knoepfl

[knoepfl]

Meow

/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗

[knoepfl]

Can you write a full story out of those shaggy x clown girl headcanons?

Of course! I'd be happy to do that ^^ I'll try my best and maybe it'll come out this week

[knoepfl]

are dc requests for batman characters only ?

Nope of course not ^^

[knoepfl]

A Hat for the Broken

Characters

• Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter): A poetic, delusional villain shaped by obsession and loss. In the chaos of Arkham City, he finds purpose in caring for a broken child. Though mad, he shows surprising gentleness and protectiveness.

• Evelyn (Child!Reader): A mute, traumatized young girl found freezing and alone. Severely abused and mentally underdeveloped, she clings to the only warmth she’s given Jervis’s hat, his voice, and his presence.

Trigger Warnings

• Child neglect and abuse: The child has suffered long-term trauma, including physical abuse, starvation, burns, and dislocation injuries.

• Severe malnourishment and illness: The Reader is found in near-fatal condition freezing, bruised, and close to collapse.

• Nonverbal behavior / Developmental trauma: The Reader does not speak and is mentally underdeveloped due to prolonged isolation and suffering.

• Psychological horror / Arkham setting: The story takes place in the bleak, lawless world of Arkham City, where violence and madness are constant.

• Implied past torture / captivity: The child's condition and reactions imply a history of extreme cruelty and imprisonment.

• Found family in dark settings: While the relationship is purely platonic and protective, it explores intense emotional trauma and vulnerability.

• Emotional dependency / coping through delusion: Jervis's attachment to the child blends fantasy, grief, and protective obsession.

Masterlist

Words: 998

Snow fell in slow, dead flakes across the cracked bones of Arkham City.

It didn’t glitter. It didn’t dance. It just fell straight down, heavy and silent like ash from a burning dream. The buildings were hollow. The streets buried in cold and rot. Somewhere far off, someone screamed. Then silence again.

Jervis Tetch walked calmly through it all, one hand holding the edge of his coat shut, the other gently touching the brim of his beloved hat. His boots left deep prints in the snow. His lips moved with a lullaby only he knew.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat… how I wonder…”

Then he stopped.

Something was lying near the wall.

At first, it looked like a discarded doll. Limp. Small. Broken in the snow. But Jervis wasn’t one to walk past things without looking closer. Not here. Not ever.

He stepped forward.

His shadow fell across the bundle.

A child.

A girl.

She was curled tightly into herself beneath a rusted pipe, half-covered in powdery snow. Her arms wrapped around her knees, her head pressed into them, hair matted and tangled. Her body was horrifyingly small like someone had pressed pause on her growth long ago and never hit play again. Skin so pale it was blue in places. Frost bit at her cheeks, her bare arms, her bruised legs.

No coat.

No shoes.

Her feet were nearly black with cold. Cracked and bleeding.

Jervis’s breath caught in his throat.

He knelt beside her, slowly, like approaching a frightened rabbit. His hand hovered inches from her shoulder but didn’t touch. Her eyes were wide open. Blank. Not quite looking at him just staring past him, somewhere no one else could see.

She didn’t flinch.

But her whole body was shaking. Violently. Constantly. Not from fear alone but from pain. Cold. Starvation. Memories.

Her thin chest barely moved when she breathed.

“Oh… dear heart,” he murmured. “What terrible tea party have you stumbled from?”

No answer. No blink.

He looked at her more closely now. Her fingers were curled so tight into her shirt that her knuckles were white and split. Blood, old and new, covered her knees and elbows. Scars lined her arms some faint, others fresh. There was a burn mark on her collarbone. Her left shoulder was dislocated. No child should have looked like this.

Jervis’s throat tightened.

He took off his hat.

The wind rushed past them, cold enough to bite bone. But he didn’t hesitate.

With slow, delicate fingers, he placed the tall green hat over her head.

It slipped down instantly far too large and the brim fell over her face, hiding her completely.

Still, she didn’t react. No flinch. No sound. Just shaking.

He knelt in the snow beside her and waited a long, aching moment.

Then he whispered:

“You’ll freeze here, little one.”

Still no response.

He looked down at her feet. The skin was blue. Purple. Her toes had stopped moving. If she tried to walk, they’d crack like glass.

No.

He had to move her.

“I’m going to pick you up now,” he said softly, almost apologetically. “I will be gentle. As gentle as the March Hare’s sigh.”

No answer.

No resistance.

But her eyes shifted only a little downward.

And her body tightened. Like she was bracing.

As if expecting pain.

Expecting a blow.

He moved anyway.

Gently so gently he slid his arms beneath her. One arm behind her back, the other beneath her legs. Her body was so light it didn’t even strain him. But what he felt in his arms made his heart twist.

She wasn’t just thin.

She was sickly. Malnourished. Freezing.

A brittle doll of skin and bones.

She let out a soft, barely-audible breath as he lifted her. Not a word. Not a sob. Just breath. But her hands one of them clutched the rim of the hat, pulling it down lower. Hiding.

Jervis held her close against his chest.

He stood carefully, shielding her from the wind as best he could with his coat. The hat had fallen lopsided over her face. It nearly swallowed her whole. But she didn’t move to fix it.

He turned and began walking. His boots echoed softly down the ruined alleyways.

“I know a place,” he murmured to her, as if telling a bedtime story to someone who hadn’t heard one in years. “A warm place. With blankets and books. And tea, of course. Mustn’t forget tea. Hatter’s orders.”

She made no sound. Just breathed.

Just shook.

By the time they reached the entrance to his little hideout an old subway chamber nestled beneath a broken stairwell her shivering had slowed. Not stopped. But less frantic. Her cheek rested against his chest now. Eyes still hidden under the tilted brim of his hat.

He carried her down slowly, every step steady.

Inside, the old station glowed with faint light strung bulbs and patched batteries illuminating patched rugs and salvaged cushions. A stack of books. A teapot. A half-smashed grandfather clock stood in the corner, its hands forever stuck at 6:30.

He laid her down gently on a soft pile of folded blankets near the heater pipe.

The warmth made her flinch.

Then go still.

She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t speak. Her hands still clung to the rim of his hat like it was the only thing keeping her real.

Jervis sat beside her. Not too close. Just enough.

He didn’t ask her name.

