#space circus performers

[sweetmariihs2]

List of inspirations that I noticed in ✨️The Amazing Digital Circus✨️

an almost-essay (PART 1)

When I watched the first episode for the first time I started to notice several similarities to other subjects that I also like and know, other fandoms and popular things on the internet, and I soon thought about sharing them on Tumblr (which I'm doing now).

I know there will be things that other people have noticed that will be missing from the blog, but I will try to include all the things that I remember recognizing at that moment. Feel free to share them, though!

I don't know the formal names of some things I'm gonna mention, and also my english It's not the best, I'm trying to practice my writing <3

I'll have to divide this blog into two parts because Tumblr doesn't support more than 10 images per blog. grrgrrgr I really wanted to put everything together but I can't. At the end of the blog I will put a link to part 2 and you can continue reading [when i finish the part 2 of course]

1 - Popee the Perfomer

Popee the Performer is a low-budget animation made in 2000, at the time when 3d animation was still a new technology. It's a collection of shorts and they talk about three circus performers' interactions. People found this on the internet in 2021 and they started a new fandom on top of it. What makes this show talked about it's the disturbing situations the characters put themselves through. There are a lot of violent scenes and sometimes the characters die by the end of the episode, but when we go to the next one they're just alive again, and that makes us question if they are living stuck in an eternal loop with no way of getting out of that small circus setting.

The 3d is pretty simple, mostly because it's old, but that makes me think about the connections between PTP and TADG are the aesthetics, the whole "disturbing adult cartoon about serious topics with a children's colorful aesthetic" thing, and also those connections with the Nintendo 64 graphics. I'M GONNA MENTION IT TOO!!

And a part of this fandom also it's part of Raggedy Ann and Andy's fandom. They were pretty close in 2021.

2 - Raggedy Ann And Andy

Ragatha, next one

I'm kidding there's more

Their fandom started around 2021 because the YouTube algorythm just decided that it was time to recommend a video about Raggedy Andy to EVERYONE! And that's how I discovered them too <3 (I WAS THEREEE I WAS THERE). Andy got the main focus and he was everyone's dream boyfriend lol

Also that's completely unrelated but I wanted to say that I'm one of the people whose video was recommended to everyone through YouTube algorythm and helped the fandom to grow even more (I'm so proud of myself guys I'm sorry awnqbehdjwndbwjdnh)

I believe that if that first video that helped me (and more people) to discover them were never recommended to us, maybe Ragatha wouldn't even have that design!! It's alright that Ann is a doll from the 1900s, but the whole "Raggedy Ann And Andy" thing wasn't a fandom topic, they were just normal ragdolls and they were recognized only by grannies and "the anabelle doll" (this one makes me pissed)

3 - Nintendo 64 (and old 3d art)

And this recognition that it is a fandom united this subject to other famous fandoms, leading to the same audience, and this audience is also TADG's audience. I'll talk more about this at the end of the blog! (Edit: Part 2 of the blog. *silently cries*)

And there's this blog:

That low budget 3d aesthetic it's turning really popular recently. I'm not much of an expert on the subject since I don't know much about games, but I recognize it from the old graphics and my biggest reference is Mario 64. There's a good explanation for it being so popular, I have a theory that it's related to liminal spaces, but I'm not sure. Still, it's worth mentioning.... and also that bubble character really looks like chain chomp!!

They're besties

4 - liminal spaces (backrooms and the "dreamcore" aesthetic)

happy balloons because the backrooms scare me (i hate it)

I think if you're on Tumblr it's very likely that you already know what the backrooms are. A part of our reality, but outside of it. There are floors and floors of eternal levels, where you wander in the same place and don't go anywhere. As if you had broken the matrix and were trapped outside, in a bug. This has become very popular on the internet and it's interesting that it is being used as inspiration for creating a show.

Furthermore, there was also the popularization of aesthetics such as dreamcore, traumacore and weirdcore, which consist of images that look like they came out of a dream. Things that you recognize, but don't know where they came from, like a deja vu, which makes you uncomfortable. It's extremely linked to the backrooms, since it's the same feeling. Many of the images are things that take us back to childhood, to the past, but they are not right, as if they were corrupted. Old 3D is also used a lot to make some of these images, like the example I gave of the Nintendo 64. The fandoms are all interconnected!

In this whole concept they also like to be inspired by childhood characteristics, such as old images of toys, empty birthday parties, playgrounds, and it also takes us to that famous sensation on the internet that I don't remember the name of, but it is basically feeling afraid of a place where people should be going, but they aren't. Abandoned places. The fear of being alone. All those topics revolve around each other. They makes us question abour reality, "do I even exist?" (I know I do, but writing characters that way and exploring the possibilities is kinda nice)

I know a brazillian youtuber that made a good video about it, her name is Replai and in the video she talks about how Poppy Playtime's art was made, but I know that most of the people reading this don't know how to speak in portuguese so... yeah. It's a good video.

5 - Children's aesthetics (but something's off)

This gif speaks for itself. It's that traumacore/dreamcore/weirdcore thing that I was talking about.

Still talking about that empty feeling of knowing that something it's familiar but don't knowing where it came from, childhood memories can be related to this, as they are vague, distant and sometimes carry a feeling of sadness. I'm not a great expert on the subject, but somehow the way that's explored scares us, I know there's a good explanation on the internet. This reminds me of the reason why people are afraid of clowns: they wear this fixed smile on their face and try to appear friendly, but it's this frozen, empty expression that leaves us afraid that there are other intentions underneath. And the fact that they are so related to childhood and children's innocence makes us fearful, because we don't know if they can do any harm to them. (of course, this all happens subconsciously, you don't think about it that way but your brain activates this instinct of fear) (not you YOU, people with that phobia)

I refuse to believe that these things are not interconnected. There is a strange feeling that can be explored from this childish aesthetic and connection to childhood.

Many media are using this aesthetic as part of their stories, especially horror ones. Five Nights At Freddy's was a pioneer, exploring this in the early 2010s, and then there were other franchises like Poppy Playtime, Bendy And The Ink Machine, other FNAF games (and there are also discoveries of things that do this unintentionally and that were created before this popularization, like Popee the Performer. In music we also have great examples like Melanie Martinez's old albums, during the Cry Baby era. There are also other aesthetics who like to explore this childlike-creepy vibe, and they're a little unrelated to all this stuff, like Morute/Dollcore). Whenever I talk about this I remember FNAF SB Daycare, as it is the result of all these topics we have talked about so far. The Security Breach DLC "Ruin" decided to explore this fear of empty, abandoned places, but which once had happy children walking through the corridors. This feeling is very scary.

Do you remember when I gave clowns as an example? The circus is also a way to explore this scary+childhood feeling. A place where there should be lots of games, but which only causes fear, as in the case of those scary clowns. It's quite common in the media for the circus to be used as a focus of terror, however in the internet version we were talking about just now, it doesn't have to be directly a horror circus, just feeling that childish sensation and feeling that something is wrong is enough. Enough to make us feel uncomfortable. It's like the characters were suffering, but they can't scream for help, and it's a disorted vision of how a circus should look like. Hi Pomni!!

The Daycare Attendant also explores that.

6 - Bendy and Fnaf (for the same reasons I already told you all, but one more)

Jax it's Bendy's and William Afton's lost son. We don't need no DNA test.

(I'm obviously just kidding btw, his design was probably inspired by them, MOST ESPECIALLY BENDY and maybe the Cheshire Cat from Alice because of his smile??? Idk)

stay tuned for part 2 <3

[gean-shanks]

[fairyoctopus]

trying to come up with a circus of dragons is fun but also i am running out of carnival games that i can think of

[chronicandironic]

After becoming disabled by a COVID-19 infection they caught on tour in 2022, Themme Fatale went from being a high-flying trapeze artist to being homebound. Before developing Long COVID, much of the popular circus performer’s career had involved risk — setting themself on fire, flipping through the air, lying on beds of nails — but the danger of these stunts began to shrink in their mind compared to the risk of the airborne virus.

From home in Melbourne, Australia, Fatale began to closely follow Long COVID research, connecting the concerning findings about the disease, which affects every organ system, to their numerous symptoms. What they didn’t understand was why their local queer community — and society at large — continued to put themselves at risk of COVID-19, especially because Long COVID is more prevalent in queer and trans people.

It led Fatale to take action. In February 2024, Fatale launched Clean Air Narm, one of over 30 volunteer-led initiatives around the world modeled after Chicago’s Clean Air Club. These organizations lend out high-quality air purifiers to help mitigate the spread of COVID-19 by reducing virus in the air at indoor venues.

[battymommastuff]

The Greatest Show

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Masterlist

(P/N): Performer Name

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

The rumbling from the red and white tent could be felt from outside. The cheers of the crowd as Haly's circus put on what they felt would be their best show yet. Everything from the elephants standing on their back legs to the clowns hitting each other with bowling pins. You were peeking from the little opening that led backstage. Many of your fellow performers were either stretching in preparation for their performance, or were relaxing after theirs. You were currently waiting alongside your two closest friends, John and Mary Grayson. The acrobatic duo who recently combined their act with yours. The stakes were higher, but it left the crowd in complete awe. You were one of the fire eaters. You were a younger member of the circus, but had quickly become a fan favorite. 

You were beautiful, and highly skilled at your art. Swallowing fire like water, and twirling torches around without burning you or anyone else. The skill you possessed was outstanding, and Haly never let you forget that. He took you in when you needed help the most, and he made you a star. You would forever be in debt to him. 

"Are you ready, (Y/N)?" Mary asked, resting a hand on your shoulder. You jumped then turned towards her. She and John had just finished their stretches and decided to check on you. From the moment you arrived, they took you under their wing. Teaching you the do's and don'ts of the circus as well as giving you a place to sleep so you didn't have to bunk with the others in their crowded space. Though you quickly earned a little tent of your own after your spike in popularity. 

"Yes, I'm alright..." You said, with a small smile, "But what about you? Should you be performing in your condition?" You asked while looking down at Mary's stomach. She was currently one month pregnant, and the entire circus doted over her. Everyone was so excited to have a new member of their family. Whoever this kid was going to be, you just knew you would love them unconditionally. Mary reassured you for the millionth time that she would be alright before she and John were ushered up a small ladder that led to the top of the tent. You, on the other hand, were standing by the curtain, waiting for Haly to announce you. 

"And now...our next performance needs no introduction...you know them...you love them! The Flying Graysons! Featuring our star Fire eater (P/N)!" 

As soon as you heard your name, you ran out. Instantly lighting your torch and twirling it around while taking a sip of alcohol. You spat the liquid at the flame causing it to poof into the air as soon as Mary did a flip in the air and caught John's arms. 

