wooden wagon

A Waltz with the Clown


This one-shot is based off a confession submitted to @pennywiseconfessions in which the reader dances with Pennywise like in Beauty and the Beast.  Rated M for language and sexual content.  The confession that inspired this can be found here: http://pennywiseconfessions.tumblr.com/post/166467263592 


“Dance, my little precious, dance!” Pennywise squeals as he kicks his legs out, one after the other in the most grotesque and jarring of jigs.  He stands behind you, guiding your movements along with his own, like a puppet muster with your limbs attached to imaginary strings.  Your body jerks this way and that way, being manhandled roughly and without finesse.  One wrong movement, just one sudden yank, and you’re sure your arm will dislocate from your shoulder.  You move along as best you can, trying your damnedest to match his superhuman speed and ferocity to avoid the seemingly unavoidable injury that is bound to happen if he keeps this up for much longer.  

You hate it when he gets like this, which is usually after he feasts on some sorry preadolescent urchin.  He always returns on a high, squealing and yapping, prancing and pouncing.  He is like a hurricane entering land, tearing everything in his path, bursting through the side door of the wagon where you are kept chained to its wheel.  The sound of hysterical laughter and high-pitched howls precede him, and when his bloodshot yellow eyes finally fix upon you, you know what you’re in for.  The stench of blood and pain overshadows the usual scent of cotton candy and popcorn that usually emanates from him.  He lunges for you then, and though most times you end up in some twisted, contorted position crying and moaning in pleasure and pain, sometimes you end up like this, becoming his marionette.  Like a rag doll, you’re yanked in all directions as he dances his high away.  And still, when he’s spent and sitting wide-legged on the wooden floor of the wagon, he reaches for you.  The end game is always the same: Mania culminates in ferocious fucking.

“You’re not dancing!” he yells, stopping suddenly and turning you forcefully to face him.  His bloody face is only two inches from your own, and his sulfurous eyes burn into yours.  You try not to gag, partly at the stench of death on him, partly out of vertigo.

“You call this dancing?” you manage to pant, turning your head away.  Even the stench of the sewer beyond the confines of his tower would be preferable to the one he carried now.  

He glares at you for a few seconds longer, then he pouts and shakes his head in disdain, the bells of his clown suit jingling.  How dare you refuse him!  Or challenge him! You, the little toy he kept for his own amusement, actually had the gall to defy your captor.  A growl begins to build in his throat, its deep vibration shaking you to your very core.  One wrong step, and he wouldn’t think twice of snapping your neck, or even worse, tear your traitorous windpipe out of throat and wear your guts for garters.  You get on the bad side of the clown, and you end up floating twenty feet in the air with the rest of his half-eaten prey.

“Can I show you something different?” you say coyly, lowering your head in submission but looking up at him.  You smile sweetly, and reach out to take his hand.  He looks down at your hand clutching his, looks back up at you, and you nod reassuringly.  Your invitation is genuine.  You know he has moments when he is playful, sweet even, like a petulant child reveling in the scraps of attention given to him.  But then, just as quickly, he can snap.  You know your survival thus far has depended on those moments in which you manage to keep him placated.  Will he now be the monster, or the playful child?

Slowly, the corners of his mouth begin to twitch, and the most mischievous smile plays on his lips.  Your own smile grows wider, and the two of you giggle in unison.  His eyes shine when he notices the twinkle in yours and he knows just exactly what idea has sprung in your head.  He always does.

“I’ve never danced the waltz” he says, half embarrassed “it seems so… dull”

“That’s because you’ve never had a partner” you quip, taking a step closer.  He goes to grab you, but you take a step back.  His smile is instantly gone.

“Uh uh” you tease “first you must… you know… take care of that” you say, wiggling your finger at his bloodied mouth.  

“Ah!” he exclaims in his childlike voice.  He lets go of you, and shakes his body vigorously.  Then, instantly, all traces of his meal are gone.  His face and suit are clean, his hair is perfectly coiffed, and he once again smells of sweets and butter.  Like a walking circus, you think to yourself, a smorgasbord of delicious and enticing temptations.

“Ta-da!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out in an exaggerated gesture, causing you to laugh.