He knew she wouldn’t answer.

He didn’t offer food yet. Her body was too fragile. He’d wait. He’d warm water. He’d find her clothes.

For now…

He sat. Silent.

Snow whispered outside the tunnel entrance. Arkham screamed in the distance. But here, in the soft dark, it was quiet.

He tilted his head and whispered:

“Sleep, little Evelyn.”

She didn’t know that name.

But she didn’t resist it either.

And slowly so slowly her tiny, bloodied fingers loosened from the hat’s brim.

Just for a moment.

Then tightened again.

Thank you so much for reading! I had this on my mind for a while and I really enjoyed writing it! stay tuned for the next part! And feel free to check out my other Jervis Works!

[knoepfl]

Through the Eyes of Madness – Part II

Characters: • Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter): A hypnotic, poetic, and dangerously intelligent villain from Gotham. Known for his obsession with Alice in Wonderland, he’s usually the one pulling the strings — until now. • Reader (You): A deeply unhinged admirer of Jervis who’s become completely consumed by his ideology and presence. Intelligent, obsessive, and emotionally volatile. A twisted mirror to Jervis’s own madness.

Trigger Warnings: • Kidnapping / Non-consensual restraint: Jervis is tied up and held captive. • Stalking / Obsessive behavior: The Reader has followed and studied Jervis obsessively. • Psychological manipulation / gaslighting: Emotional and mental domination is a central theme. • Delusional thinking / Mental illness: The Reader exhibits signs of severe psychological instability. • Implied violence / Threats: Mentions of destroying the watch, control tactics, possible poisoning, and a blood-stained setting. • Grief / Loss of sibling (Jervis’s backstory): References to Jervis’s trauma regarding his sister Alice.

Masterlist

Part 1

Words: 612

--- He was the master of mind games. But now, the cards were in her hands. Or were they? It had been seven days. Seven days of tea parties with broken cups and sugar cubes shaped like skulls. Seven days of lullabies hummed in strange meters. Seven days of you watching him sleep like a child watches their favorite toy, terrified someone might take it away. Jervis Tetch had played many roles in his life — illusionist, poet, hypnotist, killer. But never had he played the role of prisoner quite like this. And he hated how well he’d gotten used to it. He’d tested the ropes. They were strong. You tied them every night and every morning, even when he was unbound. You were obsessed, but not careless. His pocket watch was still gone — probably burned like you claimed. And yet… you always sat too close to him. You always lingered when brushing his hair from his face. You loved him. You were infatuated. You were sick. But love — even mad love — made people pliable. He would play the game now. As the Hatter. "You know," he said smoothly that morning as you served him slightly burnt toast on a mismatched china plate, "I’ve come to rather enjoy these… domestic rituals." You beamed. “I knew you would. It just took time.” "Time," he echoed. "Yes, well. We all have plenty of that, don’t we? Or perhaps we’re running out." He tilted his head. "Tell me, dear girl, what happens when the tea runs out?" You hesitated, fingers twitching on the kettle. He saw it — the first hairline crack. “I’d never let that happen,” you muttered, pouring the tea. "No. Of course not." He smiled, too kindly. "You’ve taken such care of me. Almost as if I’m something precious." “You are,” you said, eyes wide and unblinking. “Then why the ropes?” he asked softly. You looked down, almost embarrassed. “To keep you safe.” “From who?” You didn’t answer. He let the silence breathe. "You know..." He leaned in, voice low, velvet-dark. “I’ve been thinking about Alice.” Your eyes narrowed, jealousy slicing through your reverence like a jagged knife. Jervis watched. Good. "She was weak," you muttered. "She never saw you like I do." "And you do?" he asked, softly baiting. You nodded quickly. “I see everything. I know you’re brilliant. You’re art. You’re... truth.” He reached forward — you didn’t stop him. His fingers brushed your wrist. "Then perhaps you’d like to help me write a new verse," he whispered, "one where we’re equal." You blinked. He tilted his head. “You trust me, don’t you?” You nodded. “More than anyone.” "Then untie me." You hesitated. “You’ll run.” “No,” he said, eyes soft as velvet, voice gentle. “Why would I run from the only person who’s ever truly adored me?” Your hands shook as you reached for the knot. But something in your head — your instinct, or perhaps your insanity — tugged you back. "No," you whispered. “Not yet. I’m not ready.” And just like that, the crack closed. But not completely. Jervis smiled anyway. Because he’d planted the seed. That night, he watched you sleep curled on the velvet couch across the room, hands clutching one of his old hats like a child’s teddy bear. He sat in his chair, untied, as you had finally started leaving him at night. He hadn’t moved — yet. He could run. He should run. But instead, he watched you. "Not above them, not around them... but deep into their center..." he whispered to himself, his fingers twitching where the watch used to be. You stirred. He wondered. What would happen if he stayed? Not as your captive. But as your Hatter.

---

TO BE CONTINUED...

[knoepfl]

Through the Eyes of Madness

Characters: • Jervis Tetch (Mad Hatter): A hypnotic, poetic, and dangerously intelligent villain from Gotham. Known for his obsession with Alice in Wonderland, he’s usually the one pulling the strings — until now. • Reader (You): A deeply unhinged admirer of Jervis who’s become completely consumed by his ideology and presence. Intelligent, obsessive, and emotionally volatile. A twisted mirror to Jervis’s own madness.

Trigger Warnings: • Kidnapping / Non-consensual restraint: Jervis is tied up and held captive. • Stalking / Obsessive behavior: The Reader has followed and studied Jervis obsessively. • Psychological manipulation / gaslighting: Emotional and mental domination is a central theme. • Delusional thinking / Mental illness: The Reader exhibits signs of severe psychological instability. • Implied violence / Threats: Mentions of destroying the watch, control tactics, possible poisoning, and a blood-stained setting. • Grief / Loss of sibling (Jervis’s backstory): References to Jervis’s trauma regarding his sister Alice.

Masterlist

Part 2

Words: 637

She followed the ticking down the rabbit hole — and found him. Now he can never leave.