Nothing could ever satisfy that rush in your heart. The thrill of the crowd's reaction to your tricks. The high it gave you was better than any drug. Here you were, twirling two flaming torches in your hand as you watched above you. John and Mary Grayson were flying through the air. No one knew who to watch first. The couple who seemed to defy gravity, or the woman who could eat fire. Even with them in the air and you on the ground, everyone could see the chemistry you had. It's why your combined act never failed. With a big smile, you leaned back while lowering one of the torches towards your mouth. The crowd watched in awe as the fire went into your mouth. You popped your head back up with the extinguished torch in your hand. Tossing it to one of the helpers, you lifted your now free arm in the air while twirling the other torch in your hand. 

John, swooping down picked you up and you were now in the air. An act practiced hundred of times. His legs holding onto the trapeze as you both circled around the tent, the torch never falling from your hand. 

Your act was truly amazing, and it seemed to catch the eye of a certain crowd member. Bruce Wayne. Growing up, he loved to visit the circus with his parents. After their death, he avoided anything to do with it. Now he was back, but under different circumstances. For a while he'd been investigating the circus. He recently found old notes left by his father. The Court of Owls. A secret society of the Gotham elite. Their goal is to rid the city of crime, by any means. He wasn't surprised to know that his father had come in contact with them, but was surprised to see the theory that Haly's circus was a front. The members were training to be potential Talon members. The Court's lethal assassins. The circus always seemed to favor Gotham. Their stop here would last weeks while other stops would last days. Most of their members were young, and always seemed to vanish from the show after a while. He was here to find out the truth, and put a stop to it. At least he hoped he could. It was difficult to fight a conspiracy that his father barely had proof on. 

Despite his goal, he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot. You were gorgeous. He had a genuine smile on his face while watching your act. He's seen fire eaters before, but something about felt different. You didn't seem corrupt or up to no good. You looked as if you truly loved what you were doing. Maybe he could recruit you? Having inside knowledge would be beneficial. 

Your act went on, and you left the circle with loud cheers. Your heart was racing so fast, it felt like you were going to have a heart attack. John and Mary arrived shortly after with large smiles of their own, "You did amazing!" You squealed while hugging them both. You were new to the acrobatic world, but had the best teachers in the world. 

After the show ended and everyone turned in for the night, you were sitting outside of your tent. Your throat is slightly irritated from the alcohol, but nothing too bad. Luckily tomorrow was an off day for the circus. You could rest a little before practice. It was a peaceful night, and you were happy to relax in it. At least until a deep and intimidating voice nearly scared the skin off of you. 

"(Y/N) (L/N)? We need to talk."

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TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa

[iamespecter]

TADC OCs: "The Die Quartet"!

"Oh but Ziku, who are these very handsome die?"

Well I'm glad nobody asked, because that would ruin the joke!

The Die Quartet are OCs of mine that I created for TADC, and for what purpose? Well, they're the minds behind show's music!

Hidden just behind a corner or two, or four, These obliviously mischievous and enthusiastic quartet play whatever music they can, one that certainly matches the current "mood" of what the cast is going through. Meet Cuba, Dodeca, Tetra, and Octa, The Amazing Musical Performers, for The Amazing Digital Circus!

LORE AND BOUNDARIES UNDERNEATH THE CUT!

When the Circus was initially created, it was feeling too barren for a place that's meant to be "lively". And so, Caine went and copy-pasted himself four times, while replacing the heads with some die props he found on the floor, retexturing and adjusting their bodies, to fit their new roles.

A little bit of a code rewrite to make them able of producing any sounds all on their own to be musically intertwined, and the quartet was basically ready to go: but there's only one problem.

Caine completely forgot to remove the admin privileges from their code.

So once the four spawned, they immediately began floating around, dancing and creating the main theme for the circus, and did it all perfectly. So Caine decided that as long as they don't interfere with anything major in the circus and did their job as the musical minds behind the show/game's soundtracks, he doesn't really care about fixing this error and would rather let these four run rampant to create more songs.

Ever since then, the Die Quartet has been messing with every circus members, most of the time playing obnoxious music that fits the "current mood". You'll even see their canes dance to the tempo they've set, like some backup dancers.

Think of it like: You now have x4 Caines with dice heads, flying and snooping around, so that they can "improve the mood" with their music! Ain't that swell??

(But really, all they do is just annoy the Circus members just like Caine does, for the better or the worse. Probably the latter.)

Fun facts about the Die Quartet!

Even though they've all been created at the same time and share the features of a die, they do not consider themselves as "brothers", and only see one another as colleagues instead.

Their names are related to the type of their die: Tetra (yellow), Dodeca (purple), Cuba (red), and Octa (green).

Despite being reused assets of Caine himself, they have distinct personalities that separate them from each other: Tetra is more joyful and playful, Dodeca is a more dramatic/theatric and over the top, Cuba is the natural lead and more stern than anybody, and Octa is the more closed off of the gang but willing to provide his best.

Yet, they all still lack awareness of personal space and boundaries just like Caine, and WILL be intrusive towards anyone they set their sights on, with the intent of predicting their mood and setting the current situation perfectly in musical form. (ex. if a character is sneaking, all four will follow "cautiously" behind while one imitates/pulls out a tiny piano playing to the theme of "tip-toeing". You know, like a cartoon gag.)

Although they can perfectly imitate ANY sound or instrument imaginable, They'll still pull out a "physical" instrument if the gag calls for it.

BOUNDARIES!

You can pretty much draw fanart of them! In fact I would REALLY love to see it and I encourage it! Really, just don't claim them as your own, or steal their designs.

NSFW of them is accepted, but please keep in mind that I have an SFW blog. Which means THERE ARE MINORS. Show them to me privately instead, I'd still love to see it <3

While NSFW is accepted (privately), please make it a morally decent one, because I don't really wanna see some disgusting stuff. This pretty much includes: non-con, scat, etc.

Aside from that though, I hope you all enjoyed these four! I really love how they turned out, and would love to draw them more. I was initially hesitant on showing my TADC OCs because I don't think people would like 'em, but fuck it.

My boys, they deserve to be seen even if just by a few people on the internet.

[plutoswritingplanet]

could you do a request of Buggy (opla) falling for Luffy’s older sister? (Adopted or blood relation, doesn’t matter) like he takes her hostage but she doesn’t seem to mind. She know she can escape at any time, but keep annoying buggy to a point where… he doesn’t see her as a hostage anymore, more like treasure? And she starts to maybe feel something for the clown?

You Started It (Buggy The Clown x Reader)

a/n: how did i know the first request will be about the clown lmao. i took some liberties when writing this but i hope you still like it <3

Warnings: Buggy Being Kind Of An Asshole, Captivity, Some Suggestive Themes

Summary: Poking the bear isn't the wisest things you could be doing in your particular situation.

Part 2.

You've memorized every nook and cranny of your shoes. The time you've spent in containment has really opened your eyes, when it comes to how little you actually knew about the clothes you were wearing. For example, your right shoe was slightly bigger, molded by your foot. You must be putting more weight onto your right leg, when standing. The hem of your shorts is made with a very close cross stitch, making them slightly sturdier and thicker. Right where the material folds, just above your knee, you've managed to pick out a small hole, the strings of abused material hung sadly and tickled your skin.

There wasn't really much to do, while being kept in a cage, in the backstage of a circus which belonged to the infamous Buggy the Clown. Well, except studying the stains on your shoes and waiting for the Captain to visit you, which he did quite frequently.

"Entertainment purposes" is the reason he declared, when you've asked him why on earth is he keeping you locked up in a hanging cage. But you weren't so easily fooled. You knew from the start, that the role he has envisioned for you to play, was that of a Hostage and Bait. So, inevitably, when your younger brother and his merry band of misfits come to save you, he'd be able to even out the score. Which was a shitty plan, in your opinion.

They've kicked his ass before, they can do it once again.

So, that's why you're here, feet dangling above the floor, as you hum to yourself. Anything to pass the time. That is, until you hear the door to the backstage open, and a familiar tone of voice calls out.

"Hostage!"

Really, how did he even expect you to stay in the dark about his plan, while calling you like this? The man was clearly insane.

Buggy the Clown stands before you, makeup disheveled as always, with his Captain's hat abandoned in favor of a striped bandana. He's excited, which is evident, by the way he can't seem to stop moving, jumping from one leg to the other, hands fidgeting at his sides.

"How are you feeling, my dear Hostage?" he asks with fake concern, and just as your mouth opens to answer, he interrupts "Ah, never mind that, I don't care."

You don't even try to hide the annoyed expression on your face.

"You can sing" he states matter-of-factly, pointing a finger right at you.

"Barely."

"Can you dance though?"

"Barely as well."

He hums in thought, pacing the floor in front of your cage. Finally, he stops, looking at you with his head tilted to the side. His eyes rake over your body, and it brings a sudden wave of discomfort to your bones.

"You'll be performing in our next act."

Again, his tone leaves no space for an argument. Still, you were never an agreeable person, smiles were more of your brother's thing. So, you straighten out as much as the cage allows you and cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Do whatever you like, my brother will get me out of here before you can say Welcome to my big show".

"Welcome to my big show" he says immediately, then, raises his finger, as if he's waiting for the entire crew of Strawhats to fall from the sky.

They don't, obviously, and he gives you a pointed look, to which you respond with a roll of your eyes.

"Besides" he turns around and opens one of the chests laid out on the table "Aren't you a bit old to dote on your younger brother so much?"

The question genuinely offends you, and as he pulls out another bandana, this one red, covered entirely with big white polka dots, your eyes glimmer with venom.

"Aren't you a bit old to play dress up?"

He turns in a blink of an eye, and with terror mixed with disgust you watch his hands detach from his body, slamming into the cage. The force of impact sends it flying right into the nearby wall, the back of your head smacks against the metal bars. The swinging of the cage coupled with the stars erupting before your eyelids from the impact make you feel dizzy.

Then, Buggy takes a step towards the cage, connecting his hands with the rest of his body, and your prison stops swinging in an instant.

"I should kill you for that" he says lowly, his blue eyes bearing into your face.

"You started it" you choke out an accusation, trying very hard not to vomit.

He stays completely quiet, just watching you for a long while, his hands slowly loose tension. Then, as if his rage has entirely dissolved, he smiles, teeth completely exposed, as his cheeks crease. God, you'd do such a better job at his make-up, given the chance.

"You're funny, Hostage" he shakes his head, and suddenly, for some unknown reason, it downs upon you, just how close to you, he's standing.

"Sing for me some more" he says.

And then, his hands push back with sufficient force to send your cage flying again. You groan at the movement, another wave of nausea almost making you loose your breakfast. When you finally have the perfect, biting comeback, he's already gone, the door slamming after him. You're alone again.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you press your forehead to the cold metal of the cage. You've already memorized all the details of your own clothes, and the room was too dark to see anything more. So, you start observing the cage. The way the light shifts up and down on the bars, the way the brown paint seems to peel away under your thighs. Then, you look up, towards the place where all the bars have been stuck together.

