ghost of a man long-dead. It is now instead a town of law and order. Justice was destined to prevail.

Things change almost immediately. His troops learn how to spot a pirate, from how they dress to act, and begin to haul more people in for questioning. They begin to root out pirates and gang leaders from behind their fronts and send warnings to places where they might have fled. The old ways are gone, because they still allowed pirates and all those who skirted Justice to run free. Law and order are now what reigns. It has to. He needs to clean up the town, make it safe again, clean away any infamy it gained while being the Pirate King’s birthplace. It is better than that.

He wants families to be proud of their homes again, to feel safe letting their kids out to play. It’s hard work, but work that he needs to get done. Someone had to do it, and that someone was going to need to be him.

Don’t be soft and let liars through. Keep a sharp eye out. They’re waiting for you to slip. Have to be perfect. No room for nuance. That ache, that tiredness, that weary feeling shall pass one day. The laws are the laws. Don’t let the horrors get to you.

Don’t let the horrors of what you do get inside your brain and fester.

Be the strength you have been called to be.

He needs to be strength. He needs to be power. He needs to be Justice.

Only Justice will set them free.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is thirty-two when he can finally say he has cleaned up the town, finally bringing law and order to the streets again.

Some kid is assigned as his direct subordinate—nineteen and full of ideals and optimism. She lacks the time he’d spent in the Navy by her age, which is both her best and most irritating quality. The toughness he had to build wasn’t present, instead replaced by an acceptance of the world around her. She was born not long after the Pirate King’s execution and the only life she knew was one dominated by pirates. He uneasily tries to explain to her how this world… this life… it was never normal. There is nothing normal about drills meant for a pirate attack and the constant danger and fear she was numbly accustomed towards. Life used to be safe, relatively speaking, and he privately mourned for the way she was denied what he had taken for granted.

The generations before them might have failed her, but he wanted to make sure they worked hard to bring forth a better world for the ones that came after.

A world free of pirates. A world free of terror. A world where only the good could live. They owed it to those who were coming up. The tangle of bureaucracy could only handle so much, after all, and it was up to them to do what they could. Even as a Captain he gets dismissive letters from Marineford, telling him he’s too young to know, to green, too inexperienced to be able to give input on how to combat piratical threats abroad. He only did it on his own, without their help, and better than anyone had before.

There is only so much that bureaucracy will allow, so the solution is to do what needs to be done regardless. It is why the Northern kid, the one he kept in correspondence with all these years, repeated his father’s sins and went rogue. Turned pirate. There had been no signs of it—showing Marineford brass his letters proved as much—and his sense of betrayal ran deep. Hadn’t they been after the same goal? The officer who read through the letters simply handed them back with a understanding expression and a sigh on their lips.

Treachery is part of a pirate’s very existence, they explained, and the traitor had fooled everyone. He wasn’t to take it too personally, but was also advised to never contact him again. Agreeing with that hurt. Fuck… it hurt…

No pirate was going through his jurisdiction without being brought to Justice.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is thirty-four when everything changes.

A kid half his age with a rubber body and a fucking death wish climbs up to the top of the execution platform in the square and declares he’s going to be the next Pirate King. Another pirate almost executes him on the spot, which honestly would have saved him a lot of trouble. It’s the kind of shit that the town hasn’t seen in years, where the people who are used to their newfound peace and quiet all stop and stare and wonder how insane these people truly are. Did they not know his stance on crime? On piracy? On anything? He learns that the kid somehow has the highest bounty in the East, despite sharing a family name with one of the biggest Naval legends still enlisted.

The kid gets a second chance thanks to a man in a cloak blocking the finishing blow just in time. Justice was mocked and the kid got clear away, heading towards the Grand Line where he could disappear.

Unacceptable.

It was time to go on the hunt.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is still thirty-four when he watches the system prop itself up to pretend that cracks are not there.

For once, a promotion makes him sick to his stomach, making him think back to the first person he killed, back to the heat and mud and piss of battle. He had never deserved one less, which was frankly an understatement, as chasing down the boy who slipped through his tendrils at Logue Town brought him to another war, another battlefield, and this one was the worst he’d ever seen. A civil war in a desert spurred by a Government-sanctioned Warlord, artificial strife created to divide and destabilize and create the perfect vacuum for ascending to power. The man had a hold over the country and still wanted more—wanted to take down the ruling class and permanently replace them with him and him alone.

It didn’t work.

Why?

Pirates were there.