---

Jervis awoke to the scent of lavender and rust. His head throbbed — not from one of his own tricks, but from being tricked. By her. Ropes tightened around his wrists and ankles, keeping him slumped in a chair far more ornate than the decaying warehouse deserved. Across from him, someone hummed sweetly, tunelessly. A lullaby off-key. "You’re awake," your voice sang. Light. Eager. Twisted with joy. He opened his eyes fully now. The room was dimly lit — candles flickered from every surface, melting onto pages of old Lewis Carroll books and crime scene photos. Pages of his own file from Arkham had been pinned up on the walls. And beside them — photos of him. Dozens. Some from the press, others clearly taken from shadows, long-lens, up-close. "You..." He blinked, the recognition sharp and angry. "You're the girl. From the alley. The one who followed me after the Narrows riot. I saw your face — you ran." You stepped forward, barefoot, dressed in a flowing, mismatched outfit like a tea party ghost. You smiled too wide. "I didn’t run, Jervis. I waited." You touched his cheek and he flinched. Not from fear — from disbelief. The strings were always in his hands. This was wrong. "You’ve been in my head for so long," you whispered. "I tried to resist it. I really did. But you—you speak in riddles, and rhymes, and truth... The world didn’t understand you. But I did. I do." He snarled. "You’re insane." You giggled. "Of course I am! What else could I be? I’ve been listening to your voice for months. Rewinding old tapes. Memorizing the rhythm of your rhymes. The way you flick your watch open... Click. Tick. Command. Control..." His face darkened at the mention of the watch. "I destroyed it, by the way," you added, shrugging. "Didn’t want you getting any funny ideas. This is my tea party, not yours." Jervis laughed bitterly. "So what now? You play mad queen, and I’m your pretty pawn? Do you plan to keep me caged like a canary forever?" You leaned close, your breath against his ear. "I don’t want to keep you, Jervis. I want to love you." That word hung in the air like poison. "Every moment I’ve ever lived has felt like static," you said, stepping back to look at him. "Until I heard you. You made me feel seen. Heard. You showed me how madness could be beautiful." He sneered, trying to tug at the ropes. "And you think this—this deranged playhouse—is love?" "I think," you said, cocking your head with a childish grin, "that you and I are meant to be. You just don’t realize it yet. But you will." He narrowed his eyes. Calculating. "You're using my own madness against me." You laughed and twirled in place. "I’m not using anything. You gave it to me. Your words were seeds. Now you’re in bloom." Jervis swallowed hard. For the first time in a long while… he felt helpless. Outplayed. Your gaze softened then. “Would you like some tea?” He scoffed. “I'd prefer arsenic.” You smiled sweetly. “Don’t tempt me.” Then silence. He watched you set the table like it mattered. Like this wasn’t a decaying hideout with rat-bitten curtains and blood-stained floors. Like you were hosting a real guest. A beloved. Not a prisoner. "I can make you forget her," you said, eyes suddenly darker, softer. "Your sister. Alice. I know she hurt you." "Don’t you dare speak her name," he snapped. You didn’t flinch. You only sighed and whispered, “She wasn’t worthy of you. But I am.” He stared at you. Deep. Cold. Searching for a crack in your mask. But it wasn’t a mask. This was you. And he realized then — as the candlelight danced in your wide, loving eyes — that you were even madder than he was.

TO BE CONTINUED...

---

Heyy thank you so much for reading! This is the start of a small series of mine. It won't be big or compact but I still hope you'll like it! Also I will from now on I will post at least 1 thing each week so stay tuned for more!

[knoepfl]

I really enjoy everything with hypnosis and I CAN AGREE there are so many snakes involved like- But something I also hate is when the victim is like straight up fully under control and really does everything. I mean like I need the RESISTANCE and the emotions.

It sounds wierd but it is what it is. Everything else is just too boring.

part of the joy of having a fetish that's still somewhat outside of the mainstream (if you disagree then xkcd geologists dot png) but fairly popular is that complaining about a trope being too common in your semi-obscure pornography is really funny

[knoepfl]

I just recently noticed how much I hate my mind. Each night I try to think about a character because I wanna dream about it. Every night I look at pictures, videos, blogs. And every night I dont dream of them BUT instead I dream about the most random shit EVER.

Like, I'm sorry, but a teacher dressed as a dwarf and a homework puking unicorn????

HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?!

[knoepfl]

Okay easy

1. French- I suck at French in school and I just want to get better grades, like I just want to speak fluently and shock everyone

2. Japanese- A friend of mine tries to learn it and I imagine I'd be so funny to just speak to her without ever mentioning I "learned" it

3. Spanish- It's an important language and I belive it's often used

4. Hindi- If I remember correctly it's one of the most spoken language so I just wanna be able to speak it as well

And last but not least 5. Korean- I read like a lot of manhwas and I don't want to wait for updates. It's horrible so like this i can't just read them without having to wait for translation.

If you could instantly be granted fluency in 5 languages—not taking away your existing language proficiency in any way, solely a gain—what 5 would you choose?

[knoepfl]

Painted in Red

Characters:

• Arthur Fleck (Joker) – A socially awkward, kind yet deeply insecure man who has never celebrated Valentine’s Day before. He is nervous, overwhelmed by love, and struggles with feelings of unworthiness despite his deep devotion to the reader.

• (Y/N) (Reader) – A younger, beautiful woman who genuinely loves Arthur. She is warm, affectionate, and patient, always reassuring him of his worth. She cherishes every moment with him and enjoys romantic, simple gestures.

Trigger Warnings:

• Insecurity & Low Self-Worth: Arthur struggles with believing he deserves love, leading to self-deprecating thoughts.

• Mental Health Themes: Subtle references to Arthur’s past struggles with isolation and emotional instability.

• Mild Anxiety/Nervousness: Arthur is extremely nervous about the date, which may be relatable for those with social anxiety.

• Age Gap: The reader is younger than Arthur (though her exact age is unspecified).

• Public Attention: Brief moments where Arthur feels self-conscious about being watched in public.

Masterlist

Words: 1179

--- Arthur had never celebrated Valentine’s Day before. He had never had a reason to.

Sure, he had watched happy couples on TV exchange gifts, laughing over candlelit dinners, the women leaning in close, whispering sweet nothings to their lovers. But that was TV. That wasn’t for someone like him.

But now… now there was you.

You, who had seen something in him when no one else did. You, who never laughed at his laugh, never winced when others sneered at him on the street. You, who kissed his scars, ran your fingers through his hair, and told him, over and over again, that you loved him.

