#carousel Troupe

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Hooooly shit, I am floored any of these girls are still alive. Last year I talked about Lynn Conway's death. How she was such this distant presence but not. I'm like 90% sure I talked with Lynn Conway on some old forum in the 00s. Someone like Bambi? That's her guiding light. That's all you should need to demand your diminished attention spans hold it together long enough to read the damn article this time. Go on, do it, the rest of my part will still be here. Every transfemme at least owes it to herself to see what 89 can look like for you.

If Jo got along with women well enough to not be a TERF she'd probably grasp the backhanded brutality of that one line after an interview and life that flies in the face of her crusade. Seriously...almost 90 and came out as a youth. Isn't that wild? I already feel like a wizened old sage of the movement with fifteen years behind me. Now add fifty? At the point in life I'm at right now roughly, this woman backed off because she could see he winds shifting and realized what we'd now consider...all of modern transphobia was just starting to take root. And she's still kicking watching it reduced to the desperation of a cornered animal. But she's not willing to coddle a youth movement that has more of a hand in current issues than we like to admit. Don't let that overshadow a fascinating autobiographical account because she honestly has a point.

Can our community please take this current backlash as the signal to drop the nagging nun bullshit and get back to being cool, artsy rebels? If you don't know exactly what I mean, I'd wager at least 60% of your local community hates you. Show of hands, how many of y'all saw the same? The most annoying people in town the past few years also just so happen to be the first to scatter when things got scary? I don't know about Bambi's time but fifteen years on I've caught myself feeling nostalgia for "more dangerous, but freer" days. The way forward, the way to break this oppression of having to fit in a little box people told you to fit in...you don't do that by making 26 little edge case boxes and shaming people into remembering them.

If 89 year old Bambi is willing to come out of a well-deserved retirement to try and rekindle that spark, the rest of us owe it to her to fan the flame. Let her be a reminder we've always been here, we've always been cool, and our movement makes the most waves when we remember no one can command the stage better than us.

(And seriously Hollywood, take the hint! The Danish Girl sucked. You got Hunter Schafer as a perfect expy to play this girl in a biopic that'd make Moulin Rouge look like Yellowstone and it could come out right when Bambi dies. Are you softening the ground AP? I see it in those eyes, she's ready to take one for the team. Hollywood owes us one for Emelia Perez. Make this treasure immortal.)

[free-boundsoul]

Currently imagining Treasure staring at the door that had closed. Numbness radiating from their chest when they finally let their eyes drift from it to look around the apartment that they'd been in the midst of decorating for the holiday. They didn't do it last year, the relationship so new, they hadn't wanted to be too much that soon. But they'd thought it would be fun to celebrate this year with him, now that they were officially dating. Unspoken daydreams of cuddling together on the couch as they watched holiday movies, sharing a blanket and exchanging comments on the obvious troupes the movies used. Watching the snow float through the air as they strolled together at night, searching for the best decorated house.

They loved the holidays. The sense of family and belonging. Actually feeling appreciated by their friends because they always went all out to host the party. They knew everyone's favorite dishes and researched the best games. Spending months getting the best gifts within their budget was a challenge but it was fun. Now their friend group had splintered when they started to set up boundaries after their mysterious stranger had pointed out the imbalance in their relationship.

The breath that escaped them was shaky at that thought. Imbalance. Maybe that was their fault. Seeking relationships that weren't on even footing.

They really hadn't meant for those words to slip out. They were usually so good at keeping their thoughts to themself. Too afraid of rejection. Of hurting others that they overthought every word. But their tongue had loosened during their time with him. They'd thought it was a good development. They'd been able to speak up to the coworker that was such an ass. They'd been proud when he'd looked shocked and then apologetic.

They'd really just been trying to help. They could see how something was eating at him. They'd just wanted to give Porter a willing ear. Someone to lean on that he didn't have to worry about speaking out of turn with. Even if they didn't have his experience or his knowledge, they wanted to do something. Sometimes being able to voice your thoughts aloud to a willing, supportive ear could provide clarity.

Their eyes landed on a corner of wrapping paper that they'd hastily hidden under their bed when they'd gotten his text that he'd come over at their insistence. They knew how quickly he could get here, and that he could just come in with the key they'd given him. They reached beneath, their fingers curling around curved glass before they lifted the item up, cradling it in their hands.

They couldn't help themselves when they'd spotted the snow globe through a display of that curio shop. It had a faux antique look with the etchings on the base, the silver burnished in some places but shining in others. The color matching his eyes, darkening or lightening depending on his mood.

Inside was a little fairground. A striped tent for a circus with little animals. A carousel with horses that moved in a circle. But the centerpiece was what had drawn them to it. A ferris wheel that moved when they wound it up, the tinkling tune that played that familiar little song that most carousels used. The artificial snow swirled around peacefully as the first tear fell from their eye. They barely registered how cold the glass was as they held the gift to their chest, the feeling couldn't compare to how their heart felt like it was cracking.

How could they fix what they'd done wrong?

[abybweisse]

Ch216 (p3); The Tempest

So, the play being performed is Shakespeare's The Tempest.

I didn't know that Victorian nobles tended to keep their children away from touring theaters, but I guess it really depends on the play. It could be that the typical audience was more distasteful than the usual program itself? 🤷🏻‍♀️

I think it's Sebastian who first mentions the title.

The description as a romance might seem odd, but at the time a "romance" was more of a fictional adventure story, nothing like what we'd now call a "romance" these days. Ivanhoe was referred to as a romance novel, for example; the stories often include the theme of love, but adventure is typically the main focus.

As Sebastian says, there's definitely a parallel between the play's plot and what's playing out in the manga. But this can be seen from two opposing perspectives: our earl wants revenge, but isn't that also what real Ciel has been seeking, in his own way? Each twin feels betrayed and exiled or abandoned. Each wants to reclaim his status and get revenge. Each one is being accompanied and assisted by preternatural creatures, too. We see Ariel here, but we don't see Caliban. Hmm 🤔

Just what changes were made to make it suitable for all ages? Also, I can't help but notice the way the play's scenes are drawn in the manga -- very flash and sparkly -- this can't be how it really looks on that stage. Why illustrate it that way? I can only guess that it's how it's perceived in the imagination of the audience... a bit like the performances put on by the circus troupe when they kidnapped children in the streets.

Our earl isn't so old that he'd truly dislike the carousel (even adults tend to be nostalgic about them), but he's not likely to ever admit it.

But who is the person who watches them walk away?

And do they even realize (yet) that they are being watched?

I feel a storm coming....

[ribbon-sweet]

unit shuffle masterpost!