And then your eyebrows furrow. Because just above the ceiling of the cage, you can see something poking out. Something roughly the size of a fist and colored a pale, fleshy color. You raise yourself slightly in your seat, to get a better look, and immediately regret doing so.

It's an ear. His ear. Detached and placed right on top of the cage. That's how he knows about your singing, the bastard.

An idea brews in your brain, mischief spilling out of your growing smirk. You pull yourself up, until you can reach the top of the cage. Your arm is just slender enough to slip past the bars, and your fingers brush against the cold flesh of the ear. Before Buggy, wherever he is, can react, you snatch the ear from the top of the cage, keeping a tight grip, as it starts to jump in your hand.

Then, you take a deep breath, place the ear close to your lips… And give the most blood-curling, shrill scream you could muster.

Immediately, you hear a string of curses coming your way, and a second later Buggy bursts into the room, a murderous expression on his face. You open your hand, and the ear nearly bursts out of your fingers, flying back to it's owner like some sort of deformed beetle. The sight, for some reason, is so incredibly funny, you can't help but choke out a little giggle. Which soon becomes a quite big giggle, which in turn morphs into a full blown laughter.

You can't see the Captain through the tears of laughter forming in your eyes, so when he knocks on the metal bars of your cage, you nearly choke from surprise. He's looking at you strangely. Not quite as angry as before, but there is something else lurking behind his eyes. As if he's enveloped deeply in his thoughts, but at the same time completely present and focused on you. Your laughter dies down in an instantly, and you reach up to wipe your tears, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"I've captured myself a comedian, huh?" the man leans closer to the bars of the cage, placing his forehead against them and looking at you from below "You trying to take my place as the funniest person in the circus? Hm, Hostage?"

You risk a smirk, leaning down towards him. He watches your movements with a curious expression, eyes darting all over your face.

"Yeah" you whisper "So, you better watch your back."

At that, he smiles one of his brilliantly wide smiles. This one however, seems the most honest out of every one you've seen up to this point. You try not to linger too much at the way his eyes seem to shine in the dimly lit room. Or how the stubble on his face makes his features sharper. Or even on the way his arms flex as he leans against the cage. And definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, you're not focusing on the fact, that he's standing nestled right between your dangling legs.

So, before your brain conjures up any unwanted ideas, you clear your throat again and straighten up. Buggy notices the shift in your posture, but doesn't move, instead it seems as if a lightbulb has literally appeared beside his head. Desperate to change the subject, which hasn't been even brought up yet, you wave your hand in the general direction of his ear.

"Your ability is pretty useful" you try to sound as neutral, as humanly possible.

"Oh?" he tilts his head back and gives you a suspicious look.

"Yeah, that eavesdropping thing was really cool… And slightly disgusting" your nose scrunches "But mostly cool."

He hums low in his throat, his hands slowly letting go of your cage. Still, he remains standing between your legs, your knee brushing against his prominent hip bones.

"Are there" you swallow "Any limits to this ability?"

Now, his eyebrows jump straight under his bandana, and you definitely do not like the slow smirk filling his features.

"I mean, like, can you detach your nose? Or um… I don't know, your fingernails?"

Finally he steps back, stretching his arms to the side, as if he's giving you a show, and in a way, he does. There are muscles, hidden under those circus clothes. His exposed forearms are nicely shaped, with thick veins running the length of them. You really don't mean to ogle the man, but fuck, he is handsome. In an "insane-sadistic-clown-who-is-also-a-pirate-for-some-reason" way.

"I can detach every single part of my body with no effort" he says, his smile growing.

Before you could really think about your actions, your gaze falls downward, right to his belt keeping his trousers up. Mortified, that your brain would even go there, you tear your eyes up, and with a horrified expression, look upon a face full of excitement.

Then, Buggy raises his hands to his heart, feigning a scandalized expression, which would've been funny, if you weren't currently blushing in the lovely shade of a ripe beetroot.

"I'm sorry… that's not… I didn't" your words come out a jumbled mess, and Buggy wheezes out a laugh.

"Oh would you look at that" he puts his hands behind his back, as he slowly starts to stalk towards your confinement "You know, with how sheltered your little brother is, I didn't expect you to be such a dirty pervert."

You choke on air, arms flailing inside the cage, as you genuinely are at a loss for words, You can feel your face grow impossibly hot, the heat spreading all the way to the tops of your ears. The Clown still advances, until his face is pushed right between the bars of the cage, a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. You don't know what to do with yourself, as the man continues to laugh at your outrage.

Finally, his right hand flies from behind his back and stops right above his head. Then, as if making a show specially for you out of his unusual abilities, he lets his pointer finger remove itself from the hand. Involuntarily, you make a face, and try to push yourself as far into the cage, as humanly possible. Which, given the size of your prison, does practically nothing. The finger aims straight at your nose and presses it with slightly more force, than a friendly "boop" would.

"You started it" he throws your own words back at you, and watches your dumbfounded expression with a smile and a giggle.

Finally, he steps back, all his body parts in place, and you can breathe again at last. Then, with a flourish, he bows down before the cage, before giving you a slightly unbalanced twirl. At that, you can't help but smile, almost fondly. He's not so bad, when he isn't actively trying to murder you and your friends.

"Anyways, get ready, your grand performance is in a week" he concludes, and you sigh deeply.

So he hasn't let this one go.

No matter. A week from now, you'll be out of this place. The thought fills you with joy, and strangely, with some sort of melancholy, which you have to jot down as nausea, just to protect your own mental health.

"Hostage" the man says, as a goodbye, bowing once again, this time with fewer theatrics, and begins to walk back towards the door. "Captain" you respond in kind, inclining your head slightly.

He stops in his tracks, back turned to you, before slowly, twisting his body, to look you in the face. He wants to say something, his mouth opens and closes, and anticipation floods your stomach. But then, his lips pull back into one more smile, more reserved, more private. Now, in this rare moment of tranquility, he looks truly handsome, and your heart jumps to your throat at the realization. He gives you one last look, shakes his head at the floor, and exits with a soft click of the door.

You're, once again, left alone with your mismatched shoes and the hole in your shorts. This time, however, your head is filled with tender thoughts, one that could keep you company, until another visit befalls you.

[artficlly]

king of pentacles [one-shot]

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x fortune teller!reader when your travelling circus rolls into town, you are warned that bucky barnes is the outlaw who rules these lands. you plan to keep your distance, but he and his men can not resist a little entertainment.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, blowjobs, begging, p in v, cowgirl position, bit of teasing, soft sub bucky??, if you squint theres some plot, fortune telling, tarot cards, violence, choking, blood, mention of death, mention of torture, mention of beatings, implied previous non-con to reader (not from bucky), protective bucky barnes, smoking, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: i literally cannot even tell you where this idea came from. i had a vague thought about a travelling circus, tarot reading character. i wrote this out and edited it in like two days?? insane. i don't normally write smut so let me know your thots lol. if you enjoy western marvel aus, please check out some of my other works. i have a one-shot called 'me & the devil' and a mini-series called 'a dish served cold'! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

It was a windy autumn night when James Buchanan Barnes and his pack of vermin invaded Elkhorn’s Travelling Circus and Freakshow. 

There were scarcely few in the area who had not heard of Barnes and his gang of outlaws. From the moment your caravans had pulled across state lines, you had been warned not to cross Bucky Barnes or his dogs. The law did not concern itself with this place, a place so far west that civilization had been left behind. The memories of cities, people, and culture were a mere whisper on the winds, a fleck of sand in an endless desert. This place was ruled by barbarians, and Bucky Barnes was their king. 

You had heard stories of the fabled man. Some said he was the devil himself, that he sported horns and hooved feet. Others said his eyes were black as the night but reflected the light as if he were part beast. Those terrified people would recall his wrath and how his enemies were never afforded a simple, painless death. No, those who crossed the King suffered for their crimes. 

So when that twisted, cruel man of legend stood before you... You were surprised to find he was none of what he was rumoured to be. 

It had only been an hour since the nightly show had wrapped up, darkness falling quickly due to the colder months looming. The gang of outlaws had stormed your small campsite, locating your leader and employer, Duke Elkhorn, and demanding they be entertained! The candles had been lit, and the music was playing. The animals had been brought from their cages once more, and dancers and performers were laced back into costumes. Barnes had asked for entertainment, so you would provide it, lest you find yourself dead in a ditch. 

Thankfully, you had not yet taken off your own outfit and makeup. A kohl to line your eyes; your lips painted red; hair loose with intermitten beading and braids. You wore large jewled earrings and layers of necklaces that partially covered the deep v of your neckline. Your dress was tightly fitted, your breasts were pushed upwards by the corset beneath, and your skirt was a deep green that swirled around your legs with each movement. Your small tent was filled with a haze of incense, lavish velvet, and silk used as draperies. Your tent was divided into two sections—your working space and your personal quarters. You had been checking your appearance in your cracked mirror when the ruffle of fabric alerted you to his presence. 

He stood with an unquestionable air of confidence, a cigarette in hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, a cruel smirk playing across his lips. He was large and burly, with muscular forearms that bulged against the fabric of his sleeves, which had been pushed up to gather at his elbows. Blood stained his collar and sleeves, and a gold pocket watch was tucked into his vest. His dark hair was windblown, bits peeking out from under his black, cattleman hat. 

As he flicked his cigarette, you realised his knuckles were bruised and split. A subtle splatter of blood across his cheek, smeared, as if somone had reached up and grasped his face in their dying moments. 

“Our mutual friend, Mr. Elkhorn, told me that if I was lookin’ for a pretty thing to come find ya.” His voice was deep when he spoke, gravelly and rough. It sent a shudder down your spine. Damn Elkhorn. You always knew he was a coward, even though he thought himself a big man. You and the other performers were not strangers to his temper and desperation. You all tended not to challenge it, as he could be a cruel man as equally as he could be fearful. 

“He weren’t lyin’ was he?” He lets out a low whistle, exhaling smoke. “How’s he kept you a secret for so long, huh? Guess mah boys don’t come pokin’ in the tents that often. Too busy pokin’ their bits into them dancer girls.”

You remain silent as he chuckles to himself. He eyes you greedily; his icy blue eyes are anything but discreet. You could feel how his gaze rested on the curves of your hips and breasts, watching how your skin moved with each breath. Desire was a strange thing—how easily you might shift from feeling confident and powerful to nothing at all. 

You certainly felt like a squirming idiot under his gaze. 

“I’m not a whore.” You speak up, though your voice is hushed, hesitant, or even uneasy. You knew men like Barnes would not take being denied well. If you thought Elkhorn’s brutality was something to fear, your knees would positively buckle before Barnes. 

Barnes barks out a laugh, his brows raising in something between delight and surprise. He strides towards you, grinning as you flinch back. “Yer employer seems to think differently.”