And today, on Valentine’s Day, Arthur was determined to do something special for you.

Arthur stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what had to be the tenth time. He wasn’t used to dressing up. He wasn’t used to planning things, either. But he had spent the last of his money on a small bouquet of red roses and a box of chocolates—cheap, but still wrapped in gold foil, like something out of a movie.

You deserved more. You deserved better.

He exhaled shakily, rubbing his hands together to stop the tremors. He was nervous. Not the kind of nervous that made him laugh uncontrollably, but the kind that made his heart pound, his chest feel too tight.

What if this wasn’t enough? What if you saw him, standing there with his trembling hands and his cheap chocolates, and realized you could do better?

What if you finally understood that he didn’t deserve you?

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. His stomach twisted as he opened it—

And there you were.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

You weren’t wearing anything extravagant, just a simple red dress that hugged your curves, but to Arthur, you might as well have been a goddess. Your eyes sparkled when you saw him, and your smile—God, that smile—made his knees weak.

"Arthur," you breathed, stepping forward to kiss his cheek. "You look so handsome."

His throat went dry. He wanted to say something witty, something charming, but all that came out was a strangled chuckle. His nerves were getting the best of him.

"Y-You look… wow," he finally managed. "Really. Just… wow."

Your laughter was soft, sweet. You noticed the roses in his hands, the chocolates, and your eyes lit up.

"Are these for me?" you asked.

Arthur swallowed, nodding quickly. "Yeah. I—I know they’re not, uh… fancy or anything, but—"

"They’re perfect," you interrupted, taking them from him carefully, as if they were the most precious thing in the world. "Arthur, this is so sweet. Thank you."

His heart thumped hard against his ribs. You liked them. You weren’t disappointed. He wasn’t a failure.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. Just being with you is enough."

Arthur’s breath hitched. He stared into your eyes, trying to understand how someone like you could love someone like him. He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to.

"You really mean that?" he whispered.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Every word."

Arthur let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest. He clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

"I love you," he murmured, voice cracking.

You smiled against his skin. "I love you more."

Arthur still couldn’t believe this was real.

Your hand was wrapped around his as the two of you walked down the dimly lit streets of Gotham, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. He had been so nervous about tonight, convinced he would mess something up, but you made everything feel easy.

“Did you like the flowers?” he asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I love them,” you assured him, squeezing his hand. “I think I’ll press them in a book so I can keep them forever.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly in surprise. He hadn’t thought of that. The idea that you wanted to keep something from him forever made his heart feel strange—tight and warm all at once.

He laughed softly, a little shaky. “That’s… that’s really sweet.”

You stopped suddenly, turning to him with a playful smile. “Arthur, I think tonight is perfect.”

His throat bobbed. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before he could respond, something caught both of your attention—a small, beat-up truck parked near a street corner. A radio inside was playing soft, crackly music, an old love song humming through the chilly night air.

You perked up instantly. “Oh! Listen to that…”

Arthur’s brows furrowed as he focused on the melody, shifting on his feet. “It’s… nice.”

Then you did something unexpected.

You turned to him, eyes sparkling, and held out your hand. “Dance with me?”

Arthur’s entire body stiffened.

“W-What?” He let out an awkward chuckle, darting a glance around. “H-Here?”

“Yes, here.” You grinned. “Come on, Arthur. No one’s watching.”

That wasn’t true. A few people were watching, but you didn’t care. And maybe—just maybe—Arthur didn’t either. Not when you were looking at him like that.

He hesitated, his nerves buzzing like static in his veins. He’d never danced with anyone before. Not really. He wasn’t sure if he could do it right.

But then you wiggled your fingers playfully, coaxing him forward.

And suddenly, he wanted to try.

With a shaky breath, Arthur placed his hands on your waist, unsure of what to do. You guided him gently, moving your bodies in slow, easy steps. The music swirled around you, the world fading until it was just the two of you under the dim glow of the streetlights.

Arthur swallowed hard. His heart was racing.

“You’re doing great,” you whispered, leaning closer.

He let out a breathy chuckle. “I-I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” You rested your head against his chest, sighing softly. “You’re perfect.”

Arthur’s whole body tensed at that word. Perfect. No one had ever called him that before.

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly, afraid that if he let go, you might slip away.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled under his breath, almost hoping you wouldn’t hear it.

But you did.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your expression soft yet firm. “Yes, you do.”

Arthur’s breath hitched. He searched your face, looking for any trace of doubt—but there was none.

And for the first time that night, a different kind of warmth spread through him. Not nervousness. Not fear.

Just love.

As the song came to an end, you lifted yourself onto your toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

Arthur let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I-I don’t think I’ll ever forget this.”

You smiled. “Good. Because neither will I.”

And as you both stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the streetlights, Arthur Fleck realized that, for once in his life…

He didn’t feel so alone.

[knoepfl]

Okay hi it's been like forever since I've last posted something and I'm sorry. BUT I decided to from now on post at least 1 story each week. So every week from now on there will be something new. Also I'm working on a small series rn and am very excited to post it. So I really hope you can forgive me for my sudden disappearance and stick with me^^

[knoepfl]

I JUST watched the movie (where the first pic is from) it's called Pimped it came out in 2018 and ngl he's so fine there 🤌🏻 it's like a thriller based on a book and DAMN I swear he served

Idk if im too late for this information

your icon hes so fine istg I’m going to BITE him 😩😩🙏

You’re so real for this. And yes, he is a fine specimen🫠.

[knoepfl]

Ngl this is what I want XD

Jokes on You, Doll

+ pairings. joker x f1reader

+ tags. hero reader, begginer hero reader actually, kinda comedy but not really ? bro idk what I am doing, I am new to this fandom fml

+ a/n. This was so fun to write, lmao. Let me know if you want more, because I can absolutely continue this chaotic mess. Joker being down bad for a hero? Absolutely hilarious. Thank you for reading my shit! Also, before you start reading, just so you know, I just started the dc comics so it might not be lore accurate :((

+ summary. You’re the newest hero in the Justice League, young, ambitious, and—let’s be real—blessed in the chest department. On your first real mission, you and the League confront the Joker. But instead of chaos and violence, you get something… way weirder. Joker sees you and immediately forgets about his grand scheme. He’s obsessed. And no one—not even you—knows what the hell is going on.