He had entered the pact to mutually save the lot of them from drowning as a pragmatic move, one he surely expected to reap the benefits of once he was able to track them down again after the dust settled. With more knowledge of their operations, abilities, and command chain, he could find them faster, bring them to Justice quicker. Except, when he gave his superiors in Marineford his reports, all they did was congratulate him on quelling the insurgency despite the fact he did jack fucking shit in the grand scheme of things.

It was the pirates he saved—the ones who saved him—who helped the correct powers shift back into place. He tried to refuse the honors and his refusal was refused. It took both his subordinate and his colleague to talk him down long enough to contain his anger and rage.

Why did pirates save Alabasta?

Why did they call the princess their friend?

Why did a Founding Family align themselves with the very people whose existence threatened their safety and power?

Why did pirates do good?

Why did the Government want to cover it up?

Why did the Government think he was a good scapegoat? If scapegoats could be one for praise instead of scorn?

Why did none of it feel right?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is thirty-five when he takes over at G-5.

If they thought he was insane for requesting the transfer to Logue Town, then they think he’s absolutely lost it by going to G-5. His record in Logue Town precedes him, however, and he is given the position without question in hopes he can whip the outfit into shape. Who better to lead a bunch of men who couldn’t be discharged on technicalities except for another man who couldn’t be discharged due to a bunch of pesky technicalities? The powers that were figured the two forces would implode on one another and then cease to be their problem, so why not?

It’s different, however, from taking control of Logue Town. Now he is the hesitant one, though he does his best to not show it. His subordinate knows—seas how she knows—and she follows him, the pair moving along as a sort of unit. No one wants to approach him and no one wants to deal with her; it’s mutually supportive as anything. They pass one another looks in secret, knowing ones that betray their thoughts.

How can these Marines be worse than pirates? Why and how are they still enlisted? Do people… do the people he has sworn to protect see him like this? See his subordinate like this? His subordinate, who might as well be a child with how much he wants to protect her? At what point is a Marine no longer working for a code of Justice and simply doing whatever they want? How many Marines are out there who use their position to… simply…?

A chance encounter with his former comrade ends with a bitten arm and a bruised ego; he did not understand the look in the lizard’s eye as it croaked lowly at him.

He sleeps less, works out more, panics in the middle of the night. It gets to him, but he doesn’t let the men know and passes it off as his usual routine from before they knew him. His subordinate knows, but their rooms share a wall. Can’t appear soft; don’t let the horrors seep in and fester until there’s nothing left but indecision and an eroded will. A young hotshot—so young he’s still a child—wait, he had been younger than that when he’d enlisted—picked up by the old legend senses it and looks at him pityingly.

Sometimes there are good pirates, sometimes there are bad Marines, but that doesn’t change things, does it?

Sometimes, when he blinks, he almost thinks he can see.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He is thirty-six when he runs into the pirates again.

A few more ranks had been hefted on his shoulders and there’s a few more of them than before, including the desert Warlord’s right-hand, and he watches them form an alliance with the Government’s greenly-minted piratical lapdog. They antagonize one another, because of course they fucking do, and the new Warlord might as well be one shishishishi away from throwing a tantrum, a sentiment for which he honestly doesn’t blame him. The boy with the rubber body is stronger than when they last met in the desert, sure, but he was still disturbingly noodle-like and cheerful.

It was annoying as shit.

This time, the pirates help again, with his men from G-5 caught in a trap alongside the pirates and innocent victims. Instead of an entire nation tricked into culpability, however, it’s an entire herd of small children turned giant, the insane fuck that holed up in the former scientific research base performing illegal experiments of varying sorts on the kids.

Children.

His subordinate was beyond pissed; this was the generation they worked so hard to not fail, and yet, they still did anyhow. Literal babies and they were still in danger. How effective was their Justice if things like this were still able to happen? What else had slipped through the cracks? Had there been some they were too late to save? Why did the colleague that was there allow such a cruel thing to happen? How much of this did their other colleagues and superiors know about? Was this… common…?

How much of this had he missed because he was concentrating on doling out Justice? How much was he missing purely because he was being distracted?

The children cry the entire way to G-14. They missed the kind pirates, the ones who helped and freed them from the scary gas-man. The crew is abnormally quiet and reserved while not with their guests, clearly contemplating some of the same stuff he was—the actions of the pirates in saving not only the children, but them as well. Weren’t they enemies? But their cook fed them good food. Aren’t pirates bad? They purged all the addictive poison from the children’s bodies. Aren’t Marines the good guys? Then why had a vice-admiral been there, making sure that hellhole was running smoothly?