Your eyes slide closed as he reaches forward, a finger sweeping a strand of hair from your face to better look at you. You swallow hard as he chuckles, smoke blowing across your face. Teeth grit, you slowly open your eyes, a shuddering exhale leaving your nose as he runs a finger across your cheek.

“He’s a spineless excuse of a man.” You dare to bite back, your voice wavering, but you stand tall. His amused expression has morphed into one of intrigue. His actions falter; hesitation is clear in his demeanour. 

“He make ya do things ya don’t wanna do, darlin’?” The outlaw asks, his voice surprisingly genuine. He is still close to you, close enough that you can smell the tobacco on his breath and feel the vibration of each word in his chest. 

“Sometimes.” You admit, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. He curses under his breath, rubbing his jaw in annoyance. Barnes backs off a few paces, putting out his cigarette on one of your sidetables. From your side view of his chiselled face, you see a muscle in his jaw tense. 

“Well, sweetheart. I ain’t in the business of bein’ with women who don’t want it.” He says with a roll of his shoulders. He has stalked over to your reading table, bruised knuckles white as he grips the back of your chair. 

You are at a momentary loss for words. You had anticipated being repulsed by this man, the one who repeatedly terrorised these lands and enabled his dogs to do what they wanted and take what they pleased. There was something strangely endearing about his care for your consent. 

“Well, I am glad to hear it.” You finally uttered. “Can’t say the same for some of your boys, though.”

A tense silence washes over the tent, and you almost immediately regret your words. Against your better judgement, you creep towards him. He doesn’t flinch away from your touch as your hands smooth over the top of his hands and wrists. Beneath you, he feels like stone, each tendon and muscle expertly chiselled like the statues you saw in the big cities back east. 

“Yer right. Pack o’ wild mongrels they are. Good for puttin’ folk in their place. I think I’ll get ‘em to pay yer employer a little visit. Remind him whose land he’s on.” 

Barnes goes to leave, pulling away from your touch. A wave of horror washes over you at his implication. You find yourself reaching for him again in an unexpected panic. Your hands latch around his bare forearm, tugging him back an inch. 

“Wait.” You shake your head, gripping his forearm. The outlaw looks back at you in curiosity. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt anyone else, sweetheart. Just him. ” He drawls, eyes darting to where you hold his arm. You drop it immediately, backing off. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

“He will think your lesson is because I turned you down or because I wasn’t good enough for you.” You explain desperately. His eyes narrow, as if offended on your behalf. “Whatever you do to him, he will do to me twofold. As punishment. He is a cruel man, you understand?”

“Yer definitely not pleading his case well, darlin’.” There is impatience in his tone and ire that you could not even begin to comprehend. Your eyes flicker to his bruised knuckles, the splatters of blood. If Elkhorn found out, well, you would have to wear a veil for the rest of your life. Your face would be so mishapened and destroyed that you would bring fear into the hearts of anyone who laid eyes upon you. You would no longer be a fortune teller but a featured freak of Elkhorn’s sideshow. Men and women alike would pull faces, with children throwing food and rocks. The deformed woman— another beast in a cage. 

You have seen this fate play out too many times. Too many were lost to Elkhorn’s wickedness. 

“Please.” You beg. His brow arches and his adams apple bobs. 

You swallow nervously, then hesitantly step forward. With gentle hands, you take his forearm once more, guiding him to your reading table. “Just… I will entertain you for a suitable time. I can read your cards. Then, you can tell Mr. Elkhorn that you laid with me; embellish it if you wish.”

Barnes seems too intrigued to protest. 

He unbuttons his vest with a soft grunt, taking a seat at the table. His legs are spread wide in a domineering pose as he leans back into the seat with cool confidence. As you take a seat at the opposite end of the table, he reaches into his vest pocket. 

“So, how does this work?” He asks. You can tell he is irritated from the way his brow twitches and jaw muscles are still tense. He is playing along for your benefit, you realise. He is looking to you for amusement to stop himself from marching out of the tent and dealing with Elkhorn as promised. 

“I will shuffle the cards, then draw three. Each card has meaning, and all together, it will tell you the message you need to hear.” You explain. Barnes had pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering you one. You decline with a wave of your hands, instead taking the cards into your palm. He shrugs, lighting it with a half-interested sigh. 

As he inhaled and you shuffled, you noticed his interest lay closer to your exposed skin. Even if he had backed off per your request, it did not seem to stop him from undressing you with his eyes from the opposite side of the table. He seemed emnamoured by the layers of necklaces and how they clinked and rolled across your skin. 

As you shuffled, the first card fell out. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip as he watched you work. You slid the escapee card onto the table, facedown on the red tablecloth. 

“Anything in particular that you want to hear, hm?” You ask. As you lift your gaze, you find Barnes enraptured by your movements, so much so that he has forgotten to take another drag. “Most people want to know about their careers… their families. Love.”

“I don’t believe in love.” He says, sucking in a breath. You tilt your head. He didn’t believe in love, no. He believed in lust. Desire. From the way his pupils were blown and his lips parted in awe, he was positively eating out of your hand. A second card falls. You slide it next to the first. 

“Business it is, then.” You breathe. The final card falls from the deck just as the words leave your lips. You put it in place, then place the stack of the remaining deck to the side. Barnes is transfixed as you lean your arms parallel to the table and tilt forward. “Flip one.”

“Does it matter which order?”

“No.”

With unwavering confidence, he reaches forward, flipping over the first in the row. Your gaze falls downward to view the card, a frown pulling at your lips. You examine the familiar figures on the card. Two figures stood on either side, naked and chained. Behind them, in the darkness, loomed a beast with claws, horns, and wings. The Devil. 

How fitting. 

Barnes seems to find it ironic as well, as he scoffs in disbelief. “Ya playin’ a trick on me?”

You look up at him. The tension in the small tent is as thick as the smoke that hangs in the air. “No. The cards tell the truth, if you want to hear it or not.”

You reach out, stroking a finger over the card.

“The figures, they are chained. They don’t want to be there, but if you look closely… their chains are loose. They could escape at any moment.” If Barnes had a snarky comment, he does not say. He hung on to your every word. “And the longer they remain, the longer they become more like the devil. He represents the darkness within them, their shadow selves. It is the evil within you—the short-term pleasures—to ignore the long-term pains. Instant gratification. Greed, violence. You think you have free will, but you have sold your soul to the devil.”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know darlin,” The outlaw says with a chuckle. You notice that his shoulders have relaxed, a cool amusement embodying him. 

You hold his gaze. “Next card.”

His fingers brush yours as he flips over the centre card. The King of Pentacles. 

“The Devil and now the King? You’re spoilin’ me, sweetheart.” He chuckles. 

You eyed the card. The king sat upon his lavish throne, surrounded by wealth. You tap your nail across the yellow pentacle symbol, humming in thought. “King of Pentacles. It represents wealth and abundance. He has influence and is a skilled leader.”

Your head tilts. “It’s a warning.”

“A warnin’? Sounds like a good card to me.” 

“The king has all that he wants. An abundance of wealth. Everything he touches turns to gold, like King Midas.”

“King Midas?”

“It’s an old tale. One of caution. About a king who was blessed with the power to turn anything he touched into gold. His kingdom flourished with wealth, but he soon found himself to be unhappy. He could not eat, as any food that touched his lips turned to gold. He could not know the comforts of the flesh, for the women would also turn to gold. Everything he once cherished…gone. Then, one day he lost the one thing he loved most, his daughter. She kissed her father upon his forehead and instantly became a statue of gold.”

“I would be a far richer man if I were this…King Midas.”

“But don’t you see? You are him. You are a king who is flush with wealth; your influence is strong. Your people flourish. Everything you do and everything you touch becomes profit. But at what cost? How much more will you lose? How much more will you give up for greed?” You finger turns to point at the Devil card. His lips are set in a straight line as he scowls at you. 

“You best be careful now.” He warns. You shudder, leaning back in your seat, motioning for him to flip the final card. 

You stare down at the table, your breath held in horror. The figure in the card sits up in bed, hands to their face in anguish. Decorating the wall behind them are a row of swords, two of which could be seen to be piercing through the figure. Stabbed through the back. The frame of the bed is carved, illustrating two figures fighting. Nine of Swords. 

Your mouth feels dry as Barnes peers at you expectantly. “Well?”

You can’t find the words; your brows are scrunching as you try to find the best way to articulate the meaning without triggering the brooding outlaw’s wrath. Your finger taps on the table, and you clear your throat, squirming in your seat. 

“Nine of Swords.” You utter quietly. “The figure… they are troubled by their own thoughts. Their worries, speculations… so much so that they manifest it into reality.”

Your fingers trace over the fighting figures. “You worry of a rising conflict.”

You ghost over the swords next. A backstabbing. 

It was all very clear to you how it all intertwined. Barnes was a man possessed by evil and greed. He had sacrificed much to accumulate his wealth; like King Midas, he had all the gold he could need, but at what cost? His followers, his people—they were afraid. Weary of their cruel leader. A coup was in the works. Jealousy brewed within his men; all they knew was evil, so all they could give was violence in return. 

“A betrayal.” You breathe. Your eyes snap up to meet his. His pupils were no longer blown, instead replaced with an icy rage. 

“How do ya know this?” His voice had dropped, low and threatening. His cigarette was discarded, flecks of burning ash glowing across the floor. His shoulders were tensed, straining against the fabric as he began to loom over you, slowly standing from his seat. 

You shrunk back. “I don’t, I just read the cards—” 

You let out a shriek as Barnes gripped the table, flipping it in one solid motion. The cards fluttered to the ground around you, the glossy paper flickering in the low candle light. You recoiled in your seat, limbs trembling as Barnes stood over you. 

“Did Rumlow put you up to this, huh? I know what him and his little pack of vermin have been whisperin’.” He spat on the ground beside you, and you flinched back. Barnes reached down, gripping your throat as he forced you to look up at him. 

“I don’t know anythin’. I swear—” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes. 

Barnes scanned your face, then released you with a huff. You scrambled away, retreating to the furthest corner of the tent. Barnes waved his hand at you with a sigh, re-buttoning his vest and straightening his shirt. 

“I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt, darlin’. But if I find out you’ve been lyin’...I’ll kill ya myself. Ya understand?” 

You nodded wordlessly, whimpering as the outlaw marched out of your tent without a glance back. 

—

“Where is she?” The enraged roar of Bucky Barnes sent a nauseating wave of panic through your body. 

A couple weeks had past, and Elkhorn’s Travelling Circus and Freakshow were wrapping up their stay. Duke Elkhorn wanted to push further west, bring entertainment to the drivers and rustlers of the far reaches of the country. Within two days, you were set to leave this awful place and flee the clutches of Barnes and his boys. 

Well, it seemed that had been hopeful thinking. 