+ support me ✰ .ᐟ buy me a coffee I Instagram

The air was thick with tension. The Justice League had cornered the Joker in an abandoned warehouse—classic villain territory. You were standing between Batman and Wonder Woman, heart pounding, gripping the hilt of your weapon. This was your first big mission since joining the League, and damn, did you want to make an impression.

Joker, however, was lounging like he had all the time in the world. "Batsy, Batsy, Batsy," he drawled, swirling an imaginary glass of wine. "You always bring your little friends to our special moments. It's rude, you know? We never get alone time—"

Then his eyes landed on you.

He stopped mid-sentence. Stared. Blinked once. Then twice.

And suddenly, his manic grin stretched even wider.

"Well, hello there."

The shift in his tone sent a chill down your spine. Everyone else noticed it, too—Superman narrowed his eyes, Flash tilted his head, and Batman let out a subtle, almost weary sigh.

Joker, however, had completely tuned out the rest of the League. He took a step closer, head tilting as he scanned you up and down, lingering for just a second too long. His gloved hands clapped together with a sharp pop!

"Now, this is a surprise! A little hero I haven't met before?" His voice dropped to a purr. "And what a vision you are."

You blinked. "Uh… what?"

Even you were confused. You expected threats, laughter, maybe a monologue about chaos—not this.

"Oh, this is delicious," Joker went on, practically vibrating with excitement. "A new player in town, and nobody thought to introduce us? I'm offended." He placed a hand over his heart, mock-pouting.

The League collectively tensed as he took another step forward. Batman was about to intervene, but Joker only had eyes for you.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he mused, voice dripping with amusement. "Do you always look this good, or is this just a special occasion?"

Your brain short-circuited.

Wonder Woman scoffed. "Seriously?"

Superman looked at Batman. "Is he… flirting?"

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately."

Joker ignored all of them, eyes locked onto you like a cat that had just found its favorite toy. "Ohhh, I like you," he hummed. "Very much. And let me tell you, that doesn’t happen often! Do you believe in love at first sight? No? Well, I do now!"

You felt heat creep up your face. This was not how you expected things to go. "Uhh, I'm just here to stop you—"

"Stop me?" Joker interrupted, laughing. "Doll, I’d let you arrest me if it means we get to spend some quality time together!"

Flash let out a wheeze. "What is happening?"

Even the henchmen in the background looked confused, shifting awkwardly.

Joker clapped his hands again, practically buzzing with energy. "Oh, I must know everything about you! What's your name? What's your favorite color? Do you like—hmm, let’s say—spontaneous date nights filled with danger and mayhem? Because I know a place—"

Batman finally stepped in. "Joker."

"Shh, Batsy. I'm talking to the lady."

You felt all eyes on you as Joker grinned, leaning forward ever so slightly. "So… what do you say, sweetheart? Run away with me? Be my queen of crime?" His expression turned almost dreamy. "We’d make such a beautiful disaster together."

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. You had no idea what to say.

"...What the hell is happening right now?" Green Lantern muttered.

Even you weren’t sure. But one thing was clear—Joker had completely abandoned whatever evil scheme he originally had.

Because now?

His only goal was winning you over.

And that? That was possibly more dangerous than anything else.

[knoepfl]

A Dangerous Spark

Since so many wanted a Dottore fic,here it is! I actually wrote it before I made the opinion pull XD I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing it. And on top of that I finally found out how to use dividers!

Characters:

• Il Dottore – A methodical and calculating Fatui harbinger, whose mind is as sharp as a blade. He is pragmatic, ruthless, and has been assigned to observe you. He expected your reckless behavior to be a liability, but instead, he finds himself intrigued by your chaotic brilliance. As a man who values order, your wild unpredictability is both an enigma and a source of fascination for him.

• (Y/N) – A chaotic, unpredictable force of nature within the Fatui. You are loud, wild, and live for the adrenaline of destruction and creation. Your antics have caused concern among your peers, but you’ve managed to defy expectations at every turn. You thrive in chaos, reveling in the madness that others would shy away from. But behind the madness, you possess a sharp intellect and a deep, unpredictable side that even Dottore can’t quite decipher.

Trigger Warnings:

• Violence: Intense combat and destruction in battle scenes.

• Psychological Manipulation: The power struggle between the two characters is subtle but ever-present, with one seeking control and the other defying expectations.

• Obsessive Behavior: Dottore’s growing obsession with you as he seeks to understand and control your chaos.

Masterlist

Words: 2619

--- The dim corridors of the Fatui stronghold hummed with hushed conversations, the air thick with the scent of metal, alchemical solutions, and the ever-present tension of controlled chaos. Agents moved in calculated precision, each a cog in the grand machine of the Tsaritsa’s will.

And then there was you.

Loud. Unhinged. A spectacle of unrestrained energy amidst the rigid conformity of your peers.

You weren’t just a new recruit; you were a force of nature. A walking, talking explosion waiting to happen, both figuratively and literally. From the moment you had been inducted into the ranks of the Fatui, your wild cackles had echoed through the halls, your erratic behavior raising more than just a few eyebrows.

None were more watchful than Il Dottore.

He had been ordered to monitor you, to observe and, if necessary, eliminate. A liability to the Fatui could not be tolerated, no matter how… fascinating. And fascinating you were.

From the corner of his crimson gaze, he studied you. He had expected recklessness, carelessness, a weakness for him to exploit—an excuse to slit your throat and be done with it.

But you were no fool.

Chaotic, yes. Loud, unpredictable, erratic—but not incompetent. No, you had a terrifying sort of brilliance. Your enthusiasm masked an undeniable skill, your mania balanced by a sharp instinct that kept you just shy of truly dangerous mistakes.

He observed you as you wove through the other Fatui soldiers, grinning ear to ear, a manic gleam in your eyes. The others gave you a wide berth, muttering behind your back, their disdain barely concealed. But you never seemed to care.

If anything, you reveled in it.

Fascinating.

You were different from the usual Fatui—so self-assured, so utterly unashamed of your own madness. Dottore had spent so long surrounded by the meticulous, the calculating, the obedient. But you were chaos in its purest form, a flickering flame in a world of ice.

It wasn’t until you caught him staring that things truly began to shift.