VEHE#MELODY

a band that wants to make themselves heard by everyone they can reach.

➠ mizuki akiyama (vo) — a talented and energetic individual with an affinity for anything cute.

➠ rui kamishiro (gt) — a solitary and reserved yet determined guitarist who has an unwavering devotion to creating memorable shows.

➠ akito shinonome (dr) — an incredibly passionate and committed boy who hates those who aren’t truly committed and vows to crush anyone who gets in his way.

➠ shiho hinomori (ba) — a thoroughly experienced musician deemed extremely talented, with a wish to go professional.

unit mainstory: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62920798

system.overL♡VE

an idol group composed of two amateurs with a close bond and two rival idols.

➸ ichika hoshino — an amateur idol with a love for miku.

➸ an shiraishi — the spirited daughter of a retired musician, who is working to become an idol.

➸ ena shinonome — a former idol who was a member of the unit darlindiva.

➸ airi momoi — a popular idol and tv personality, part of the unit QT before being moved to darlindiva in ena’s place.

unit mainstory: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62994634

palingenesia.

four people who crave a fresh start, and find solace in their music.

⇢ toya aoyagi — the youngest child in a family of classical musicians, who struggles with identity and what they really want

⇢ kohane azusawa — a shy girl who pursues photography out of a hollow desire for purpose.

⇢ haruka kiritani — a former idol who couldn’t bring hope to others, despite her best efforts.

⇢ shizuku hinomori — former model and idol who suddenly lost sight of who she really is.

unit mainstory: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62921020

CONFECTIONERY♪CAROUSEL!!!

a theatre troupe formed out of a club determined to spread sweet smiles to everyone!

➪ minori hanasato — a hard-working and cheerful girl who had the dream of becoming an idol from a young age, but pursued theatre as another way to make others smile.

➪ emu otori — an outgoing and cheerful girl who is the daughter of a wealthy family that owns phoenix wonderland, a popular theme park.

➪ saki tenma — the youngest daughter of a wealthy family that owns a well-known arts academy. 

➪ mafuyu asahina — a seemingly flawless girl who turns to theatre as a way to forget her struggles and the persona she adopts.

unit mainstory: tba

diminuendo.

a group of diligent and highly gifted students attending tenma academy of the arts.

↬ nene kusanagi — a timid girl with an extreme talent for singing and a passion to continue pursuing music.

↬ tsukasa tenma — the eldest son of the family that owns tenma academy, focused solely on becoming a star.

↬ honami mochizuki — a soft-spoken percussionist who desires to create music with others once again.

↬ kanade yoisaki — the daughter of a composer, and a very skilled one herself.

unit mainstory: tba

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you���re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 2-Anal Sex-Hisoka/Kurapika

Notes: Inspired by this fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34288258 (Carousel, Roller Coaster, by Laylah)

which I literally love so much. And also the crazy energy of this odd paringing. Also btw Kurapika is nineteen in this, which I think is canon?? I'm not sure.

…

It was cold. There was no wind, the air just sitting cold and still, as if it was waiting for something. Kurapikas phone was heavy in his pocket, matching the apprehension in his heart. This was a terrible idea. 

The large sign marking the entrance of the abandoned theme park mocked him, the painted head of a clown a dreadful reminder of the man he was here to meet. Kurapika needed information desperately, and if Hisoka held that which he needed, he would do anything for it. Stealing himself, Kurapika takes a deep breath and crosses the threshold into the park. 

Its long since abandoned, rust decorated each and every surface. The path is still intact, but peeling and worn with age. Kurapika treks forward, through the sad landscape of broken rides and general decrepitness. Nature has long ago staked its claim on this park, and twisting tree roots stick out oddly among the sharp metal of the abandoned rides. Kurapika passes what had once been a teacup ride, bushes and tall grasess bright against the dark red rust. Only a few of the teacups remain standing, the rest tilting awkwardly or laying upside down in the dirt. 

Somewhere, something creaks in the distance. Kurapika turns, surveying his landscape for Hisoka. He should be easy to spot, his hair should be bright against the darkness, but Kurapika sees nothing. Shaking his head, he moves forward.

A carousel they had agreed on. That was the symbol he should look for, the symbol Hisoka had told him to look for. He would be there. He had to be. Kurapika moves forward, his steps hesitant as he moves farther and farther into the darkness. 

Hisoka is a strange man. Both threatening and strangely charming, he moved with the light assurance of somewith with much more battle experience than Kurapika could have. He was a shaky ally, but the best one Kurapika could hope to have at the moment. It wasn't ideal, and Kurapikas brain still niggled at him, wondering what Hisoka could want from him in exchange. 

Finally, the carousel came into view. And on it, perched delicately one of the horses sat the man himself. 

A card whistled through the air, and Kurapikas watched as it hit the ground softly, joining a few dozen other cards. The crisp sound of cards being shuffled cut through the midnight air and Kurapika came to a stop about ten feet away from the carousel.

“You're early,” Hisoka says, flicking another card onto the nonsensical pile. “That eager to see me?”

Kurapika tenses, pulling his aura into a defensive stance. Hisoka doesn't seem to be hostile, right now anyway. He flicks another card, this one whistling past Kurapikas ear, his mouth curved into a small smirk.

“I'm not here to fight,” Kurapika says, falling into a defensive stance just in case. Hisoka is much more powerful than him, but he has ways to flee at least.

Hisoka laughs. “Not at all?” he coos, cards vanishing somewhere into his strange outfit. “I would so love to tangle with you.” 

The implications of that sentence hang in the air, and Kurapika scoffs. 

“Let's just get right to the point,” Kurapika shouts, raising his voice to bridge the distance between them. It's inconvenient, but getting too close to Hisoka is a danger for multiple reasons, both physical and mental. 

“Tell me about the troupe members.” Kurapika says. Hisoka chuckles, dropping gently from his perch upon the horse.

“Right now?” He asks, moving slowly towards Kurapika. He does his best not to flinch as he stops about ten feet away, leaning against the metal railing of the carousel, feet inches away from the discarded cards. He begins to pick them up gingerly, using his nen to fly them directly into his hands.

“You want me to give away such sensitive information for free?” Hisoka says. Kurapika frowns.

“Yes,” Kurapika says. 

“I'm afraid that just won't do,” Hisoka coos. “This is the wrong place to give such sensitive information away in such an open place. Anyone would be able to spy on our rather important conversation, you see.”

Kurapika considers the implications, drawing the pause as long as possible. It was extremely risky to go to some undisclosed locations with Hisoka. 

“How do I know this is even worth it?” Kurapika asks across the distance between them. “Why would I follow you to another more enclosed location, with nothing but your dubious word to guide me.”