You were in your tent, in your personal quarters. You had pulled shut the draperies to allow yourself privacy. The strong men, slick with oil and always sporting toothy grins, were always eager to deliver you water to bathe in. It had become a sort of ritualistic routine of yours to undress and wash the makeup from your face. After hours of sitting in a stuffy tent stinking of incense, it was a relief to wash the smell from your body. 

You wore a silk robe, loosely tied at the waist. It had been a gift from a patron back east—some rich city boy who had a fascination with you. When Barnes crashed through your draperies into the back of your tent, chest heaving with a livid look in his eye… you froze. You were perched on a stool before your cracked mirror, pulling a brush through your long locks of hair. 

You stumbled to your feet, stool knocked to the ground. 

Barnes was covered in blood, his shirt so drenched that it clung to his skin. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his teeth were bared in a growl. The blood was still fresh on his arms and neck, the liquid glinting in the candlelight. He had not bothered to wear his hat; instead, his hair was messy, with a splattering of blood across his cheek.

“I told ya I would kill ya myself.” The outlaw snarled. 

You backed away, back meeting the tent wall. “I didn’t do anythin—”

You were cut off as Barnes marched forward, large hands wrapping around your throat. He squeezed tightly, a breathless whimper escaping your mouth.

“How did ya know?” He demanded, his face twisted into a look of rage. 

You claw at the front of his shirt, sticky blood coating your palms as you struggle. 

“Ya knew about Rumlow. Ya warned me of a betrayal.” 

He releases the pressure on your throat, and you meekly gasp in air, nails digging into his shoulder as you try to keep your knees steady. 

“I didn’t know, I just said what the cards showed—” You rasp. Barnes doesn’t seem pleased by your answer, jaw muscle ticing. 

“I don’t believe in yer magical horseshit. I know it’s all tricks and acts. How did ya know?”

“The cards aren’t magical. Each card has a meaning that can be understood in different ways, it’s my job to apply them to whoever walks into my tent. The cards just reveal thoughts you have not quite spoken aloud—ideas at the back of your mind. They ask you to confront your inner self. You knew Rumlow was a traitor before the cards, you had a suspicion, but you did not act on it until prompted by the cards.” You wheezed out. The outlaw slowly releases your throat, his face controrting into something closer to frustration than rage. Your palms brace flat on his chest as you steady yourself against him. 

“Deep down, you already knew he was a traitor.” You reiterate. 

“You’re a fuckin’ witch.” He breathes, then runs a hand through his messy hair. Blood streaks across his forehead, clumping his strands of hair. His head tilts as he looks down at you. His face has relaxed, as if a silent clarity had overcome him. “Even if ya deny it… ya did warn me.”

You clear your throat, hand raising to your neck as you brush your fingers over the tender flesh where he had gripped you. “You warned yourself.”

He stares down at you, then frowns guiltily. “Apologies, darlin’. I shouldn’t have done that to ya.”

You believe him.

You hold your breath as his fingers briefly skim over your neck. His gaze falls deeper, his eyes following the curve of your breast that was half-exposed by your robe. The fabric was bunched into a deep v, leaving the swell of your breasts, sternum, and skin down to your belly button exposed. The outlaw sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, then stalks away with a frustrated growl. 

“Barnes—” you call to him softly.

“Bucky.” He corrects.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirror. The silk robe hangs perfectly from your curves, blood smeared across your chest and neck. You suck in your own deep breath, sweeping your hair over your shoulders as you hesitantly approach the outlaw. He paced like the beasts Elkhorn kept caged up, endlessly forced to perform for cruel crowds. You knew what he needed. A delicate touch, a sweetness to lean on. 

“Speak to me.” You whisper to him, gentle hands guiding him to the edge of your bed. The canopy was draped with deep purple fabrics, furs, and blankets over the straw mattress. He silently obliges. 

“One of my boys, one I thought I could trust. He betrayed me. Thought he could make a little gang of his own and overthrow me from the inside.” The outlaw explains. His voice is stiff, and his posture is tense. You smooth a palm over his forearm, and your thigh presses against his as you sit closely together. 

There is a distant look in his eye as he stares past you at the wall of the tent. It shifts with the cool breeze outside, rising and falling like the night itself breathes. “I dealt with it.”

You cock your head to the side, hand running up his arm as you examine his face with a frown. “Dealt with it?” 

His eyes snap to yours, and your hand wavers in hesitation. There is a darkness in his eyes. His expression made goosebumps rise across your skin. You could only explain it as something primal, something caught between violence and arousal. 

“I made them pay.” He explains, his body twisting as he faces you fully. A bloodied hand raises, his thumb rubbing across your cheek as he cradles your face. “After two days, they begged me to end it. To end their lives.”

“And did you?” You dare to whisper back. His thumb traces inward, across your lower lip. 

“No.” He says simply. “I cut out their tongues so they could no longer beg. I made them pay.”

Your eyes must have been wide in shock because he chuckled, his hand sweeping through your hair. Then, with an uncharacteristic softness to his tone, he utters a question. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart thunders in your ears, a short gasp leaving you as your lips part. In all your travels, you have heard stories of women who could make men fall in love with them with just their eyes. Women who used their bodies and seduced their way to the top. Even violent men like Bucky had one weakness—a woman who showed them kindness. A woman who could momentarily take control. The men would let their minds drift away; the burdens were lifted, if only for a night. 

Heat pools between your legs. You nod, a hand reaching to stroke across his jaw. The two of you meet in mutual desperation and touch once gentle, now needy. His tongue brushes against your lips, effortlessly parting them as he licks into your mouth. A moan escapes your throat at the taste of his tongue.

Your hands find the front of his shirt, blindly unbuttoning as he grips your hair in one hand. The outlaw groans as his hand slides across your shoulders, pushing away the robe. Your top half is exposed, nipples have hardened, and silk has pooled at your waist. 

As your tongues tangle, Bucky tilts his head to gain better access to your mouth. Your gasps meet his as he moans heavily into your mouth. His hands trace along your body, one squeezing your waist and hips, the other coming to grasp your breast. 

With a tug, you pull his shirt free. The two of you part, your head lulling back as he paints sloopy, feverish kisses down your neck. A groan rises in your throat as you lean into him, one hand gripping his dark hair and the other beginning to palm him through his pants. 

His kisses move further down, head dipping as he licks a stripe across your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking as you gasp and lean into him. The space between your legs is throbbing; a wet neediness rising. 

You clutch his thigh, squirming with desire. The stubble along his jaw prickles your flesh, and a shudder runs down your spine. Your hands find his, easing his grip on your hips as you slide off the bed. Lowering yourself to the floor on your knees, you sit between his legs. Bucky lets out a groan as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown, and his lips are swollen and glossy. Your hands trace up his thighs, and your quick fingers relieve him of his belt. 

“Let me.” You hum to him. You tilt your head, your cheek brushing against his knee. His adams apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I can make you feel good.”

You can see his bulge under the fabric. He eagerly helps you pull his pants down, his cock springing free already fully hard. You press a kiss to the tip. His cock twitches in response and a low moan vibrates in his chest. You look up at him through your lashes, biting your lip. He leans back, looking at the tent roof, as his chest rises and falls with a loud, satisfied sigh. 

There was a power that resonated in your chest, seeing the outlaw so vulnerable under your touch. He did not protest your lead, instead eagerly following your command. You take him into your mouth slowly, one hand running up his thigh as the other wraps around his length. 

You bob your head, feeling him tense with pleasure beneath you. As you come up, you whisper to him quietly. “Relax.”

As your tongue swirls over his tip, then down his broad length, you feel his hips rock beneath you. His hand comes to fist your hair, subtly guiding you as you take him fully into your mouth once more. You follow his needs, taking notice of each pleasured twitch or motion in response to your touch. His fingers tangle in your long locks of hair, tugging as you pull unimaginable, explicit sounds from the outlaw. 

“Fuck—” He groans above you, his breath coming in short pants. You hum in response, relishing the sensation of him falling to pieces beneath you. The spot between your legs was slick, and wetness was beginning to drip down your inner thigh. There was a selfish urge within you that desired to reach down between your legs to gift yourself some friction. 

You swallowed him down deeper, flattening your tongue against his ridgid length. His hips started to jerk, stronger than the previous gentle rocking. You could feel him growing undone, his breath coming shorter, and his nails desperately digging into your scalp as he desperately tried to guide your head deeper and deeper. 

You obliged, but only as you felt his cock twitch once more did you pull away fully. Not yet. You weren’t finished with him yet. The outlaw let out a pained grumble. His hands caressed your shoulders as you rose to your feet. 

“Darlin’—” Bucky protests, but you shush him. 

“How much do you want me, hm?” You ask him. He has propped himself up onto his elbows to look up at you. His cock was still erect, glistening in the candlelight from your saliva. 

“I want you.” He affirms.

“How desperately? Would you get on your knees for me? Beg for me?” You say it breathlessly. You take one of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to the palm. 

His breath stutters. “Yes.” 

“Go on then.” As the words leave your mouth, your eyes flicker upwards. You look at him through your lashes.

“Please, sweetheart—” He whines. You cock your head to the side, peppering more kisses along each fingertip. 

“Louder.” 

“Please.” He begs. You smirk down at him wickedly, shifting closer. Your palm meets his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed as his elbows buckle beneath him. 

“Lie back.” You instruct, helping guide his legs so he lies flat along the bed. In one fluid motion, you straddle his waist, his silk robe still pooling around your hips. You lean over him, taking one of the waist straps of your robe. With slow breaths, you move the soft fabric across his bloodied chest, tracing each vein and muscle before finally grazing it across his nipples. He shudders beneath you, his grip bruising where he grasps your hips. 

“Say it again.” You breathe. You are embarrassingly wet as you sit perched upon him. 

“Please. I need you.” He obeys, and another wave of arousal washes over you. Only now did you give in to your selfish desires, dead rolling back as you ground your hips slowly. Your lips parted, a small mewling moan leaving you as you clenched around nothing. You flatten a hand over his chest, allowing him to help guide you as you raise onto your knees. 

With one gentle movement, you lower yourself onto him. Your wet heat engulfs him, and the two of you groan in unison. You feel yourself stretch around him, and you moan as you allow your body to take him in completely. His hands tighten their hold on your waist. 

Bucky looks at you with a slightly slack-jawed expression. “Fuck, sweetheart. I think I’m gonna make ya my wife.”

You manage a smile through your own arousal, your hand gliding up and down his chest as you move your hips in a grinding motion. You gasp out a low, “Oh yeah?”

His head tips back with a moan as you clench around him. You experiment momentarily, brows drawn and biting your lip, until you find a grinding rhythm that ignites a fire within you. Bucky meets you halfway, helping guide you with his hands still gripping your hips. Your head lulls forward, small panting gasps leaving you as your eyes squeeze shut. 

“I’ll make you beg for that too…Fuck—” You whine, and Bucky chuckles beneath you. He continues to help direct your hips, and your thighs begin to shake as you lower and raise yourself. 