It was an uncomfortable situation none of them wished to broach.

Luckily, G-14 is closer than they feared and the children are all offloaded swiftly and safely. His wounds are tended to and the kids are all greeted by an eccentric old man brandishing medicine. No one knows if the concoction can reverse what had already been done, but it would at least prevent further complications. He is finally able to relax for half a moment until there’s a knock on the door and a kid he vaguely recognized came in, kukri left behind in some other room due to being on a peace mission.

That is when he learns about SWORD and all the things it stood for.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It’s not long afterwards he gets the call to Egghead.

He doesn’t like it, but he goes anyhow. The pirates are there—the ones who caused him to leave his precious hometown—and they have the world’s most brilliant mind. It’s clear they plan on running and taking him with them, and not as a hostage. Special ops are there yet ineffective. Weapons designed to be the ultimate warmongers are useless. An admiral is useless as the rubber boy turns into a literal god. An Elder Star is there, one of the highest-most Celestials, and is ready to snuff out the boy and his friends…

…this was not Justice…

…and that is when he does the stupidest thing he had done in his life since skipping school to watch a man die: the right thing.

Within seconds, he dissolves into a cloud and spreads himself over the battlefield. He can feel everything that happens within his auspices, bringing the pirates and their friends closer together so they can run. Somewhere in the distance he hears something boot up, like a rocket of some sort. Everything is chaos for a moment as those talented in Haki attempt to negate his Devil Fruit. They can’t because his is stronger, more determined, and certainly weightier.

He might not know what Justice is anymore, but he does know that Marines are not good, pirates are not bad, and sometimes things aren’t as plain as expected.

The pirates leave as their ships is carried by an ancient robot. His vision swims as he lays on his back, beaten and bloody, aching and rattled, looking up at the Elder Star about to stab him through the heart.

It was likely not enough, but it was something. It made up for nothing, yet it was all he could give. It would not heal what he had already done, despite the fact it was what should have been all along. It helped so few, and it still showed the others that change was possible.

He now knew why they had cried, back in his hometown on the day her most famous son was executed. The sorrow, the fear, the uncertainty, the pain… it wasn’t about the pirates… it never had been about the pirates. He became why they shed tears, which was the opposite of protecting them, thanks to the lie that stirred and settled into his heart that day. The first pirate he ever brought to Justice—the first person he murdered—came back to him, her spiteful sneer now understandable. His former Captain’s lessons were now all clearly wise and more insightful than he ever gave them credit for, let alone deserved.

The only good part, he thinks, is that his subordinate is not there to hear a freshly-branded traitor scream.

[livvywritesworld]

A Fist in the Mouth | Overview & Analysis

For those who don’t know, I am a creative writing student in my first year of university. In my introduction to creative writing class this semester, I wrote a short story called ‘A Fist in the Mouth’ for our fiction unit. After a couple rounds of editing, I submitted this piece to my university’s literary magazine and was later accepted for publication.

This is my first ever publication acceptance so of course this story holds such a special place in my heart now, and I thought I might make a post about it just kind of sharing a couple of snippets and some of the inspiration and thought I put behind the story as a whole.

(please let it be known that I retain all rights to my original work and no plagiarism will be tolerated)

excerpts and analysis under the cut

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ began as a way for me to kind of reintroduce myself to short fiction after a period of not having written anything at all due to some health issues. I had all of these ideas for the short fiction piece that I needed to write for class and none of them were working out how I wanted them to while still fitting within the word limit. So, I decided to discovery write something while listening to one of my many Spotify playlists just to kind of get in the groove of writing once more and really just see what would happen.

As I was writing, the song “Modern Girl” by Sleater-Kinney came on shuffle and for those of you who have never heard the song, there’s a repeating lyric, “hunger makes me a modern girl.” This really sparked some inspiration in me and all of a sudden I was writing about a teenage runaway come riot grrrl serial concert goer experiencing the horrors of girlhood and ambition. 

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ begins like this:

There’s a difference between running from and running to. When I left home, I thought I was running towards. I didn’t think of it as me leaving my parents’ oppressive religious household, though that was a fact that I readily acknowledged as a girl. I only ever thought of it as me, freshly eighteen, running full speed at a future I thought I deserved. A future I knew never would have found me if I’d stayed in that town, in that house, with those people, spending my days on my knees praying to a god that didn’t see me as deserving of anything more than I’d already been given.