“You’re watching me again, Doctor.” Your voice rang through the hallway, amusement lacing your tone as you spun on your heel to face him.

Dottore didn’t flinch at the sudden confrontation, merely tilting his head as a slow smirk curled his lips. “And if I am?”

Your grin widened. “Enjoying the show?”

“More like monitoring a potential disaster.”

“Oooh, scary.” You stepped closer, too close, challenging him with your proximity, with the sheer wild energy crackling off you. “So? What have you concluded, dear doctor?”

He should have ignored you. Should have brushed past you like the insignificant speck of unpredictability you were.

But he didn’t.

“You are a spectacle,” he admitted, his voice smooth, laced with something unreadable. “A violent one. I’ve been debating whether it would be better to dissect you now or wait until you inevitably bring ruin upon yourself.”

You laughed, tilting your head, eyes gleaming with something that could only be described as insanity. “And? Have you decided?”

Dottore regarded you for a long moment. He had not decided. Not yet.

Because against all logic, against all expectations—

You were interesting.

The next few weeks were a game—a dangerous dance between you and Dottore. He monitored your every move, waiting for you to slip. You, in turn, made it a point to taunt him at every opportunity.

You’d find him lurking in the shadows, his sharp gaze dissecting you like a specimen under a microscope. And you would meet his gaze head-on, throwing a wicked grin his way before engaging in yet another reckless stunt. Explosive concoctions, daring missions, loud proclamations of your brilliance—every moment was another test of just how much chaos he would allow you to cause before stepping in.

And yet, he never did.

One night, you found yourself in his lab, wandering past rows of intricate machinery and bubbling vials filled with ominous liquids. He had allowed you inside—not out of trust, but out of curiosity. You examined everything with wide, fascinated eyes, your fingers itching to touch, to dismantle, to recreate.

“You have an artist’s soul, don’t you?” he murmured, watching as you studied a particularly complex device.

You snorted, tilting your head. “More like a pyromaniac’s. But I suppose they’re one and the same, really.”

Dottore let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused. “Indeed. Both obsessed with destruction and creation in equal measure.”

For once, silence settled between you, thick with something unspoken. You turned to face him fully, your usual manic energy momentarily subdued.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” you mused, tapping your chin. “Not anymore.”

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Not yet.”

Your grin returned, wicked and knowing. “You like me.”

Dottore chuckled again, this time with a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “I like to observe. And you, my dear, are proving to be a most… fascinating experiment.”

You threw your head back and laughed, delighted by his response. This was a game, and you were both playing it willingly.

And oh, how thrilling it was to dance with a monster.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension between you and Dottore only grew. He had stopped waiting for you to make a fatal mistake—instead, he found himself anticipating your next move, intrigued by what chaos you would bring next.

One evening, after a particularly reckless stunt that had left half a training ground in disarray, you were summoned to his quarters. You entered without hesitation, grinning as you leaned against the doorframe.

“So, what’s my punishment, Doctor?”

He was seated at his desk, gloved fingers steepled together, watching you with that unreadable expression. Then, to your surprise, he smirked. “Punishment? No. I simply wanted to… discuss.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh? Discuss what?”

Dottore rose from his seat, his steps slow, deliberate as he approached. “You.”

You shivered at the way he said it, how his voice curled around the word with a fascination that was almost unnerving. Almost.

“Are you finally admitting you enjoy my company?” you teased, tilting your head.

His fingers brushed your chin, tilting it up as he studied you. “Enjoy is a strong word.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch. “Indulge, then?”

For once, Dottore didn’t answer with words. Instead, he smirked and let his grip linger just a moment longer before stepping back.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured. “You’ll need your energy for whatever madness you’ll unleash tomorrow.”

You chuckled, stepping past him toward the door. “Oh, don’t worry, Doctor. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

As you exited, Dottore watched you go, his smirk lingering.

Perhaps… he had stopped waiting for you to make a mistake because he didn’t want to lose his most entertaining experiment just yet.

---

A deafening explosion rattled the air, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. Smoke curled in the dimming evening sky, painted with the crimson hues of fire and the dying sun. Your laughter cut through the chaos, wild and untamed, as you dodged between enemy soldiers, the edges of your coat billowing like a banner of destruction.

Dottore stood on the outskirts, arms folded, observing. He had seen battles before—efficient, ruthless, tactical. But this? This was something else entirely.

You fought like a storm incarnate.

Where most would strike with precision, you hurled yourself into the fray with reckless abandon. Where others calculated, you improvised. Your body twisted, spun, a whirlwind of unhinged violence as you flung makeshift explosives—tiny, unstable concoctions that sparked and burst in unexpected patterns.

A group of enemy mercenaries rushed at you, blades glinting. You grinned, eyes wild.

“Let’s dance!”

You leaped forward, twisting mid-air, hurling a small orb onto the ground. The explosion was minor but unpredictable, sending dust and debris flying. The force propelled you backward, landing gracefully just in time to block a strike with a dagger of your own.

The mercenary snarled, pressing forward. You cackled and abruptly let go of your weapon, ducking at the last second. The sudden loss of resistance sent your opponent stumbling, and before he could recover, you slammed an explosive vial into his chest.

He barely had time to register the click before a burst of energy sent him flying.

Dottore sighed, shaking his head as he analyzed your erratic pattern. You should be dead. By all logic, your fighting style was self-destructive, a series of split-second decisions that should have led to fatal mistakes.

And yet—

Another explosion. Another shriek of laughter.

You thrived in this madness.

Your enemies weren’t fighting a soldier; they were fighting a force of chaos they couldn’t predict. The unpredictability was your strategy. You weaved between attacks, using the battlefield itself as your weapon, making every confrontation a theatrical performance of destruction.

One particularly foolish soldier charged at you from behind, thinking you unaware.

Dottore saw it before you did.

He shouldn’t have interfered.

But he did.

With a flick of his wrist, a sharp, whirring projectile embedded itself into the man’s skull before he could even touch you. He crumpled, lifeless.

You blinked, turning toward Dottore, panting. A grin stretched across your lips, madness and something more dancing in your eyes.

“Well, well,” you purred, stepping over the corpse. “Doctor, was that concern?”

Dottore scoffed, voice smooth as ever. “Hardly. I was merely protecting my experiment.”