A strangled cry leaves you as Bucky’s hand lowers, his thumb circling your clit. Pleasure spikes up your spine, your knees wobbling as you nearly double over at the sensation. His fingers swirl with purpose, pulling all manner of illicit words and sounds from your throat. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky hummed.

Just as you feel like sobbing from the pleasure, you cock your head to the side. With a deep breath, you tug Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him upright to meet you. The two of you clash, breath hot. His arms wrap around you, pinning you to his chest as he kisses you with a primal hunger. You moan into his mouth, your tongue sloppily moving against his as he begins to thrust vigorously. 

You could feel your climax building steadily within you, the peak of a tumbling wave that had not yet crested. Bucky was a panting, sweaty mess beneath you. He greedily kissed and sucked along your neck, head dipping as he ran his tongue along your collarbone. 

Your own head fell, teeth grazing across his neck. He tastes like salt and copper. You nuzzled your nose against his jaw, taking his earlobe between your teeth. Deep within you, you felt his cock twitch. 

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your fingers tugging at his hair. That pulled a groan from him, the noise vibrating across your skin. With a devious smile pressed against his cheek, you lean in close to his ear. Breath hot, you whisper into his ear. 

“Come for me.”

As if he had been waiting for those exact words, he explodes within you. The sensation tips you over the edge, a thundering in your ears defeans you as your eyes roll back into your head. You clench around Bucky tightly, your body milking every last drop of him as he lazily ruts the last of his energy into you. 

The two of you pant, catching a breath as you both come to a halt. The outlaw nuzzles your neck with a content sigh, then laughs against your sweaty skin. 

“I wasn’t jokin’ earlier.” He finally speaks up, his voice somewhat more dignified now that he wasn’t a moaning mess beneath you. 

“Hm?” You respond sleepily, too fucked-out to be bothered opening your eyes. 

“I’m gonna steal ya away from here. Make ya my goddamn wife.”

Against your better judgement, you believed him.

[supermaks]

yall clutching ur pearls about drivers' vocal discomfort towards vegas gp and its excessive media circus as if most f1 drivers arent introverts wid hyperfixations who like to put on their lil helmets and hop inside tight spaces and perform the exact same task for 2 and half hours . wow i can't believe those specific people dont like change and wud prefer to stay out of the limelight I'm shocked

[chthonia27]

A game of cat and mouse.

Dick Grayson x F!reader.

Content: A secret admirer’s love knows no bounds.

Word count: 1.2k

The city lights shone brilliantly in the dark of night, perched on a rooftop was the ex boy wonder, Nightwing. The harsh wind of winter blew in his hair, messing the strands of onyx out of their rightful place. He looked down to his escrima sticks, twirling it in one of his hands before gazing out to the city once more. It was nothing new, he thought. As much as he adored doing what he did, he couldn’t deny it was rather tiresome most nights, and as skilled as he was, he was always subjected to a few injuries at best. He wiped the dried blood from his lip, graciously given to him from the previous wannabe villain gang. He couldn’t help but grimace at the thought, so many criminals were emerging from seemingly no where, with no real motive other than wanting to be thorns at his side.

Once more, he swung into action. Slithering in and melting into the shadows, stealthily taking out any targets presented. He knew he should be focusing, knew he shouldn’t be distracted, but all he could think about was her. The newest member of the Young justice, the most stunning woman he’d ever met, plagued his mind frequently. Her beauty was that of a siren, her voice the sweetest melody he’d been blessed to hear, and her eyes. Oh her eyes. He would dream of gazing into them during some not to innocent moments. He adored her, loved her even. She was perfect in his eyes, a dream turned reality for him. Not even the endless teasing from his teammates could deter him from clinging onto her, hovering around her whenever he could despite her protests. She was a bit of a loner, charismatic and seductive, yes. But she often chose to isolate herself whenever possible. Whether that was after missions, during patrols or during team building missions. So! He had to improvise somehow, right? He couldn’t ever get more than a few words out of her, usually laced with snark and sarcasm. It was a game to him, multiple bouquets of flowers stuffing her room, to lavish jewels, beautiful hand written love letters to trinkets he believed she’d indulge in. He never signed a name to his gifts, having to stifle a laugh and play coy whenever he’d catch wind of her frustration with her mystery gift giver.

But alas, he couldn’t afford to be thinking about her. Not while he was currently dodging bullets and taking down men left and right. It was a constant, vicious cycle. One he’d been tangled with his entire life. Always having to perform, however that translated to. Circus or battlefield, it was draining regardless. Gods knew he deserved a break, a long vacation with the holder of his heart in a far away paradise. A man could dream. Soon enough, he finished his patrol gracefully, with many criminals that roamed the streets of Gotham now behind bars. Dick grappled back to Mount justice, entering the cave with haste, his eyes searching for her. He entered the common room, where his team was situated. Friends he’d fought with almost all of his teenage years, people for whom he’d led and supported. That’s besides the point, they aren’t the main focus currently. Prior to returning, he’d managed the energy to buy another gift. An ethereal set of diamond necklaces, adorned with pearls that sat snug between the stones. A pretty red ribbon to secure the jewellery box and he was set! Admittedly, he’d spent many thousands on her, and this little habit of his has only started two weeks ago. Had he gone overboard? Of course not! How else would he acquire the love of such a beauty? He called out to his team, “Evening, guys!”, leaving the room before anyone could respond. Tiptoeing around the cave, he reached her room. Leaning his head against the door, he listened for any sounds or presence of life on the room, smirking victoriously when he confirmed she wasn’t inside. He set her gift on her bed and took in her space. Her room reeked of goth, the tall black canopy bed with intricate engravings, the velvet black curtain drape of the bed adding a sense of both privacy and comfort. Her furniture vintage and Victorian looking, and candles accompanied by roses adorned every surface in view. So elegant, so her. Taking a rose, he placed it on top of the jewellery box, once more given with an unsigned identity. Sneaking out of her room, he went about his own nightly routine, showering and dressing himself before doing his hair. Always well kept, especially in her presence. It was rather cute, really. How he’d try to impress her every way possible, always so put together for her. Entering the kitchen, he took out many ingredients and began cooking, taking advantage that most teammates were now preparing to enter the night’s embrace, leaving the only two insomniacs alone. A romantic dinner, for a hopeless romantic.

While he worked on dinner for the two, a nightly routine for the night owls, he hummed softly. His favourite part of the day, coming home and being able to spend time with her, wether he was the one cooking or not, her presence was enough to satiate the longing in his heart. Most of the time. Like clock work, she emerged from her room and graced Dick with her presence. Her stunning hair wet from her shower, and an almost tired look in her gorgeous eyes. His breath hitched when he caught sight of her. She belonged in a painting, he was sure of it.

“What’s on the menu tonight, master Grayson?”, she teased with a smirk that sent shivers of lust down his spine. “Carbonara, doll.”, his smooth voice rung out easily. She hummed in acknowledgment and sat down on the kitchen stool, chin in hand as she watched the man work. She had to admit, he was a sight for sore eyes. Muscles rippling under his shirt, his hair messily attractive after his bath, and his cologne wafting through the kitchen subtly in a way that almost made her want to kiss and mark him. Almost. But there was another pressing matter at hand, one she’d been dying to figure out.

“Dick.”

“Yes?”

“Is it you?”

Now that caught him off guard. Did she know? Had she seen through his attempts at secrecy? “Is what me?”, he said nonchalantly, a skill he’d adapted over many years living alongside his brothers. “The gifts. Is it you?”, her voice firm yet quiet. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, doll. You’ve been receiving gifts? Should I be jealous?”, he casually shot back as a smirk tugged at his lips and sighed internally as she seemed to have bought it. He prepared her plate, giving her a generous amount of the food he’d made, and sat a wine glass down next to it, pouring only the finest wine he’d come across. A perk of being adopted by a billionaire, he supposed. Being able to decipher and build upon an extensive knowledge of the most refined beverages.

“Cheers, love.”

My very first writing piece! Please let me know what you think or anything that could be improved! I hope you’ve enjoyed! :3

[s0fter-sin]

soapghost circus au

ghost’s an extreme motorcycle stunt performer - globe of death, riding on his back wheel along tightropes, that sort of thing

soap’s a fire breather/dancer. he’s a roaming performer; he just finds empty spaces or bored people and starts twirling

he pretends not to notice the way he always wanders towards a certain tent every night to watch a certain masked daredevil defy gravity. he thinks he's slick and that ghost won't notice him in the crowd, completely forgetting that he's carrying something that happens to be on fire

ghost couldn't miss him if he tried

one day off, soap's trialing fire whips; he loves the loud crack and the way the flame licks through the air and maybe he's a little too impatient to practice with non flaming whips first, even though he's never used one before

he's covered in soot and fine welts where the tip of the whip keeps flicking back up at him, cutting through his shirt and stinging his skin but he doesn't let that stop him. it starts to stick to him, damp with sweat and blood and he's quick to strip it off; throwing it to the side to keep practicing

when soap finally gets a few good cracks in a row and breaks to celebrate, he almost jumps out of his skin when he sees the masked rider leaning against a trailer watching him

of all the times he's wanted ghost to talk to him, this is not one of them

he wanted to impress him, dance for him with his flaming batons and be mesmerised by his fluidity and skill

not catch him filthy and struggling with something as basic as a whip

he's ready for ghost to ream him out for not having control over the whip - he's known throughout the circuit for expecting utter perfection in his routines - but when ghost finally does speak, it's only to ask if he's done for the day

soap falters for a moment. he wanted to get some consistency with the whip before he stopped, but he's starting to feel the hours of practice; muscles aching and skin blistered with minor burns

he says he is and ghost pushes off the trailer, nodding his head to make soap follow. he brings him back to his trailer and tells him to clean up then takes out his personal med kit to treat the grazes on soap's skin

soap's shocked; for all that he loves to watch ghost perform, they've never really talked before

part of why he joined the circus was so he wouldn't be a burden on anyone, the oldest in a family with too many mouths to feed and not even time to nurture, and here he is taking up ghost's valuable practice time bc he wasn't good enough to handle his own discipline. he tries to brush him off, downplaying the burns and tries to leave before half them can be treated but ghost just glares and orders him to sit back down

ghost does expect perfection from himself but it isn’t out of any malice or ego; it's bc he knows if he isn't perfect, he could very easily die. he’s picked a dangerous profession and he gives it the respect it deserves. there isn't any shame in being a novice or failing at something; he thinks there's a lot of beauty in having the courage to get back up again and again

so every day he watches soap practice and bullies him into his trailer to put him back together bc he knows he won't do it by himself

and every night soap wanders over to ghost's section of the fair grounds, in awe of his skill and wishing he could be worthy of the care he gives him

[fanaticsnail]

You Kissed the Clown? Part 1

(S1:E2 OPLA timeline)

Upon waking, you found yourself in an unfamiliar environment. Stuffed into a small crate with your three travelling companions, your dark haired friend referred to as a “crew”, your senses were still groggy from the crimson powder exploded above your small rigging.