Hisoka smiles. “You came all the way out here, simply on a text promise.” He chuckles. “You must be really desperate.”

Something sits heavy in his voice, an alluring quality heavy in the word desperate. Kurapika clenches his teeth, slowly loosening his fists as a kind of ache starts in his body. He is desperate, and he hates that Hisoka knows.

“I need insurance,” He says. “Why would you even help me like this?”

Hisoka flicks the last of his cards away, and finally meets Kurapika's eyes. Those yellow cat-like pupils trace his body, leaving trails of fire as they run up and down his figure, landing squarely on Kurapiaks gray eyes. Kurapika controls his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. Hisoka finally smiles.

“I believe you and I can help each other.” He says, “After all, our goals are a bit difficult to achieve all by ourselves?”

“Are you suggesting an alliance?” Kurapika asks. 

“A partnership of sorts,” Hisoka replies, eyes locked into Kurapikas gray ones. His direct stare muddles Kurapiaks mind in a way he doesn’t like.

“What even is your goal?” Kurapika questions into the silence. “I need to know if i'm going to agree to this partnership.”

Hisoka is silent for a moment. A slight breeze rushes through the clearing, tossing Kurapikas suit jacket and ruffling Hisoka’s bright hair. The man runs a hand through it to smooth it down, muscled arms highlighted by the moonlight. 

“I want to fight the boss,” He says. Somehow, this makes a lot of sense. Kurapika considers his options as they sink into silence. Hisoka simply leans back against the metal fence, letting him think. 

The truth is, Kurapika only has a few options, and this one is quickly rising through the others to claim first place. His only other option really is to interrogate the giant they had in custody, and Kurapika doubted that would work. The troupe members seemed quite loyal to one another. Almost all of them anyway. Kurapika eyes the fourth ‘spider’ across from him. Hisoka has ties to no one but himself, but if Kurapika could draw a little loyalty out of him, or at least some information, it would be worth it. 

“Alright,” He says, “I'll enter this partnership with you.”

Hisoka smiles, pleasant all of a sudden.

“How lovely!” he says, moving towards Kurapika at a slow, measured pace. His heels click against the concrete until he stands before him. Hisoka is tall, at least a foot taller than Kurapika and he looms over him. Kurapiuka stands tall, looking up at the man before him, and down at the hand he offers. Taking a deep breath, Kurapika shakes the devil's hand.

It's a simple handshake, but Kurapika feels Hisokas fingers almost caress his own, nails scraping his palm as he draws away, smiling almost too pleasantly. 

“Well then,” He says with a smile, moving towards the entrance of the abandoned theme park. “I know just the place we can discuss in private.”

Kurapika follows him, watching as he almost dances across the pavement. 

“What about your payment?” Kurapika asks in the silence as they walk out of the theme park and onto the almost empty streets. This feels too reckless, too dangerous. Hisoka slows, allowing Kurapika to catch up to him. Kurapika eyes him up and down, the curve of his back, the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Why don't we discuss that later?” He coos, slipping a clawed hand around Kurapikas waist.

Kurapika shivers, but allows Hisoka to lead him down the street. It's best, he assures himself. Shoving down the little voice in his head that yells at him, begging him not to give into the alluring tone of Hisoka's voice, the seductive movements, the way he moves. Kurapika knows he isn't giving in. this is just a business meeting he assures himself, as they stroll down the street and into the light.

♠ ♣ ♥ ♦

It happens when they're at their destination, the lobby of a small dingy motel. They have their back to the door, and Kurapika is standing blankly beside Hisoka as he talks to the pretty receptionist, silently really glad he had decided to wear a normal suit to work today instead of his normal tunic. A suite stuck out in the mostly empty lobby, but his tunic would have been worse. Hisoka stuck out like a sore thumb or course, but there was nothing to be done about that.

The motel was worse for wear, peeling wallpaper lining the walls. Kurapika could see dust settled on the few dingy armchairs occupying the lobby. A lone man sits in the corner, smoking a large cigar. The place is dingy and run down, the perfect place to conduct business like theirs. 

They take the room card from the receptionists when it happens.

“Hisoka? That you?” a voice calls from behind them. They both turn, and Kurapika takes in the two figures standing across from them. A tall man with long black hair, tied back into a long ponytail. He wears long robes, and Kurapika can see a sheathed sword resting on his waist. 

The girl is short, with brilliant blue eyes and maroon hair tied back into a shaggy ponytail. Her clothes resemble her partners, but end high on her thighs. She looks tired. Kurapika knows, almost instinctively, that these two are members of the phantom troupe. He wills his chains to vanish, and takes deep, calming breaths. Hisoka chuckles.

“Machi and Nobunaga, what a surprise?” he says, voice full of a cruel kind of amusement. “What are the two of you doing at a place like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” The man, Nobunaga says. His voice is full of suspicion. The girl, Machi, just looks tired.

“You told the boss you were meeting someone,” Nobunaga continues, and Kurapika breathes deeply as his eyes fall onto him. “I suppose this is the lovely lady you were so eager to meet then?”

Hisoka coughs, muffling a laugh behind it. Kurapika rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” Hisoka says, clear enough to answer the question, vague enough not to give anything away. Kurapika would have applauded him, if he wasn't fighting back the urge to let his bloodlust go. His targets were right in front of him, their guards down, it would be so easy to take one. But he resists, eyes glazing over as he tunes back into the conversation. Nobunaga is glaring at Hisoka.

“I get your little date thing is important or whatever, but you need to stop skipping meetings.” Nobunaga says, glaring at Hisoka. Hisoka just shrugs, all blase. 

“Yes, of course.” He says. It's an empty promise, and everyone knows it, but they all ignore it as he continues. Kurapika tries not to flinch as Hisoka’s arm winds itself around his waist. Their bodies are suddenly pressed close, too close for his sanity. Deep breaths.

In, and out. In, and out.

Machi sighs. “This is a waste of time, Nobunaga.” she says. “Let's just go.”

Nobunaga frowns, protesting.

“Wait, Hisoka needs to introduce us to his pretty lady friend.” He says, smirking. Machi sighs.

“Ugh, do we need to?” she says, tapping her foot impatiently. “And anyway, that ‘pretty lady friend’ is a man.”

Silence fell for a moment, while Hisoka muffled laughter into his hand. Kurapika frowns, a little curious.

“How did you know?” He directs at the girl, proud of how no hostility shows in his voice. Machi sighs.

“Wasn't it obvious?”

“No,” Nobunaga says, frowning. Machi just heaves a deep sigh. 