Now, I think all I was doing was running away from every facet of my life. I didn’t feel the same way about God as the rest of my family, was scared to death of them looking at me one day and suddenly seeing all of me. Back then, I felt like I didn’t have any other choice. And I probably didn’t.

The narrator is kind of inspired by the character Maxine in the film ‘X,’ which I had watched a couple of weeks before writing the story, as well as Ethel Cain’s discography. I really wanted to write from the perspective of a teenage girl fleeing a very religious household (religious trauma for the win) because she wants more out of life than what her parents have laid out for her.

As we move through the story and see how the narrator interacts with the 90s Seattle grunge & punk scene, we are introduced to the narrator’s insatiable hunger (her ambition, queerness, and dedicated yearning). I use a lot of motifs throughout the beginning and middle of the text to try and recreate this feeling for the reader.

I was nineteen and my presence felt both excessive and non-existent. I wasn’t eating as much as I should’ve been, couldn’t really afford three meals a day. Most of my money went towards rent and bills, any real food I got would be leftovers from the diner. The cook was a bit sweet on me, so he’d make me a sandwich every day, free of charge, whatever kind I wanted.

The thing was though, even if I did get enough to eat, I still never felt full. I’d look in the mirror and my mouth would be this gaping cavern, something that didn’t fit on my face. It didn’t matter how old I was, how much life I did or didn’t experience— in the mirror smiling back at me was a gape-toothed girl looking to swallow the whole world if given the chance.

Then, we meet the character of Magdalene Williams, who is the only character in the story that I’ve named. The inspiration for Magdalene was definitely Mary Magdalene— I kind of wanted this holy-like figure to come into the narrator’s life and really give her a taste of the life that she craves for herself.

Magdalene invites the narrator to an all non-men punk show on the edge of Seattle and the narrator feels her hunger clawing up out of her stomach and demanding to go. She is inherently drawn to Magdalene and has no idea why. So she accepts the invitation. 

The story kind of unravels from there, and we end with Magdalene coming onstage with her band and giving The Performance of a Lifetime and generally really disturbing the narrator. The narrator knows that something Is Not Right here, she’s been very active in the scene for the last year and has never heard of Magdalene yet the entire crowd is going wild over her, and once Magdalene starts singing she immediately knows that something is wrong. And yet. She just can’t look away.

In Magdalene, the narrator sees everything that she wants, everything that she is so hungry for, and it terrifies her. She’s also a little jealous, and a little horny but very much in a prophet/faithhealer x devotee kind of way. 

I wrote the entire story in past tense because I really wanted it to have a sort of confessional vibe, to really keep in tone with the religious themes and imagery. My professor suggested after workshop that I might try it in present tense but it just was not working. During our class workshop however, everyone said that they liked the choice of past tense because it was almost like the narrator was telling us, the reader, that she experienced such an intense period of wanting in her life and still made it out in the end.

I don’t know if it’s too much to share on here like word count-wise, but the last few paragraphs of the story are my absolute favorites and I’m so proud of them. They’ve remained mostly unchanged in my various rounds of edits and I’m so impressed with myself for being able to write like this after having literally not written anything substantial in around six months.

Before I left home, my whole life was like a sepia photograph of a sunny day. Over-exposed, parents with smiling faces and sons with square jaws, daughters with ribbons in their hair. Wooden crosses on the walls, simple and unornate because God doesn’t need to be loved in gold foil. Grass stains on white tights, Sunday kitten heels scuffed from being worn so often, deodorant powder refusing to wash off the baby pink dress Mama thought looked so nice with my brown eyes.

There’s a difference between running from and running to. At eighteen, I was running towards something. I’msure of that. I don’t think I ever had an idea of what that something was, or what I even wanted it to be, but I did know that I didn’t want to be some televangelist’s golden daughter proffered up to God like Icarus was to the sun.

I noticed things about myself the way my family noticed things about God and religion and theology. Studied myself in mirrors, in the dark, in the depths of my own mind. I noticed everything and remembered nothing. Blood never started to fill my mouth until I surrounded myself with idolatry of a different kind, the screams sounded too much like mine.

At nineteen, I was running from. That night, hunger attacked every fiber of my being, ate away at my organs, left behind teeth marks and blood. I saw that hunger reflected in Magdalene, her mouth an open wound as she screamed out her lyrics. I wasn’t scared, though. There’s nothing scary about hunger, what’s scary is the response hunger elicits from other people.