After your “Captain”, Luffy, disclosed to the group he had consumed the map to the grand line to “keep it in a safe place”, the crate opened to reveal a darkened space. Applause rang throughout the area and your eyes were drawn to a spotlight being placed on a man dressed as a white lion. Several circus-type performers littered the room and directed the large crowd to respond with prompts written on large white panels held by several members. You noticed the features of the crowd were bearing terrified expressions, crying streaks littering their cheeks and some crusted over wounds adorning their faces and bodies.

Through the small opening of the red and white tent, a displeased figure appeared out of the shadows. You were immediately mesmerised by the figure, brightly coloured facial paint adorning his cartoonish features, a large brim hat with blue tassels hung over the folded edge and a collection of mismatched stripes, spots, fur and feather upon his physique. He had a dangerous air around him, full of malice, ill-temperament and a small amount of desperation amongst his features.

The blue haired man immediately berated his companions, yelling at them for the wrong timing, the queue being off, the lighting contrasting over a lion-like man instead of his own features. You looked to your green-haired swordsman companion, making brief eye contact with him and quirking up your brow in question. He shook his head at you and nodded back to bring your attention to the scene playing before you.

You had no idea how you were among this ragtag trio of misfits, especially as piracy was never an occupation you fancied for yourself. You and those within your family line were skilled jewellers; antiquity restoration, appraisal and fine gold and silver smithery was your trade. You and your father were requested to appear before Captain Morgan and add a new gem encrusted embellishment to his recently acquired new head for his Axe-Hand.

You witnessed the fight that was brought out with Helmeppo and several other marines at the skilled hands of Roronoa Zoro. At that point, your father decided he was no longer going to be working with Captain Morgan; no payment was enough to continue working for a man that allowed his child to bully those lesser than him. You were given a choice then to find your own way in the world and bring attention to your own skilled crafts or to sail home with your father to return to work in the shop as a finery smith. Opting for the former of the two, you bid farewell to your father and found yourself upon the small rigging with three companions of whom you had grown fond of.

Bringing you away from your thoughts and tuning back into the conversation, your gaze fell to your orange-haired friend, Nami, as she attempted to bribe the blue-haired clown with a new crew member with untold abilities. Before you could stop her, she threw Luffy’s straw hat into the air and bolted for the opening of the large tent. Two members of the circus crew managed to drag her back to the group which she then berated the jester before you for destroying the town the tent was situated in. The conviction she held in her voice sounded quite intimidating, but the clown just laughed in response. He used a small knife to cut a piece of apple and place it into his mouth, while nonchalantly saying he didn’t destroy everything in the town – he allowed the townspeople to keep their hands to applaud his act.

You inhaled through your nose deeply and widened your eyes at his comment, breathing out slowly through your mouth while fixating your gaze onto his relaxed form. He continued to look over the four of you with a twinkling smile as he consumed his crisp apple before his gaze fell over you.

“You,” he began, pointing at you with the small knife in his hand, “you have been awfully quiet.” He gestured to the rest of the crew with the same knife, “that one threatened me,” he said pointing at Zoro, “that one attempted to bribe me,” he pointed the knife at Nami while sauntering over to the spot you were situated, next to Luffi and Zoro.

“Your Captain lays claim to what’s rightfully mine,” he continued while stalking your form. Your eyes leave his form to look to your companions.

“Don’t you look away from me!” he yelled suddenly at you, causing you to flinch in response. Your body began to tremble slightly at his demands, not used to threats of great violence being thrown at you at a whim. He almost danced over to your place on the ground, bringing his body within an uncomfortable proximity to your own. He made no effort to hide his gaze raking over your body from the hair on your head to the shoes adorning your feet.

Although he had a large nose that immediately drew your attention to it, you couldn’t help but to notice the hue of his irises hidden amongst white, red and blue paint. The intensity of his gaze was drawing you in like a moth to a flame. The hue was akin to several fine gemstones you worked with in your family’s smithery. Jade, sapphire, tourmaline and emerald being the first stones that sprung to your mind while gazing at the angry and menacing clown before you.

“And what would you do, hm?” he condescendingly smirked at you, “you’re no fighter, by the looks of you.”

You held his gaze, staring deeply into his mischievous teal eyes while searching your mind for a response to his pointed question. He placed the small knife into his breast-pocket within his long fur coat and stalked slowly over to you like an animal prowling over to their meal. You trailed your eyes over his form slowly, raking and sizing him up with a small amount of unbridled suggestion held behind your eyelids.

Unsure if what came over you was bravery, stupidity or something else entirely, you reached your right hand forward and swiftly grasped the mustard coloured cravat hanging tightly from his neck and pulled him into you with all of your strength and successfully closed the distance between your bodies.

He was right of course, you were no fighter. Your skills lay in appraising fine metals, gemstones and hand whittled crafts. You read books filled with fairytales, poetry and refrains whispered between lovers. With your occupation, an aura of charisma would often aid in sales; whether you were doing the buying or the selling. You were known far and wide in your homeland as someone with a small amount of flirtatious charm, which was why you were asked to aid your father in his journey to the “tight-pocket” Captain Morgan. You were to charm him as you did many others, swindling them out of their apprehensions and bringing more berry to the till of your family’s business.

A shocked whimper left the lips of the Genius Jester as you tenderly placed your own lips against his, bringing your left hand to his side and using it to bring his body flush against your own, cradling him into a tender embrace. Your eyes were closed as you deepened the kiss shared between you. You began using your lips to open his and caressing them slightly with your tongue.

You slowly felt him relax into your embrace as he placed one hand to the back of your head and the other hand wove itself around you, placing it to the small of your back. He almost gently laced his gloved hand into your hair and held you tightly against him. He released a stifled gasp into your mouth as the hand on your lower back squeezed slightly, pressing your bodies closer together. You released your right hand and moved it tenderly from his cravat to his jaw, feeling the slightly prickled skin beneath his painted face.

Not a word was uttered, silence engulfing the space. In this instance, nothing existed to either of you apart from the moment you were sharing with one another. The map? Gone from both of your minds as you held each other tenderly. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into him as you began lacing your fingers into the hair peaking out from the bottom of his broad hat. You snaked your left hand around his waist, beneath his fur coat and raked your fingertips over his skin, causing him to moan into your mouth and cradle you further into him.

You utilized your head to nudge his own head upward for you to deepen the kiss further. Trailing your hand from the hair under his hat down towards his neck and exploring his pectorals, you massaged down his body while holding him tightly and skillfully in this heated embrace. Your fingers began to explore the flesh of his back, lifting the material slightly to expose his flesh to your administrations.

He did not withhold any sounds from escaping his lips, as small groans released from his lips between kisses alerted you to how much he was truly enjoying your touch. You even allowed some gasps to escape your own lips as you continued to caress, massage and cradle him to yourself as he held you.

You were not foreign to the romantic touch of others by any means, but this kiss felt unlike anything you had experienced prior. You could almost feel his desire for affection as he hungrily held your body against him. Waves of loneliness escaped from his form and onto you as he began to be filled instead with your freely given affection, unlike the painted women he would pay berry for their time.

He groaned slightly and furrowed his brows together at the thought, releasing your lips from his own and holding you to him. His eyes bore into your own as your lips parted from one another, almost gazing into your very soul with the intensity he held.

Without warning, he pushed you from his body and swatted your hands from their position on his back. He turned to face away from you and brought his gaze to your captain before monologuing.

“Ok, here end the theatrics,” he began as the spot lights filter onto the four of you.

“I know one of you have my map, and I’m gonna get it back,” he said with malicious intent.

“What was it you said, rubber boy? That it was ‘in a safe place’?” he mocked with a small glint in his eye. Luffy looked to you in confusion.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I have eyes and ears everywhere,” he laughed. You trailed your eyes over his features, noticing the paint over his lips appeared more smudged than it had been moments prior. You then began to imagine how your face may appear after you shared the kiss with him moments prior.

“So,” he clapped his hands together and looked to his gang of circus members, “please make our guests uncomfortable in the green room.”

You felt hands clasp your wrists. You looked around to see a large man in a leotard grasping your form before you looked back to the clown. Your eyes met briefly once more, an unfamiliar emotion that could almost be described as a combination apprehension, longing and desire located in his eyes as your body was dragged to another location, this time without your captain amongst you.

You held little resistance as your body was escorted away. You looked to Luffy once more and attempted to reassure him with a nod as you walked briskly to be caged with your friends.

Nami was placed in a small cage suspended above the ground, whereas Zoro was bound to a large spinning wheel. As they were placed into these positions, their movements protesting and making it difficult for your captors to place them in these restricting positions; you held no such apprehension.

An aura of calm was coming from your form, confusing the large leotard-clad man. You placed your wrists together and held them out in front of you with a shrug and almost taunted him with how easy you were making this for him. His brows knit together in a puzzled fashion as he began to bind your hands in rope and tie you to a post away from your companions.

Once successfully restrained, the circus people left you with your thoughts as cries of laughter were echoing to the chamber that sounded like it was being pulled from the mouth of your captain.

“You kissed the clown?” uttered your green-haired, tri-sword wielding companion in a low accusatory tone, “why did you kiss the clown?”

You laughed slightly at the question, looking down at your bonds as you wiggled your hands against the tightly clasped rope, testing it for any sort of weakness amongst the restraint.

“I honestly can say I have no idea,” you smiled while pressing your knee against the post you were bound to with a small shove to assess its strength.

“It was incredibly stupid,” Nami commented from her enclosure, “if you were that touch-starved, I’m sure Zoro or Luffy wouldn’t have minded if you wanted to give them a little smooch.”

You turned your gaze over to Nami momentarily before rolling your eyes.

“Oh please,” you replied, “Zoro, I’m sure you are a wonderful kisser but unfortunately you don’t quite have what I’m looking for.”

He scoffed slightly at the comment while you moved your hands down to the hilt of your belt and began searching the folds of your skirts with your wrists.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, what does the dangerous clown-man have that Zoro doesn’t?” Nami asked with a teasing tone. Your wrists find the object within your belt and you smiled broadly, gripping it and bringing it to the light.

“Right now?” you said with a small twinkle in your eyes as you held the small object up to your new friends, "a knife."

For the first time in a while, the three of you shared a laugh before you all began to attempt an escape from the bonds of the green room.

Part 2

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi 👋

I've been loving the fics you've been putting out and I saw you wanted some ideas for Nightcrawler? I love my blue child lol

How about this:

The reader is a shy artist that is a student at the x mansion. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Rogue or Jubilee.