“Whatever,” She says, “unlike you, i really could care less about who Hisoka fucks in his spare time.”

Kurapika flinches, his ears heating red as he banishes any stray images from his mind. Nobunaga chokes. Hisoka chuckles.

“Unfortunately, this is just business.” He says, sunwinding his arm from Kurapikas waist, and slipping the room card into a hidden pocket. Kurapika tries not to linger too much on the word unfortunately. Nobunaga looks back and forth between them, his black eyes looking too closely at Kurapikas gray ones. Machi sighs.

“Yeah sure, if that's what you want to call your ‘escapades’.” She says, grabbing Nobunaga's arms and dragging him towards the exit. Nobunaga gives them a half hearted wave, still looking back and forth between Hisoka and Kurapika. Kurapika doesn’t relax until the door closes behind them.

Hisoka chuckles.

“I do so love watching you tremble with anger like that,” he coos, moving towards the dirty stairs. Kurapika glares, following close behind him as they move the dingy stairs and enter the second floor. 

♠ ♣ ♥ ♦

The motel room is as dingy as the lobby had been. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, and Kurapika could spot several dubious stains on the carpet. At least the bed looked clean, not like they were going to use that. Kurapika perches gingerly on the worm couch, watching as Hisoka slings his long body over the armchair across from him, crossing his legs neatly. How the man manages to look so calm at all times is beyond him. Kurapika coughs, trying to ignore their setting and maintain his dignity.

“So,” He starts, sliding his suit jacket off and onto the couch beside him. “Give me the information you promised.”

Hisoka smirks. “Eager, aren't we?” He says, far too casual and teasing for Kurapikas liking. Kurapika smooths the cuffs of his button down to distract himself. 

“I know you don't take anything seriously, but this information is very important to me,” Kurapika grumbles, sinking back into the cushions of the couch as Hisoka lets out a wry chuckle.

“How rude,” He says, almost pouting. “I take this matter very seriously indeed.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes. “The information, please.” He tries again. Hisoka chuckles,

“Fine then,” He says. “There are thirteen spiders, but I'm sure you know that. They come and go, and can be replaced at a moment's notice.”

Kurapika nods, pulling a small notebook from his pocket and taking down the information. Hisoka eyes it with a smirk as he continues.

“I can tell you seven of the troupe members' abilities,” He says, and Kurapika watches in slight awe as he spins a card on the tip of his finger. “I'm afraid that's all I know of their abilities. I haven't actually been involved with the phantom troupe for that long.”

“That's fine,” Kurapika says, pen tapping against the paper of his notebook. 

Hisoka smirks, flicking a card onto the table. The ace of hearts. 

“Hold on now,” He says. “What of my payment?”

Kurapika freezes. “What do you want?”

Hisoka smirks, his head tilting to the side and a finger coming up to tap his jawline. 

“Oh, I don't know.” He muses, almost teasing. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”

Kurapika freezes, desperation and pride waring inside him. He needs this information, so bad. He feels as if he's a mouse, caught in a carefully placed trap, while Hisoka the cat looms over him, batting him back and forth in his clawed paws. Toying with his prey. Kurapika feels trapped, and he hates the twinge of excitement that comes with that.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind that taunts him. Because, as much as he loathes the man in front of him, a small part of him is desperately, shamefully attracted to him. To the arch of his body, the power lurking beneath the skin, his alluring voice, his handsome face underneath all of that curious makeup. He practically oozes sex appeal, and as much as Kurapika does his best to ignore it, it's at times like these where it's suddenly too prominent. 

“Just tell me what you want,” Kurapika says, annoyance tinging his voice. Hisoka simply smiles, his tongue running across his bottom lip.

A card wishes by Kurapikas ear, embedding the couch right beside his head as Hisoka speaks.

“You,” He simply says, and Kurapika shivers as the card falls from the couch fabric, and lands in his lap.

It's the ace of hearts.

How ironic.

He considers it sitting there in his lap, taunting him with its cheeky little red heart. Kurapika wishes he had the strength to rebuke Hisoka, to show annoyance or disgust on his face, even if it's fake. But he can't. Maybe he's too transparent, maybe Hisoka had him pinned from the start. He looks up at the man lounging across from him, tracing the casual posture, one hand still flicking cards about, the other outstretched. Hisoka crooks his finger, beaconing Kurapika forward. Kurapika takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment, and stands. 

“This will stay between us, correct?” he says. Hisoka simply smiles, rising to his feet. 

“Of course.” He coos. “Who would I tell?”

Kurapika knows it's theoretical, but he still glares. The others can know. How could they know? How could they understand? Gon wouldnt understand. He would frown in confusion and encourage Kurapika in his endeavors, but he wouldn't understand. Leorio certainly wouldn't understand. He would frown and question Kurapika on his methods, raising an eyebrow at the partnership with Hisoka. Killua might understand bits and pieces, but he was too young to understand the sex bit. Arguably the most controversial bit.

“Please,” Kurapika grinds out, and meeting the yellow eyes of the man across from him, he sticks out his hand for a handshake. “Promise me, you won't tell a soul.”

They stand a few feet apart, separated only by heavy air. Hisoka regards him, his stiff posture and the emotions probably swirling in his eyes with a strange look on his face, something close to sympathy in his yellow eyes. He sighs.

“Very well then,” He says, gripping Kurapikas hand in a firm shake. Kurapikas posture sinks in relief, as Hisoka continues. “I promise not to tell anyone of out little deal.”

The relief is fast through Kurapikas veins, but it is replaced just as quickly as Hisoka takes advantage of their locked hands, yanking Kurapika forward into a kiss.

Hisoka kisses as expected. His lips caress Kurapikas, doing their best to muddle his mind, confuse his senses and draw little embarrassing noises out of his throat. Kurapikas hands grip the odd costume he wears, almost against his will. Hisoka's own hands wind around his body, one rooted firmly in Kurapika's golden hair, the other tracing his waist. Kurapika hates how easily he falls apart under the light caresses. He was supposed to have more spine than this. He was supposed to show a bit of resistance.

Kurapika bites back a groan as Hisokas lips leave his own, as they instead trail down onto his neck. He should forbid hickeys, but he can't quite bring himself to. 

“How eager,” Hisoka coos, as Kurapika bucks against him. Kurapika groans, one hand winding up to yank Hisokas red hair.

“Fuck you,” Kurapika murmurs, voice too lust ridden for his liking. Hisoka chuckles.

“Maybe later,” His coos, yanking Kurapikas hair to the side and sucking a rough hickey below his ear. A groan escapes Kurapikas clenched teeth. 