This, I noticed. All in real time. Learned it of myself.

I watched the crowd feed Magdalene, and consequently devour her whole. Sanctify her living and alive, right before my eyes. And I never wanted anything more than I did then. I craved it, would’ve let hordes of women and girls crucify me where I stood just to be in Magdalene’s position. She never could’ve been full, not with the way she sang, but at least she was well fed. Oh how I wanted to be kept in excess.

Have learned to become my own number one fan lol

[mynamesaplant]

Lost in Transit and Translation (part 8)

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Plot synopsis: Subway Boss Ingo finds some lone Pokéballs and decides to hold on to them until the owner can be found. The Pokémon, however, aren’t too keen to stick around some stranger who they can’t understand, and decide to find their trainer on their own.

Characters: Subway Boss Ingo (Pokémon), Subway Boss Emmet (Pokémon), Olivia Kame (OC)

Just for clarification, my OC and her Pokémon's speech is italicized, Ingo's Pokémon speech is in bold, and Emmet's Pokémon speech will be in bold and italicized. I tried to make it clear who was speaking without signifiers, but just in case!

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Infernape was breathing hard, his sides ached and his whole body felt tender, like he had been hit with a ton of bricks- which was not too far off from the truth. Raichu was sliding off his back, he caught and cradled the Electric type against him, his blue eyes half open and his ears twitching in agitation.

Golurk was not much better, the venom had been administered much more deliberately with them than it was with Raichu and at a much higher dose. It was making the large Pokémon very wobbly, until they found they could not go any further.

They are going to catch us.

Golurk moaned as Infernape flopped down beside them, patting their chest, and urging them to be quiet. He had selected a shrubby little area surrounded by large rocks and a steep hill, secluded and well hidden from any nosey humans. They just needed a little bit of time to recover and regroup, maybe the men in the coats and their Pokémon will have given up on them, figuring they were not worth the effort of capturing.

Just leave me here, you both can get away.

I’m not leaving you alone with those weirdos on the prowl. We’re sticking together, got it?

The Fire type said firmly, giving Golurk a little punch to the chest for emphasis. It was quiet for a while, soft voices of other Pokémon calling to each other in the canopy as they just took a moment to breath.

I promise to keep us together, no matter what they try to do.

Infernape assured the two half-conscious Pokémon before going silent, placing his hand on the Ghost type’s chest when he heard branches and twigs snapping. He also caught something else, something really faint to his ears that was just not as pressing as the two men emerging from the bushes.

Something akin to relief was on their faces, probably glad that they were too tried to keep running and Infernape growled at them, gently setting Raichu down on Golurk’s chest and turning to face them. He would hurt them, especially with their Pokémon nowhere to be seen. He did not care if he knew it was wrong or if it was fruitless. They had already separated them from their trainer, Infernape as not going to let them take that a step further and separate the three of them entirely.

Again, he heard that familiar sound, pricking his ears as he started to hear something else familiar, a voice. The whistle was sharp in his ear as he recognized the old call and he looked around, trying to determine the source. The two men were bearing down on them. Infernape screeched, letting her know where he was before he attempted to lunge at them.

“No!”

He stopped dead when he heard her voice, his trainer’s voice, and he glanced around to where it was coming from. She was up on a walking path at the top of the steep hill, breathing heavily with her face creased in worry, and she quickly hopped the stone wall, sliding down the embankment. The men were protesting as she did this, but she did not seem to be listening to them as reached the bottom, throwing her bag aside and running toward him, tackling him in an embrace.

Olivia was speaking frantically, crying into his fur and he blinked slowly, feeling his exhaustion starting to weigh on him. She did not seem to care that the men were there at all, she barely even acknowledged their existence as she hugged him tightly. He recognized that she was apologizing to him over and over again. Her fingers were buried in his fur, which made him wince a little when she did that, but he did not try to stop her as she carefully checked him over. His trainer’s hands finally rested on his face and she looked into Infernape’s tired eyes, her own familiar brown eyes shining with tears.

“I am so sorry, darling.”

He chittered at the words, leaning into her touch as her eyes began to brim with more tears.

“Ma’am?”

She and her Pokémon flinched, blinking up at the two men. Olivia did not recognize the urgency in the voice of the one who had spoken to her, but she did recognize them from the description the operator had given her. She had also seen them in many posters around the subways. The eponymous Subway Bosses. She had not put two and two together from said posters because she hadn’t realized they were twins. Both were about a foot taller than her, which already made them feel a little more intimidating than they intended to be, and both looked beat, like they had been running around all day.