She and Nightcrawler become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Nightcrawler finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Nightcrawler confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Drawn to you

The halls of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters were bustling with energy, filled with students whose powers ranged from the awe-inspiring to the whimsical. Among them, you navigated the day-to-day with your head down, your ever-present sketchbook tucked securely under your arm like a shield. The thick, well-worn pages held a piece of your soul, capturing the world around you in lines and shades. But only two people had ever seen what you created within those pages: Rogue and Jubilee, your closest friends who shared in your quiet passion for art.

You were content to let the world flow around you, observing and sketching, but always from a distance. There was safety in your shyness, a barrier that protected your heart from the complicated emotions of growing up among mutants. However, that all started to change the day you met Kurt Wagner.

Kurt had a presence that was impossible to ignore. His vibrant personality, infectious laugh, and the way he moved through space with the grace of a performer left an indelible mark on you. His tales of life in the circus, the bright lights, and cheering crowds filled you with images you couldn’t help but capture in your sketchbook. You were drawn to him, fascinated by the blend of joy and melancholy that seemed to radiate from him in equal measure.

The two of you quickly became friends. Kurt would teleport beside you in the middle of your walks, flashing a playful grin that made your heart skip a beat. He’d talk, and you’d listen, sketching all the while, though never letting him peek at what you were drawing. You cherished these moments, but the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore the feelings that had begun to bloom in your chest. Feelings that you were certain were one-sided.

After all, why would someone as incredible as Kurt be interested in someone like you?

So you kept your distance emotionally, hiding your growing affection within the pages of your sketchbook, where countless drawings of him lay hidden—his gentle smile, the playful glint in his eyes, the way he moved with a fluid elegance that never ceased to amaze you. Each sketch was a small piece of your heart, poured out on paper in the only way you knew how.

One afternoon, after a long day of classes, you found a quiet spot in the garden to sit and draw. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden light over the mansion grounds, and you lost yourself in the peaceful moment. You didn’t notice when your sketchbook slipped from your lap as you stretched, falling to the ground behind you. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar voice that you realized it was no longer in your grasp.

“Was ist das?” Kurt’s voice was filled with curiosity, and when you spun around, your heart dropped. There he was, holding your sketchbook in his hands, flipping through the pages with wide eyes.

“K-Kurt!” you stammered, scrambling to your feet, your face flushing with embarrassment. “Please, don’t—”

But it was too late. His expression softened as he realized what he was looking at. Each page was filled with drawings of him, capturing moments both big and small, from his bright laughter to the way his tail curled when he was deep in thought.

“Is this… me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded, unable to speak as you felt your cheeks burn with mortification. The urge to run, to hide, was overwhelming, but your feet refused to move.

Kurt looked up from the sketchbook, his golden eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a string of nervous, stuttering syllables. “I-I didn’t think you’d… I mean, I didn’t know if… I just—”

He stepped closer, closing the sketchbook carefully and holding it out to you. “You didn’t think I’d what? Like it? Or… like you?”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you could only shake your head, feeling tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t want me,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Kurt’s gaze softened further, and he took another step closer, closing the distance between you. “I thought the same thing,” he admitted, his voice gentle. “That you wouldn’t want me, that you might be afraid of what I am.”

You shook your head more fiercely now, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No, Kurt, I could never be afraid of you. You’re… you’re incredible. You’re kind, and brave, and so full of life. I… I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Kurt’s expression lit up with a mix of relief and happiness, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that melted away all your fears. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of him, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

“I’ve liked you, too,” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The shyness that had always held you back melted under the warmth of his gaze.

“Kurt…” you started, but before you could finish, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

Your heart soared as you kissed him back, the world around you disappearing as you focused on the feel of his lips against yours, the way his hands cradled your face with such care. The kiss deepened, and you felt a surge of warmth spread through your chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

When you finally parted, you were both breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you shared a quiet moment of bliss.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Kurt murmured, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You giggled softly, feeling a wave of joy and relief wash over you. “Me too,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, his tail curling around your waist in a tender gesture. “I’m glad I found your sketchbook,” he teased lightly, earning a soft laugh from you.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all,” you replied, your voice filled with newfound confidence.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the worries and fears that had once kept you apart now nothing more than distant memories. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a gentle twilight over the garden, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that you were no longer alone in your feelings.

[yanderegrizzsworld]

saw your post about taking digital circus content so may I request for Pomni or Ragatha or even Jax with a reader who's pretty calm when first entering in the digital circus and doesn't seem to mind everything else happening with how they're just like "hey, that's cool" basically they're pretty chill

Imagine: Platonic Yandere Pomni, Ragatha & Jax with a chill reader

TW/CW: Implied stalking & Mentions of Bullying

Pomni:

With Ragatha's reassurance, Pomni reckoned that everyone acted similarly to her upon their arrival to the Digital Circus. This did ease her perturbation, though not by much & far less upon your arrival to their Digital "home".

Are you alright? Complete & utter calmness is the last reaction the jester expects from a newcomer, yet reasons that you're probably seeking to assess your situation &/or keep focus. It's quite smart really, it means you're less likely to abstract in this world, such an easygoing attitude it quite a quick way to get her attached to you.

She'll strive to stick by you as much as possible, though is willing to give you your space if asked to as she wishes not to be regarded as chafing & will at most watch you from a distance. Expect her coming to you a lot whenever she seeks comfort from one of her paranoid episodes of searching for an exit, while Ragatha is very willing to be a nice shoulder to cry on, Pomni truly feels her anxious thoughts leave whenever she's in your presence & will progressively get more antsy the longer she can't find you in the circus.

Ragatha:

She reckons herself as the peacemaker of the group from being one of the oldest to be there, though one would be forgiven (& correct) for thinking that she seems quite close to losing it at any moment. From this, she always strives to ease newcomers to their new digital home, understanding how nerve-wracking it is.

Ragatha is chiefly clueless upon your arrival. Years of seeing new faces initially scared & addled to this world has made the ragdoll has grown accustomed to introducing the new performers, downplaying the existential dread of their circumstance, whether as so they don't abstract or so her own crisis doesn't get to her is up in the air. She takes her steps forward as she usually does to new people, but doesn't know what to properly say seeing as you're not freaking out about the situation.

Seeing her around you a lot is something you'd best get used to, whether it's a short, simple chat on how you're holding up or talking about nothing within the walls of the tent, getting Ragatha to leave is quite the task. She refuses to leave you alone with Jax, as in her eyes & years of being around him, he might chip away at your sanity, small at first but grows worse over time until it's too late, claiming she's somehow surprised someone hasn't abstracted because of him.

Jax:

Nobody's sure if Jax's frequent bullying is merely an aspect of who he is or his way of coping with living in the circus, it's doesn't matter either way, he won't give a luculent answer. Jax isn't one to comfort a new face, opting to hectoring them until Ragatha stops him towards causing the other's disquietude.

Your breezy attitude doesn't deter him from his usual antics, including said frolics being thrown at you. Your lack of reaction to the prank both throws off the lavender rabbit & bemuses him, just what goes through that head of yours? His motive shift from wanting a reaction from you to seeking to see what makes you tick, what you experienced to make you have the viewpoint that you do, that makes you merely laugh at your situation rather than panic.

Jax sees fit to insert himself into conversations without a need to explain himself & brushes off any questions thrown at him, every attempt to interrogate him tends to end with Jax dragging you off with him, maybe to not start an argument with Ragatha or Zooble or perhaps he got bored of the conversation, who knows what goes on in his head. Any thought of suspect for his behavior towards you is out his head a second later, you don't seem to mind so his mind discerns no issue with his comportment & is what Jax uses as an excuse, true reason for his frequent presence around you.

[moon-buggg]

finally, my chance /clenches fist/

Can you tell us about the narrative behind the Haunted House? Like the spiel that the company gives the guests about why the circus is so decrepit, that kind of thing.

Also I'd love to know more about the different scaring styles of Moon vs Sun!

-Pluck

it's all very killer klowns from outer space! some aliens sent down some robots (or.. the aliens are the robots? it's unclear) to capture humans and experiment on them. it's also unclear if the whole circus themeing was an attempt to draw in victims or if the aliens just Are Clowns. Set design points to the former with more and more of the clown aesthetic disappearing the further you get into the lab section (though it never fully disappears).

Moon is a stalker. His style is very eyes on the back of your neck, you can never escape him vibes. It's movement in the corner of your eye, turning a corner and he's just There. If you can't see him, then you can probably hear him. There's even a few simple animatronics around that look like his arm disappearing up into a vent to make it seem like he's closer than he actually is.

One gets the sense he is hunting you, which become all too real when he grabs YN by the ankle and drags them off into another room

Sun is much more, lets say dramatic (couldn't think of a good image to show this, sorry sun rip). He's the finisher.

He's loud, he's in your face, he's having fun at your misery and putting on a Performance. Where Moon's scares are a bit subtler and atmospheric, Sun is a sudden burst of a adrenaline. He's unhinged and laughing and very much a Scary Clown. You only see him once or twice in the whole haunt but you're probably glad for it and you certainly won't forget him

The best showcase of this is his grand finale with YN where he pulls fake organs out of them like its a magic show (details not finalized, I'm trying to think up something better. suggestions welcomed lol)

[friendlyengie]

oh hey, speaking of ocs actually, some proper updated refs for these guys! Id like to get a collection of drawings detailing specific details and introducing their classes more properly, but for now, I’ve got these! Character ramblings under the cut for anyone interested!

The Decoy is a support class built around getting someone’s attention and being a nuisance for as long as possible. It’s not a very damage-heavy or strong class, but focuses more on being tough to catch than anything else. The Decoys are both circus themed runaways who insist on being in costume despite the fact that the class is not inherently circus-themed. Armani is loud, friendly, but kind of an acquired taste as far as whether or not he’s actually enjoyable to be around goes. He’s learned to utilize a few decades worth of aggression issues by simply avoiding losing his shit until he’s on the field and allowed to beat the shit out of people. He’s marginally successful at holding out until this opportunity. Marcel is a mime of few words, opting to obnoxiously emote to communicate before he’ll speak directly to you. He’s quick on his feet and good at appearing like he’s got his head on his shoulders, but you can only be so normal when you’re a man whose decided to operate as a mercenary in a full face of performance makeup.

The P.I. (Investigator isn’t the technical title, but it filled the space better) is a pretty standard offense class. She’s got some robot eyes with some cool recording and projecting abilities, but I’ll be honest, I don’t have a lot filled out to make the P.I. An interesting class yet, ive been focusing more on Hattie as a character. U_U She’s a pretty empty-headed but charismatic lady. She operates with a lot of confidence, regardless of her skill. She’s a damn good investigator, great with puzzles and working through clues, but when she doesn’t have a metaphorical magnifying glass in her hands and a case to crack she’s as dumb as a bag of rocks and refuses to listen to anyone trying to point it out. She talks like an old noir detective despite it being the 60s, and speaks in extravagant metaphors that don’t really make sense if you think about them longer than three seconds.