“The information,” He says, his voice almost a moan. Hisoka smiles against his neck, and pulls away. Kurapika is left cold and trembling, shamefully hungry for more. Hisoka still looks put together, if a little mussed up. He sauters away, motioning for Kurapika to follow him towards the bed.

“Yes, of course.” Hisoka says, pulling his green top over his shoulders. Kurapika watches it fall to the floor, followed shortly by the rest of his strange outfit. Hisoka is left almost completely bare, his tight boxers doing nothing to hide the hard edge of his cock, the curves of his ass. Kurapika yanks his eyes up, across the places of muscle and to Hisoka’s knowing smile. 

“The girl you saw earlier, Machi.” Hisoka starts, gesturing at Kurapikas button down. Kurapika obeys, hesitantly letting his pants and button down join Hisokas garments, strewn on the hotel floor tellingly. He feels cold and vulnerable in his bare skin as Hisoka manhandles him over, almost tossing him onto the bed. Kurapika ignores the twinges of arousal at the show of strength and eggs him on.

“Her ability?” He says, watching as Hisoka crawls forward on the covers, all deadly muscle and lust.

“Nen stitches,” Hisoka says, big hands wrapping around Kurapikas waist, and flipping him over. Kurapikas face hits the comforter with a smack, his ass high in the air. His cheeks heat with mortification, even as his cock twitches in his underwear. Hisoka smirks.

“She's able to quite accurately stick body parts and injuries together, not to mention how it applies in combat.” Hisoka continues, hands smoothing over Kurapikas underwear, pulling the waistband down to his knees. Kurapika muffles a moan into the comforter as Hisoka roughly slips a sharp nailed finger into his ass.

“The other girl is clever,” Hisoka continues as if they're not all tangled up on the bed, wrecked with arousal. “She's quite good at thinking on her feet. An interesting one to fight to be sure.” 

Kurapika groans, cock twitching as Hisoka adds another finger, stretching him open.

“Hurry up,” He murmurs. “We don't have much time.”

“Aw, really?” Hisoka coos, other hand smoothing rather gently over Kurapikas hair. He hates the slight tenderness, it makes his heart stutter. 

“Just get it over with.” Kurapika moans, trying to disguise the obvious lust in his voice. Hisoka chuckles, and removes his fingers from inside him. Kurapika feels empty for a moment, his hole and cock pulsing with anticipation. He hears rustling behind him as Hisoka continues.

“The angry blond one is an enhancer, but he prefers using his bare hands,” Hisoka says, and Kurapika feels a hot thing pressing against his ass. Hisoka is big, he can see as he twists his head around to take in the picture. He looms over him, his eyes alight with lust and excitement. Kurapika hates how attractive he finds him. 

“And the other man, Nobunaga.” Hisoka says, voice catching a little as he presses forward, sliding his hot cock into Kurapikas empty hole. Kurapika groans, booths hands knotting into the white fabric of the hotel bed, muffling more moans and cries into the bed sheets. Hisoka lets out a small grunt, a sign of his slipping composure. Kurapika would be proud, if he wasn't currently overwhelmed with pleasure. Hisoka is big, stretching out his walls and filling him almost completely. He feels his body pulse in time with his heart, matching the pulsing of Hisokas cock, shoved deep inside him. 

“What about Nobunaga?” Kurapika manages, body trembling under Hisokas touch. 

“Yes,” Hisoka grunts. “He's close with the big guy, quite skilled with a sword.”

Kurapika nods, mouth open in a moan.

This information is really interesting, if only he was coherent enough to ask more questions. Kurapika is trembling, his back arched as Hisoka thrusts in and out, setting a deep, rough pace. His clawed hands are wrapped around Kurapikas thin waist, controlling his pace as he fucks him. In and out, in and out, brushing against that spot with every thrust. Teasing him, ruining him, driving him crazy. 

Kurapika can feel himself teetering on the edge of an orgasm. He hates it, hates how badly he wants to come, hates how willingly he fell, hates how he desires more. He opens his eyes, and looks back. Hisoka is looming above him, body tensing with each powerful thrust into him. His hair has fallen from its hairstyle, and the bright red stands sway in front of his hazy yellow eyes. They tickle his neck, and tangle in the sweat visible on his forehead. Looming over him like this, lust heavy in his face and sweat soaking his body, he looks far to human for Kurapikas liking.

“Gonna come,” Kurapika grunts out, cock twitching against the rough fabric of the bed sheets. Hisoka smirks, hand winding around his body to grip Kurapikas weeping cock in his large hands.

“Already?” he coos, hand slowly, teasingly, jerking him off. “How eager.”

Kurapika rolls his eyes, his pride begging for him to fight, but his desperation winning over. Her just moans, body trembling in pleasure. Hisoka smirks.

“Beg,” He commands, leaning his body down to press Kurapika farther into the covers. His breath tickles Kurapika's neck, the strands of his hair mixing with Kurapikas, like fire among straw. Kurapika groans.

“God i fucking hate you,” He groans. Hisoka's hand covers his own, knotting deeper into the fabric of the comforter.

“Come on now, it's not that hard,” He murmurs, hand slowly torturously driving Kurapika closer and closer to orgasm. “Just beg.”

Kurapika feels the strands of his sanity slipping farther and farther away. His rational self commands him to ignore this indecency, to hold out at least until Hisoka himself relents. But his desperation wins out. Kurapika lets go of the last of his pride.

“Please Hisoka,” He begs, the humiliation running through his veins, tangling with the pleasure in a heady cocktail of arousal. “Make me come.”

Hisoka laughs, a harsh breath tickling his ear. 

“You're so pretty when you beg,” His coos, “so pretty when you say my name.”

Kurapika moans, as Hisoka adjusts his angle, and hits the spot the lights stars behind Kurapika's eyes. His body is alight with pleasure as he comes, his back arching and his mouth open in a loud moan. He thinks he cries Hisokas name. He doesn't care.

Hisoka grips his hair tightly, the last of his strokes hitting just right and prolonging Kurapika's orgasm as the other man comes with a groan as well, warm liquid filling him. Kurapika knows he groans the damn clown's name, he knows he comes again as Hisoka’s hand wraps around his neck, but he can't bring himself to care as his body sings with pleasure. 

He can hear the shower running when he finally comes down out of his haze of pleasure.

Quietly, Kurapika stumbles to his feet, body sore and aching. He needs to get out, get back to work, leave his sins behind him. The shower is still running when he escapes, a slight limp in his step and the knowing thought that he will be back for more. .....

Endnotes: ik ships(especially rairpairs)do better on ao3, but i hope you enjoyed!