She quickly swiped the tears from her eyes, quietly reassuring her Pokémon that she wasn’t going anywhere and extricating herself from his grip. Her eyes moving over to the passed-out forms of her other Pokémon, but she swallowed and turned to the two men. Before she realized what she was doing, she was giving them a hasty bow as she stumbled through a fast apology while her heart raced.

“I am so, so sorry that I caused you any trouble.”

“Ma’am!” The one in black said urgently, pointing. “Your sleeve is on fire!”

She looked at her sleeve and it was in fact smoldering. Probably from when she had held her Infernape, the flowy sleeve igniting from the lit flame on his head. It was small. Nothing terrible. She had seen worse when he was a Chimchar. She cursed, slapping the fire out impatiently as both of them stared at her mutely in alarm. Clearly, she was used to it.

“I apologize.”

She said, trying to get back to her apology before she had a breakdown. Olivia didn’t really want to have a breakdown around two strangers, but she was just so relieved that they were okay. Maybe a little banged up, but they were here and safe, that was all that mattered to her. She ran a hand over her face as more tears began to drip from her eyes uncontrollably. She couldn’t help it.

“It’s been a very long day. This is all my fault. If they caused you any trouble, I take full responsibility. Did they cause any damage? Are you and your Pokémon okay?”

“Uh, no, we’re fine.” Ingo replied, glancing at Emmet out of the corner of his eyes when she had bowed at them. Emmet only had to offer a little shrug. “Our Pokémon are fine, but are you alright?”

She didn’t answer him directly.

“I didn’t even notice they were gone until I was back at my office.”

She said, swiping at her eyes and trying to get ahold of herself, yanking at the useless belt around her waist. She had known the magnets were shot, but she had been in such a rush all day that she didn’t notice the absence of her Pokémon until the secretary had asked her where they were.

“I swear, I’m a good trainer! I have never lost them before.”

She said it almost like she was trying to convince herself it was the truth as her Pokémon shakily got to his feet and plopped down next to her, leaning into her. She looked at him and she abruptly switched languages. She lightly batted at him, probably not trying to get her shirt set ablaze again. That was when it clicked for Ingo.

“Arceus, no wonder they’re so nervous. Ma’am, do you always speak to them in Kantonese?”

She winced- he was very loud. Olivia quickly switching back as she shifted from foot to foot.

“I’ve been trying to get them used to Galarian, but they’re picking it up slowly.”

“Ohhhhhh, that makes much more sense.” Emmet replied, also seeing what his brother was seeing. “They haven’t had any clue what we’ve been saying to them this whole time.” The idea that this was all some big miscommunication was somehow kind of hilarious.

Her Pokémon had been confused because they did not know they were trying to help in the first place, even their Pokémon had not been able to convey that to them. Emmet laughed to himself a little but quickly stopped when she saw her hurriedly wiping away more tears.

“Miss, please don’t cry. Your Pokémon are safe and there was verrrrrry little harm done. The temporary closure of the Battle Subway as we tried to wrangle them at most.”

That statement did not seem to make her any better, even if he had tried to be gentle. In fact, it almost seemed to make her more hysterical.

“I am so sorry that it interfered with your work. I understand your work is very important to you.”

 Another small bow and Emmet exchanged a helpless look with his brother, neither of them was really sure how to deal with this woman. She was overly apologetic, oozing sincerity, but she was remarkably out of sorts. Clearly insecure in what people thought of her and her Pokémon, especially after they had been running amok all day.

“I swear I’m a good trainer.”

She repeated, more to herself then to them, they could see her shoulders trembling. She was practically hysterical. They could understand. They would feel the same way if they had lost any of their team so unexpectedly. However, they weren’t sure how to soothe her. Olivia took their dumbstruck silence as a bad sign and reflexively kept apologizing. She apologized for the stress, for the miscommunication, for her negligence- it was a little overwhelming. It did, however, clue Emmet and Ingo into the fact that she felt remarkably out of her depth.

They could tell she didn’t feel quite comfortable around them. There was a bit of a language barrier, even if her conversational speaking was nearly flawless, she must have been trying to translate at Mach speed in her mind to keep up with the deluge of apologies. In her frantic state, the twins privately shared the concern that trying to stop her at this juncture would prove to send her into further hysterics.

“It’s quite alright.”