You cackled, stepping closer, adrenaline making your hands shake with delight. “Oh, darling, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re starting to like me.”

His lips curled into a smirk, crimson eyes gleaming. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to test the limits of my patience.”

You leaned in, breathless and exhilarated, blood and soot smeared across your cheek. “I love tests.”

For the first time in his life, Dottore wasn’t sure who was truly in control of this game.

And he loved that.

Night settled over the Fatui encampment, draping the ruined battlefield in shadows. The fires from earlier had died down, leaving only embers flickering in the distance, casting an eerie glow against the darkened sky. The air still smelled of smoke and blood.

Dottore sat alone in his quarters, his gloved fingers steepled together as he replayed the events of the battle in his mind.

Your erratic, explosive fighting style had defied logic. It was an anomaly, a contradiction—reckless yet effective, suicidal yet victorious. Unpredictable. And unpredictability fascinated him.

You should have been dead by now. You should have miscalculated, one explosion too close, one enemy too fast. And yet, you thrived. Not just survived, but thrived in the chaos.

He had planned to kill you if you became a liability. That was his order.

And yet…

He found himself delaying. Watching. Studying.

Why?

A soft chime echoed through the corridors. Midnight. The camp was silent now, most of the soldiers long retired to their rooms.

His thoughts drifted to you.

What did someone like you do when the chaos ended? When the battlefield lay silent, when there was no audience for your theatrics? Did the madness ever stop, or was it endless, an ever-burning flame?

He rose, leaving his desk, drawn by nothing more than curiosity.

Your quarters were just down the hall. He had no real reason to check on you. But logic had ceased to matter where you were concerned.

Silently, he approached your door.

It was unlocked.

He pushed it open just enough to see inside.

You sat on the edge of your bed, perfectly still.

No laughter. No movement. No sound.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle on the nightstand, its flickering light casting shifting shadows across your face. You weren’t asleep. Your eyes were open, staring ahead at nothing. Your expression was unreadable, empty in a way he had never seen before.

You didn’t react to his presence. Didn’t even glance his way.

Dottore observed in silence.

The contrast was… unsettling.

The manic energy, the unhinged enthusiasm—all of it was gone.

It was as if the moment the world stopped spinning, you did too.

He stepped closer. Still, no reaction.

Not a twitch. Not a blink.

For the first time, he found himself unsure of what he was looking at.

Who are you when no one is watching?

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, testing.

“…Aren’t you going to say something?”

You didn’t answer.

Seconds stretched into minutes. The flickering candle danced in the heavy silence between you.

Then—slowly, deliberately—you turned your head.

Your eyes met his.

And you smiled.

A slow, knowing curve of your lips, eerily calm.

Dottore’s breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.

Something was different about you in this moment.

Not wild. Not chaotic. But something else.

Something worse.

The silence between you remained unbroken.

And for the first time since he met you—

Dottore wasn’t sure whether he was the observer.

Or the observed.

The silence lingered between you, thick and oppressive, stretching long enough for Dottore to feel something unfamiliar coil in his chest.

Not fear.

No, it was something far more irritating—curiosity mixed with unease.

You sat there, smiling at him, but it wasn’t your usual grin. There was no mania, no giddy anticipation for destruction. Just a slow, knowing curve of your lips. The candlelight flickered, catching the edges of your face in a way that made your expression unreadable.

Finally, you moved—slow, deliberate.

You stretched your arms above your head with a satisfied sigh before tilting your head at him. “Well, well, Doctor,” you murmured, voice softer than usual. “You’re checking in on me now? How sweet.”

Dottore didn’t react, but he noted the shift in your demeanor. The energy was still there, humming beneath the surface, but it was controlled—a stark contrast to the chaos he was used to.

“I expected you to be unconscious by now,” he said, stepping further into the room, studying every detail. The mess of your belongings, the faint scent of sulfur still clinging to your clothes from the earlier battle, the way your fingers tapped idly against your knee. Not out of restlessness—out of thought.

You hummed, swaying slightly where you sat. “Oh, I tried sleeping,” you admitted. “But, you know…” You gestured vaguely with your fingers. “Too quiet. Too still.”

His gaze sharpened. “And that bothers you?”

You exhaled a laugh, leaning forward slightly, resting your chin on your palm. “Not really.” Your eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight, amusement flickering beneath the surface. “But I like the noise. I like the movement, the chaos. And when it stops… well…”

Your grin widened, playful this time. “I get bored.”

Dottore crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “And yet, you’re far more controlled than usual.”

You tsked, wagging a finger at him. “Oh, Doctor, are you disappointed?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure.

Your unpredictability was what made you fascinating. But this? This controlled version of you, this version that could sit in absolute silence and watch—this was new.

And Dottore hated things he couldn’t categorize.

You laughed, reading something in his expression. “Relax. I’ll be back to my usual self tomorrow.” You leaned back, stretching with a pleased hum. “But even I need a little downtime, don’t I?”

He studied you a moment longer before scoffing. “You are an anomaly,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“And you love it,” you shot back, grinning.

Dottore smirked, stepping back toward the door. “I tolerate it.”

You pouted dramatically. “How cold.”

As he reached the doorway, you called out after him, voice lighter now, still laced with amusement. “Sweet dreams, Doctor~”

He didn’t look back.

But as he left, shutting the door behind him, he realized something.

That strange unease he had felt before? It hadn’t faded.

If anything—

It had only grown stronger. ---

[knoepfl]

What do you want more?

Here is the Fanfiction: A Dangerous Spark

[knoepfl]

If anyone is at the lbm 2025 today (29.02) and spots a clown girl, then that's me! Feel free to say hi XD

[knoepfl]

Shaggy X Clown Girl headcanons

Shaggy Rogers x Clown Girl Headcanons

Characters:

Shaggy Rogers (from Scooby-Doo)

Reader (female OC, Clown Girl)

Trigger Warnings:

Fear of clowns

Jump scares

Chaos and unpredictability

Light physical humor (e.g., tackling, pranks)

Mild horror elements (e.g., ghosts, haunted settings)

Emotional distress (anxiety, fear)

Masterlist

Words: 1149

---

• Her Chaos Matches His Energy – Shaggy is a laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, but your clown antics keep him constantly on his toes. Whether you're pulling pranks, juggling knives, or sneaking up on him in full clown makeup, he’s both terrified and completely enamored by you.