[taintandviolent]

Happy, Happy Valentine's! 💜💗💚 How do you think some of your favorite fic boys would celebrate V-Day with their partner??

Happy Happy Happy Valentine's Day to you anon!!! Oooooh, how cuuuuute! Okay, I've only done headcanons once before, so hopefully these aren't too terrible! I was going to say Nosferatu but I have no idea how he'd celebrate Valentine's Day, besides just drinking your blood. That monster does not have the emotional wherewithal for holidays. Soo......

James March, Jimmy Darling, Eric Draven, Roman Godfrey, Eric Draven, Oz Cobb V-Day headcanons below the cut!

Old fashioned romantic, ooouf. James is happy to let you know of the history of Valentine's Day, right off the bat. He takes a sick fascination in seeing the color draining from your face. Anyway, onto the romantic side; he is for sure workin' Ms. Evers to the bone to create the perfect dinner for you two, maybe something fancy and very 1920s like Oysters Rockefeller or something! He would've sent for the perfect Valentine's Day card, and signed it in his frighteningly pretty penmanship. Then, after dinner, he'd worship your perfect body in every way he knows how, ever fighting the urge to create his own Valentine's Day massacre.

LOVER!!! BIG LOVER!!! Jimmy goes all out asking you to be his Valentine. Early in the morning, before you're awake, he rides his motorcycle to the nearest bakery and gets you some cupcakes, or maybe a big pretty pink cake, adorned with strawberries. A dozen red roses, too. How he managed to carry all that while driving is a mystery. He has Eve draw up two V-Day cards, one from him, and one from the troupe. Even though he thinks his handwriting is horrible, he writes you a sweet message -- which is sappy and sweeter than the cake he delivers it with. I feel like you two would share a slow, intimate dance in the tent, or maybe in the field by the carousel before he takes you back to his trailer and shows you want lovin' is.

Oh sweet boy. Eric is waking you up with a flurry of kisses, a box of chocolates and and flowers and a hand-drawn card that features a portrait of you sleeping naked on the inside. The card likely features some broody, love-drenched poetry that he poured his heart into. He's showering you with love and affection all day long (like he does every day), whatever you to do, even if its just something simple like going to the grocery store to get dinner for the night. Maybe he's booked an appointment with Chase for you two go get match heart tattoos as a little treat, and Eric holds your hand the whole time.

I want to say that Roman is a romantic, but he probably can't be fucking bothered and assumes that you're going to be his Valentine - whatever the fuck that means - regardless, just because he's him and he fucks you so good all the time. He might send for a bouquet of red roses, but doesn't bother personalizing the card in any way, so it's a generic typed Happy Valentine's Day! He'll fuck you in his car or in his house, and the day will end, just like any other day. Maybe you'll get him to say I love you. Maybe. Don't hold your breath though.

Oz.... Oz is old fashioned and such a lover boy that he's going to schmooze you all day long in the most ostentatious ways he knows how. Because money and taking care of you are his love languages, he'll have a ginormous bouquet of roses delivered to your home or workplace, complete with a personalized note, instructing you to wear something pretty for dinner tonight. He'll take you out for dinner, somewhere really fancy that you know he had to pull some strings to get reservations for. Best wine/champagne, and the dishes -- he'll make sure you order whatever you want. Naturally, he's got another gift for you and scoots back his chair to put it around your neck. After dinner, he'll drive you around for a bit, his big hand stroking your silk-covered thigh across the center console. Then, he'll take you back to his apartment and make you feel good. Really good. This man is a touch-starved body worshipper, idc what anyone says.

[eggy-agere]

I wish there were more posts about Rui and his fear of letting people in, especially in regards to his regression. I do not believe Rui would openly tell people about his age regression, in fact I think he’d go out of his way to hide it. He’s so scared of being perceived as weirder or different by the people who already accept the rest of him, he doesn’t want to test how far he can push it. Sure, he’d love for his troupe to be there and take care of him, but the thought makes his heart race a little too fast and mind spin like a rickety carousel. It’s best to just keep it to himself, lest he be judged by the closest people he has…

[srasdoesthings]

[Friday 11:07 PM] - Tsukasa’s Room, Tenma Household:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

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“Hahaha, You fools! You have been led straight into my trap!” Chest puffed out, arms raised proudly, one to his chest and the other outstretched to the audience. Or, rather, where the audience would be. The act is dropped immediately, a look of frustration cast over him.

He could not do much in his room, not this late at night. This was the grand moment, the climax of this play and whisper-shouting was not doing it any justice.

He sighs and collapses on the bed. He should have started practicing early, but he had spent the late afternoon sleeping until dinnertime. (Though, it was wel;l-earned. School was finally over, so forgive him if he wanted to begin summer with a well-deserved break!) And after dinner was all his chores to finish, so Tsukasa did not have time to focus on practicing.

They’ve done this show multiple times before so he wasn’t all too worried about it, but he would have liked having a good practice run before the show tomorrow.

“Tsukasa-kun~” Oh yeah. How could he have forgotten?

He rolls over to where he had plugged in his phone. Miku’s small form greets him, projected from the screen. Her silly smile brightens further when his eyes land on her. “Hello! Was practice fun? Are you ready for a super duper fun show tomorrow?!”

He smiles tiredly. “Not really. I wasn’t able to practice much.”

“Too loud?”

“Don’t wanna wake anymore.”

Miku rocks back and forth with her heels, a soft pout on her lips. “Then! Why don’t you come practice in the Sekai? It’s Tsukasa-kun’s world, after all. Yours to mold and use~”

“Isn’t it our troupe’s now, though?” They all have made their mark on the Sekai. It can’t just be his.

“Hmm~ Maybe.” Miku flashes a grin. “But the most important person is Tsukasa-kun! This was all made for you, after all!” Tsukasa plays the [Untitled song] and melts into a flash of dissipating bright light.

Right. This world was born on that day, many many years ago. From a show, resounding applause, and the bright smile of his sister. Everything from the floating carousel, the flying train, and the large show tent, they were born from him, his desire to perform and bring smiles to his loved ones. To bring joy to the world.

The Sekai was an expression of this desire. So then, it was not selfish to use it for this goal, right?

This was to bring a smile to everyone.

Tsukasa walks hand in hand with Miku, practically dragged through his Sekai as he absently observes the world he’s created. From the fluffy living clouds, past the Giant Ferris wheel, they cross the Sekai to a flower field. A large meadow with singing flowers.

The flowers were usually more loud, cheery melodies filling the air. Not tonight though. The flowers hummed a soft, peaceful tune, and hearing it put the stirring feeling in Tsukasa’s chest to a simmer.

Calm.