Ingo tried gently while he patted down his coat, retrieving her Pokéballs and handing them back to her. She sniffed, giving them a small but grateful smile that did not manage to stay on her face for long, peeling back like a piece of tape that had lost its stick. She took them back, holding them tightly as if they were a lifeline.

“Thank you. Again, I’m so sorry that they caused you any trouble. I promise, they’re quite sweet.”

“Miss…”

Ingo hesitated, desperately not trying to sound exasperated because this poor woman was just on the very of a complete emotional breakdown and he didn’t want to be the one to push her over the edge. He just wanted to reassure her that all was well, but she had not even introduced herself to them in her haste to seek forgiveness. How could he soothe her if he didn’t even know her name? She seemed to know who they were, so Ingo wanted to be on equal footing. Olivia picked up on where he trailed off, realizing with a pang that she had not even told them her name. She flushed.

“Sorry, I’m Olivia. The… The operator said your names were Emmet and Ingo.”

Olivia could tell that she was making them a little uncomfortable with all of the apologizing, but she could help but keep rounding back to that conversational cul-de-sac. It did not remotely help that they intimidated her. These men were clearly professionals and professionals usually didn’t take too kindly to careless people. She could also tell they felt obligated to stay with her because she was such a mess. That also had to be pretty tedious. Think. She demanded of herself. These men just spent half of their day running around trying to find her lost Pokémon. They didn’t want to stand here and listen to her feel sorry for herself.

She tried to think back to the posters and to what the battle obsessed secretary had said. The very least she could do was address them correctly by name and be on her way to get out of their hair. She knew their jobs, while not one-to-one, were similar to that of a Frontier Brain. One of them was a Double battles specialist. Pointing at Emmet, Olivia said,

“You’re Emmet, you run the Double line. You like winning more than anything else. And you’re Ingo,” Olivia pointed at Ingo. He was the Singles expert. If she remembered correctly, they also ran something called the Multi line, but she wasn’t quite sure what that was. “You run the Single line. You’re always shouting…” She paused, not remembering the word, she had never heard it used before she came to Unova and now, she was drawing a blank.

“Well, he is always shouting.”

Emmet said with a small snort as he saw Ingo’s cheeks tint the faintest of pinks.

“Hm? No, uh, it’s a word. Like, uh, good job?”

“Bravo?”

Ingo supplied and her face brightened briefly in the most charming way, it was positively radiant compared to before.

“Yes! Bravo!”

Now suddenly Olivia was blushing as she looked at them, shifting her gaze away. Well, that was lame. It didn’t go anywhere and things were just as awkward as before. Her stomach wouldn’t settle, still quite upset over the whole situation, and she could feel her heart crumpling in her chest. It had been all her fault that she had caused them so much trouble, Olivia couldn’t let herself forget that, and apologizing didn’t seem to suffice. If anything, they served to make the situation more awkward, but she didn’t know how to atone. She didn’t have the right words. Perhaps if she was calmer, she would have, but her thoughts were spiraling.

A sudden idea occurred to her. Olivia gave her Infernape a little pat on the head before leaving his side and trotting over to the messenger bag she had hastily thrown aside without a word to either Subway Boss. She knew she had a few of them still left in there as she dug through the contents, stuffing three Full Restores in the pockets of her ruined slacks and fishing out two business cards. They were a little crumpled, but everything was still legible, she also pulled a pen out and scribbled her phone number and name down on the back before returning with the bag slung over her shoulder to hand one card to each of them.

“I really cannot say I’m sorry and thank you enough. If either of you ever need anything, anything at all, please do not hesitate to contact me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Ms. Olivia, this is truly unnecessary.”

Ingo tried to say as he attempted to press the card back into her hand, but she was very insistent. He was relieved that she had at least temporarily stopped apologizing, becoming a little less nervous in the process. The twins could practically see the tension leaving her frame as she handed them the cards. Emmet pocketed his card without argument, he could always use a favor in his back pocket and he watched with amusement as this small woman shot his brother a look that told him not to argue with her. Ingo sighed and looked at the card: Teller’s Courier Service. There was an address, a phone number, and a fax line listed on the front with the business name. He glanced at the back where Olivia had written in blocky letters her name and phone number.

“Thank you, Ms. Olivia. We’re just glad we could bring your Pokémon back to you safely. Will you be okay to, uh…”

Ingo had almost forgotten that she slid down a steep embankment to get down here, not even hesitating to do so. He peered at her slacks, caked in dirt with a big rip in the left leg. Completely unfazed. Olivia hadn’t even panicked when he told her sleeve was on fire, more impatient than anything, although she was probably used to the occasional mishap with a Fire type Pokémon, just as he was.