• He Screams, You Laugh – Whenever the gang investigates a haunted carnival or circus, you take full advantage of the atmosphere to mess with him. Jump scares? Fake severed limbs? Sudden honking noises? He shrieks every time, and you’re living for it.

• Clown Aesthetic, but Make It Cute – Shaggy isn’t the biggest fan of clowns (he’s seen too much), but somehow, you make it work. Whether you wear bright colors, frilly outfits, or creepy face paint, he still calls you the “cutest jester ever.”

• You Make Him Laugh… Even When He Doesn’t Want To – Shaggy may be a scaredy-cat, but your ridiculous sense of humor always breaks his nerves. Even in a ghost chase, you’ll make some absurd joke, and suddenly, he’s giggling between panicked yelps.

• Foodie Couple Goals – You both have insane appetites. Between mystery-solving, your clown performances, and running from ghosts, you burn a lot of calories. Expect date nights filled with absurd food challenges—Shaggy swears you’re the only person who can keep up with him at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

• You Defend His Honor (Dramatically) – If anyone dares call Shaggy a coward, you’re immediately in their face, honking a horn in rage. “How dare you insult my beloved beanpole?! He faces ghosts on a daily basis! Can you say the same?”

• Honk for Comfort – If Shaggy’s ever having a rough day, you’ll pull out a rubber clown nose and gently boop it against his own. It always gets a chuckle, and that’s exactly why you do it.

• Romantic Grand Gestures (Clown Style) – While Shaggy is more lowkey with romance, you love grand, theatrical gestures. Think dramatic, over-the-top serenades, surprise magic tricks that end in a bouquet, and juggling snacks for him like a circus act.

• You Both Run From Ghosts... But Make It Funny – While Shaggy and Scooby are known for their hilarious chase scenes, adding you into the mix turns it into full slapstick chaos. Expect pies to be thrown, acrobatic escapes, and you using honking shoes to confuse the enemy.

• He Adores Your Weirdness – No matter how eccentric, creepy, or chaotic you are, Shaggy absolutely loves you for it. “Like, you may be the wildest chick I’ve ever met, but man… you make life so much fun.”

• "Zoinks, Babe!" – But Affectionately – Shaggy is constantly amazed (and mildly terrified) by your clown antics. Whether you’re walking on stilts out of nowhere, pulling endless scarves from your sleeve, or appearing upside-down in his peripheral vision, his go-to response is always: "Zoinks, babe!" followed by nervous laughter.

• You Turn Every Mystery into a Performance – The gang is investigating a haunted circus? You’re out here hyping the chase scene like a ringmaster. “Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on the mystical, mysterious disappearing ghost! Oh wait, that’s just Fred.”

• You’re His Personal Bodyguard – Everyone assumes Shaggy protects you, but in reality, you are the real threat. If a ghost gets too close, you’re throwing pies, honking a giant horn, or physically tackling the villain in a full-on wrestling move. Nobody messes with your scaredy-cat boyfriend.

• Unexpected Strength – Shaggy jokes about how he’s a noodle, but you? You can lift him effortlessly during your circus routines. The first time you casually picked him up bridal-style, he nearly fainted from shock. Velma and Daphne now find it hilarious to request a “Shaggy lift” on demand.

• Scooby Is Suspicious – Scooby Doo takes a long time to warm up to you. At first, he side-eyes your clown persona, giving Shaggy the "are you sure about this?" look. But after you share your stash of Scooby Snacks and teach him a trick or two, he fully accepts you into the gang.

• Matching Outfits… Kind Of – You absolutely adore dressing up Shaggy in fun, colorful outfits. While he draws the line at full clown makeup, you somehow convince him to wear rainbow suspenders or a goofy polka-dot bowtie on special occasions.

• You’re the Only One Who Can Outsmart Him in Hide-and-Seek – Shaggy and Scooby are masters of hiding when danger is near. But your circus training? Next level. You somehow manage to disappear into thin air, fitting into impossibly small hiding spots. Fred is still trying to figure out how you folded yourself into a popcorn machine once.

• You Scare Him More Than the Ghosts Do – Shaggy is used to haunted mansions and monsters, but nothing nothing compares to you sneaking up behind him and whispering in his ear, “Want to see a magic trick?” Cue immediate flight response.

• Dramatic Date Nights – When it’s just the two of you, you love to make things theatrical. Movie nights? You perform exaggerated reactions to every scene. Picnic dates? You pull a full tablecloth and dinner set out of your pocket. Shaggy finds it hilarious, even if it means never having a “normal” date.

• You’re the First to Jump In, He’s the First to Scream – Ghost chasing the gang? You’re charging at it with a huge mallet while Shaggy is sprinting in the opposite direction. Half the time, you have to reassure him that you have things under control. “Relax, babe, I got this.”

• Shaggy Loves That You’re Fearless – Sure, your clown persona can be chaotic, but one of the things he admires most is how brave you are. Unlike him, you don’t let fear control you. You take risks, embrace the unknown, and always have a joke ready to lighten the mood. Sometimes, when he’s especially anxious, you remind him: “You’re braver than you think, Shaggy.” And that sticks with him.

• When He’s Tired, He Sleeps on Your Lap – After a long mystery-solving day (and running for his life), Shaggy gets so exhausted. The moment you sit down, he flops into your lap like a sleepy golden retriever. You just stroke his hair while he snoozes, and the gang secretly finds it adorable.

• Late-Night Carnival Adventures – Since Shaggy loves fun places (and food), you often take him to abandoned carnivals to explore. He pretends to be spooked, but deep down, he loves how you light up when showing him old circus tricks, hopping on carousels, and flipping on trapezes like it’s nothing.

• You Teach Him Some Clown Tricks – At first, he’s clumsy, but eventually, Shaggy gets pretty good at juggling and basic acrobatics. The first time he successfully flips off a trampoline into your arms, he screams mid-air, but once he lands safely, he shouts, "Like, babe, did you see that?!"

• In the End, He Loves You for Being You – Clown makeup, wild antics, chaos and all—Shaggy absolutely adores you. You make his life unpredictable in the best way, and he wouldn’t trade your colorful, mischievous love for anything in the world.