He could not stop himself from falling to his knees and laying on the meadow.

“Hehe~ Silly Tsukasa-kun, weren't you supposed to be practicing?” Miku giggles behind him, but she too knees down. The virtual singer takes her place beside him bringing him to a cuddle he reciprocates. They look up to the sekai’s grand sky.

The sky was more lively at night, he thinks. Though, it could be the many many balloons being clearer when floating in the inky abyss. Aurora lights bounce off against them, creating a magnificent color show.

Even further from the balloons and the aurora lights were the stars. They were faint, lost in the sea of bright colorful lights, but they were there. Watching over them.

He reaches out for them, remembering doing the same many times with his troupemates and the thought fills him with warmth. Another hand joins his. Miku smiles at him. “Reach for the stars,” she grins goofily before mellowing to a serious tone. “”I know you all will reach them someday," An earnest belief in their dreams.

“Thank you, Miku.”

They lay there for a bit, looking up at the stars, the balloons and Aurora light’s dance of colors, the flying train’s blazing trail through the sky, thick puffs of smoke billowing after it. Simply basking in the Sekai’s magnitude. The singing Flower’s calming song resounds.

The wonderland Sekai is such a fun place. He truly wishes he could share this with the world.

And to do that- “Alright.” He pushes himself off the ground, vigor reignited. He needs to practice, even just a little bit. He needs to get it right for tomorrow.

Miku doesn’t get up, instead rolling to her stomach and watching him, amused. “Tsukasa-kun looks fired up~”

“Yes.” He closes his eyes and feels for the character. He could not relate to his character’s feeling of boredom, but he could understand their thirst for adventure. The want for an exciting life. And he needs to share that want with the audience.

He focuses on that need and thinks of it as his journey to being a star, into the unknown with his crew of wacky but lively troupe. There are ups and downs, and moments of absolute hilarity, and that’s what is important.

Being with them, laughing with them, and growing with them.

He opens his eyes and breathes out. With his audience keenly watching and his set of singing flowers, he recites his first line. “Haah, how boring…”

[fantasyfair]

-When The Merry Go Round Broke Down-

From his extensive photo collection of places largely rumored to be haunted, to thorough discussions of urban legends and conspiracies, 13 year old Johnny Fenton’s passion for the peculiar leads him and his closest friends, Axel, Terrence and Karl, to the historical HappiDale Amusement Park - and it’s oldest, most infamous attraction, the Mismarvelous Merry Go’ Round.

To most, the attraction isn’t anything special; nothing more than another rusting clone of a classic children’s ride.

But for others, there is something beneath the carousel’s faded surface.

By the park’s most sternly upheld rule, the Mismarvelous Merry Go’ Round is never - under any circumstances - to be open to guests. Despite this however, the ride is unceasingly in operation, endlessly spinning through day and night. Management claims that due to the ride’s age, it is best kept in constant motion to prevent any damage that could occur with change in its operative cycle.

But with their certainty of a greater, unknown truth to the carousel, Johnny and his friends secretly plan amongst each other to sneak into the park at night for a closer look at the carousel for themselves. However, as they need someone to drive them there, they present their wish of going to HappiDale to their families as solely for the amusement park itself, keeping their ulterior motives on the low.

Katelynn, a young college girl and trusted friend of Johnny and his family, agrees to take him and his friends to HappiDale while their families are occupied with work. Johnny’s younger sister, Jodie, eagerly wishes to join the group upon overhearing that they are going to an amusement park, which leads to Johnny’s mother requiring that he bring her along, despite his reluctance to do so. Once they arrive at HappiDale and spend a typical experience there during the day, Johnny and his friends follow through with their plans to sneak back into the park at night and make their way to the carousel. And just as they thought they would be the ones to crack Happidale’s darkest secret, their unwarranted tinkering causes the Merry Go’ Round to break down - causing an ominous turn in events they couldn’t of possibly imagined to become reality. As the eleven painted clowns along the arches of the carousel emerge from their prolonged imprisonment and come to life, the misfortunate group of friends are met with Marianne “Mari” Merry Go’ Round and her Troupe - who now, thanks to them, are free to spread mayhem to the world once again. While the group is left scrambling to fix the mess they started, unexpectedly, Mari develops a fondness for Johnny, planning to make him the newest member of her “family” - no matter what it takes.

[ceciliadreamson]

Ok so I kinda need help on making OCs again

I just started Dream BBQ and finished the route with the human board and I SOOOO BADLY WANNA MAKE AN OC

ofc I’m making an ENA sona (Idol/Dummy or Idol/Manager) but that’s not what I need help with surprisingly! It’s making an non-ENA oc that’s tripping me up

I have concepts but none of them seem absurd or weird enough for the Dream BBQ universe. I thought about looking at memes and trends back when I was younger for inspo (like fan fic troupes or typical AUs to take inspo from). I thought about making an OC off of Hanahaki, the red string of fate, and the personality of Black Forest Cookie because it seemed like a good combo, but also it doesn’t seem like enough?

I also thought of a wind up ballerina with a moving carousel skirt and has a voice of a music box, then I fell flat when it came to thinking of a personality. Feel free to chuck ideas at my head for more ideas cause I’m running out

There’s this really cool OC I saw based on the You’re an Idiot virus and that’s the level of creativity and oddity I’m striving for cause man that’s hella cool

As a side note, the ENA sona will def take inspo from that stupid things I’ve said like “half a dome is a circle” which is were dummy could’ve came (i then realized that the sides of ENA were pretty much complete opposite of each other and that Idol/Dummy would be a little too similar)

[ribbon-sweet]

hey, i'm not sure what you meant by sending asks about the shuffle units, but i'll try anyways.

about minori, from CONFECTIONERY♪CAROUSEL!!! – it says she dreamt of becoming an idol, but chose theater as another way of making others smile.

did she give up being an idol due to lack of results? does she still regret not having been able to become one?

yeah!! after failing so many shes like eeeeehg ok. she wasnt going to give up but her motivation was slowing a bit until she got the opportunity to join the troupe! id say shes probably a little upset about not being able to become an idol but still really enjoys theatre

[unconditionalcaretaker]