She was a little odd to say the least, but the twins could tell that she was just a little frazzled from the events of the day. They had caught her at a bad moment and they couldn’t judge her for her behavior just then. It wouldn’t have been fair. Although Emmet and Ingo were all about first impressions, they were willing to give Ms. Olivia a little leeway. Olivia looked in the direction his eyes had moved, seeming to realize just now how far down it was with a sharp inhale.

“Oh, that was a lot further than I thought it was. No wonder you were yelling. I’m sor-”

“Please stop apologizing.” Emmet said abruptly, perhaps just a little impatiently. He couldn’t take another apology no matter how sincere. One of them had to say it, otherwise she wouldn’t have stopped. His smile was a little tighter than usual and she stopped midsentence, blushing fiercely. “We can escort you back to the path, if you’d like.”

“Th-Thank you, I appreciate the offer, but that isn’t necessary.”

“I’m afraid it is.” Ingo informed her. He had crouched down to look at her leg because he noticed there was long rash-like abrasion that was steadily oozing blood that trickled down her leg. Some sections were much deeper than the others with flecks of dirt and pebbles. “You were injured on the way down.”

“Huh?” Olivia said, finally noticing the rip and the edges of the khaki material turning red. She had not even noticed. “It doesn’t look serious.”

She said off handedly, it didn’t hurt so it was probably fine. If she was being honest, she was more concerned about her Pokémon and their injuries that her own. They needed to be healed first. She tugged a Full Restore from her pocket, breaking the seal and taking Infernape by the hand.

“Up we get.”

She urged him, and he rose to his feet, grimacing as she sprayed the various cuts and bruises that she could see.

“Ms. Olivia, you should really have your leg looked at. We would be happy to take you to the nearest Pokémon Center.” Ingo tried to insist after getting back on his feet, but she was far too engrossed with her Pokémon. “Ms. Olivia.”

He said a little louder, making his voice stern so she wouldn’t argue. Safety was important! Maintenance of one’s cab was an integral part of safety procedures. Olivia turned to look up at him and Emmet tried to his best to stifle a chuckle because she looked so child-like looking up at his brother. Ingo shot him a pointed look and Emmet could not help but grin, he returned his attention to her.

“I understand you’re worried about your Pokémon, but it’s also important to take care of yourself.”

There was a beat of silence as she looked over the two of them while she clambered to her feet. Even if she was oblivious to the pain, Emmet and Ingo could see she was favoring one leg, beside Olivia her Infernape chittered nervously, tugging on her sleeve.

“Yes,” she finally relented, “You’re right. One moment, please.”

Her Pokémon followed beside her as she went over to the other two. Golurk seemed to be in a sort of sleep mode, yellow light flickering inside them in their half consciousness while Raichu’s cracked open a blue eye when he heard Infernape making noise.

Hey, hey wake up! She’s here!

Raichu felt himself being lifted up and hugged into a warm body, the familiar scent of his trainer reaching his nose and he relaxed into her. Olivia’s careful fingers stroking him from his head to his back in a familiar motion, he nuzzled his face into her neck affectionately.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I lost any of you.”

She murmured quietly against his soft head, and she could not help the little curl of her mouth as his ear gently flicked against her cheek in acknowledgment. She gave Golurk a little pat on the shoulder and they beeped faintly. She returned the Ghost type to their ball and tried to do the same with Infernape, but he swiped the ball out of her hand, shooting a glare at the two Subway Bosses.

“Hey, you know better.”

Olivia chided, following his gaze and frowning. She turned back to face Infernape and cradled his cheek with one hand, and he turned his yellow-blue eyes to her.

“They’re not going to hurt you and they’re not going to hurt me. Okay, tough guy? You don’t have to go in your ball, but you do have to be nice.”

He blinked at her slowly, grumbling as she gave his cheek a little pat and readjusted her hold on Raichu. Now she was starting to feel the pain in her leg, perhaps the adrenaline was finally making its way out of her system as she returned to the waiting men.

“Are you alright, Ms. Olivia? Do you require assistance?”

Emmet asked, noticing the grimace on her face and her limp, but she nodded without replying. Her Infernape watched them suspiciously as they guided her back through the brush, doing as they promised and taking her straight to the Pokémon Center.

<<Previous--Finale>>

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[autism-disco]

autism wins i am writing orv fan fiction (please help i do not have the time to be doing this and yet)