Dream Journal, Jan 29, 2025

I'm staying with a group of friends in Philadelphia. We're all going to be in some play. They are excited. I'm not. A few days in, I'm tired of their antics, and go back to our hotel room alone. Outside the picture windows, I see the blue of an overcast sky descending into dusk, and the lights of the city. We're at least 20 stories up, as high as my old dorm room. And there's someone trying to get into the window. I see them go by, walking too quickly to see, and then there's banging on the glass, from behind the curtained area. The sound of wailing. I'm fucking terrified. No one should be out there. I think I recognize the voice after a while. It's an old man from our acting troupe. But I don't want him to get in. I don't think it's him, or I don't think it's safe, and I'll be alone with him if he does come in. Maybe I should let him in. I realize that one of the windows is a door, and it's locked from the outside but not the inside. He probably went out. There's probably a balcony. But I'm too scared to let him in. I'm not even sure how to open the door, honestly. He manages it himself. Somehow, he unlocks the door and burst into the room. He's very cross with me. "Why didn't you let me in?" "I didn't know how. I'm so sorry." Clearly, he doesn't believe me. "What kind of person doesn't know how to open a door?" He pushes past me into the bathroom. It's a huge room, meant for all of us to prepare at once. Like a backstage. A row of lights glow down over a long, continuous mirror. Why can I never get away from mirrors, I think. The man is fussing over his appearance. He's old and wizened, with a bushy white beard and a beer belly. I realize he's very drunk. "You know, I could have died out there." He explains to me, or I see in flashes, that his foot was caught in the railing, and that was the only reason he didn't fall to his death. I feel horrible. I keep apologizing but he doesn't care. "What kind of a person doesn't know how to let someone into a room?" He keeps saying it. I go back into the bedroom. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and in an effort to distract him, I start finding his costume for the play. Blue velvet slippers with gold latches. A rust-colored pinstriped shirt. But he comes into the bedroom holding a newspaper, complaining that he has been recast as someone else and needs a new costume. I'd better go get one. I go out the glass balcony door only to find that it opens onto a rural place. A dirt road stretches away among fields of little yellow flowers and sagebrush, under an eggshell-blue sky. They're sparse - I'm in the desert around my childhood home. And there's a little house behind me. I know somehow that the people who live here are very religious. Things begin to blow towards me, riding on the dust. A white blanket embroidered with words. Clothing. A horse walks out of the house then, and as it does, I hear a voice, coming from the people who live there but probably just in my mind. "You will find what you need here. God always provides for us. Providence. Abundance." On that last word, I see that the horse is a carousel horse, plastic all except for its long tail, which keeps growing longer and longer. Abundance. The tail is so long now that it's tangled in the railing, even though the horse is walking far away. It's long and snakelike, and it terrifies me. But I know better than to turn away.

[anissapierce]

Actually followed an artist from my main insta instead of my side one that's public and this happened. Bottom image is from my local rocky horror shadow cast troupe and the person playing Frank is pictured. I erased the username. Top image is @haflacky 's carousel of Rockstar lestats with only a shoe showing

[shaydystheshadowqueen]

All Hallows-Midnight Midway

The circus has come to town! But wait…where did it come from? How did it get here so suddenly without anyone noticing? What are those performers doing and why do they look so…unhuman…

Just off the side path between Ghoul City and County Drakul, The Midnight Midway is a small 1920’s style fair and circus. An old wooden sign states “Midnight Midway” and classic carnival games line the entrance area. In the middle of the park, small fair rides for all ages dot the area while to one side food carts serve traditional carny food. Overlooking in the back like an imposing structure is the giant red circus tent lit by yellow lights. Seems like a normal fair right? Well no because there are several off details in every place of the fair: a bloodstain on the Strength Test hammer, “eyeballs” in the carny food, carousel horses with tentacle hair, and the shows can be surprisingly gorey! The feeling is very much on the level of the uncanny valley and that’s the whole concept! A circus that seems normal but isn’t. A mimic designed to trap humans so that the unnatural creatures that run the circus can take your looks (and maybe your skin too!) and wander the world as seemingly normal humans…

Characters

Alongside the various game and ride operators, the acrobats and daredevil in the Big Top show and the clowns that hang around the Fright House, the main characters of the carnival are the main troupe of entertainers and freaks, happy to bring/force a smile on your face. Each one has at least one freakish feature:

Miss Midnight: The ringmaster and owner of the exposition. Dressed in a traditional ringmaster outfit, her face is half normal half twisted with strange impossible illusions. She is seemingly everywhere and nowhere in the carnival and acts as a charismatic lady and host to her vict-guests

Magic Eye Montgomery: The mad magician with unusual eyes and Miss Midnight’s crazy left-hand man. He performs magic shows at The Big Top that often involves dismemberment and transformation. He also has a special job in the Fright House.

Twitch the Clown: The leader of the clown mutants that roam the carnival and Midnight’s “pet”. As his name suggests, he’s prone to twitch and twists into odd configurations and has a large sharp smile.

Bulldog the Barker: A midget that serves as Miss Midnight’s right-hand man, announcing the show starts and alternating with Midnight as the carnival host.

Attraction

The Midway Game: Like any good fair, there are several rows of game booths offering fun skill challenges to win Halloween-themed prize toys. Be sure to spot the hidden horror details in each game!

Turn of Eternity: a classic Turn of the Century swing ride that gives you a wind-wooshing view of the park.

Wheel of Misfortune: Don’t let the name scare you. This Ferris wheel may be a little rickety, but it’s quite gentle and offers a sky-high view toward County Drakul.

Scareosel: Another classic ride, a seemingly normal carousel with slightly unusual horses.

The Fright House: Part funhouse, part horror maze, this is The Midway’s signature maze that offers fun and fright as you start with a simple mechanical funhouse but soon find yourself behind the scenes of the carnival and into a scary world where grotesque beings plan to steal your skin and body parts to blend into the human population.

The Big Top: The main stage of the carnival, here is where classic circus acts meet scary horror theatre. Acrobats fly like bats above the centre ring and our main cast appears to perform their own shows! And yes, there is an opportunity to join their show as a volunteer (thankfully not a permanent member of their act).

Shops and Eateries:

Clowning Around: A small orange and white side tent chock full of circus-themed costumes and a face-painter who will help paint your face to look like a clown! (come to think of it, why doesn’t All Hallows have face painters? They should be in every costume shop!)

Fear Food Alley: A picnic area lined with food trucks offering ghoulish carnival food, including cotton candy with gummy spiders, fried food concoctions, and snow cones with creepy self-serve flavours.

Morbid Magic: A magic shop in a green and yellow tent. Here you can purchase magic tricks, gags, and toys to perform your own creepy magic!

 Sweet Teeth: A classic candy shop specializing in old-fashioned candy that you might find in the 1920s, including honey sticks and sweet drops.

Visit @allhallowsthemepark for more Halloween horror!

edit: changed the name of the park area and the ringmaster.

[gumballavocadoharry]

I wanna HEAR CAROUSAL ON ONE OF YOUR TROUPES!!!!

I think.......bionic Harry!!!!