“That’s more like it.  Now, put your arms around me” you instruct, and take hold of his right gloved hand and place it at the hollow of your back.  Your right hand now takes his left, and he instinctively pulls you in close, so suddenly that your noses almost crash into one another’s.  For a moment you remain thus, locked his in his embrace with his breath ghosting over your lips, noses nearly nuzzling.  Your eyes drown in his, and were it not for his façade and restraint, you would be sure to lose yourself in the deadlights simmering within.  Still, even after all this time, you wonder how you’ve managed to keep your sanity.

“Um…” you stammer, but you’re so close, so engulfed by him, that if you surrender and close the inch between you, dancing would give way to the inevitable end.  But not yet.  You do not wish to lose this moment in which the monster is tame just enough to enjoy the calm that hides beneath the tempest of his nature.  You feel jolts of electricity spark and sputter deep in your belly, sending waves that pulsate out to your brain and the tips of your toes.  He is standing so still, his hold on you firm and unwavering, his gaze fixed and unblinking.  You want to, no, need to give in…

“Follow my lead” you manage to get out, and a faraway voice in your head marvels at how you managed to keep your composure.  He is teasing you, just as much as you are teasing him.  A thin line of drool begins to slide down his bottom lip.
You take a step forward with your left foot, and his right foot goes back.

“Now move to your left with me” you instruct as you slide to the right, and he joins you.  

“Now with the opposite foot, your left, you go forward and I go back with my right”

He is focused on the footwork, no longer looking at you.  When your feet join once more on the third step and you slide back to the first position, his eyes go wide with understanding.

“Like a square!” he exclaims, sounding like a four year old preschooler.

“Exactly” you laugh.  God, he could be so fucking adorable sometimes.  Damn him.

“Let’s do it again” he says and begins the routine.  “Right back, step left, together, now left front, step right, and together again”

“Oh wow, you got it!  Now, follow the same routine as we move around”

Slowly, you make a turn around the small wagon.  Then another.  As his movements become more fluid, he smiles and laughs happily in his throat.  He begins to pick up speed, and soon you are nearly flying around the small space.  Suddenly, he lets go of you, and you nearly stumble.  His mouth and brow are pursed in discontent.

“That isn’t right” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” You ask alarmed.  Oh no.

“Music’s not right” he says.  Your eyes widen with realization and nod.  The calliope music that is currently blasting through the tower stops, and he now stands with one foot tapping in unison with his index finger that taps his lip.  He is thinking of waltz music, but can’t really place it, or recall it.

“Da da da dum… ting ting” you hum, remembering the classical piece with which you once learned to waltz, standing on your father’s shoes as a small girl.  A pang of sadness hits your heart, but you quickly brush it away.  Pennywise’s eyes go wide, he sticks his finger in the air, and his mouth opens in a wide, toothy smile.  As if on cue, the beginning notes of Tale as Old as Time begin echoing off the walls of his tower.  Your hands go to your mouth in shock.

“How do you know?!” you gasp, and he winks.  Beauty and the Beast has always been your favorite fairy tale since you first watched it enraptured at the tender age of five.  Now, a month shy of your thirtieth birthday, you stood before your very own Beast.

“Something is still wrong” Pennywise pouts, then he gives you the most lecherous grin.  With a snap of his fingers, the tattered clothes you wear transform into the puffiest, sparkly, and most glamorous yellow ball gown.  Your hair is now pulled into the prettiest half-do, and your feet are wrapped in gold slippers.  You look down at your hands in amazement as a pair of immaculate white gloves materialize up to your elbows.  You look up at Pennywise, and you are met with the view of a clown staring at you stupefied.  His mouth is agape, and his eyes shine with adoration.  You have no chance to react as he swoops you up suddenly, and he jumps out of the wagon, landing at the edge of his pile of keepsakes.  His high-pitched laughter mixes with your own.  

He places you on the floor, and pulls you against him once more.

“Now we can dance” he purrs into your ear, sending shivers through you.  You say nothing, for no words were needed.  Not now.  You lean into him, and as the song begins to build, you let him lead.  He waltzes flawlessly, and you and Pennywise begin to glide around the tower.  The small waterfalls of water that fall into the cisterns around the structure begin to magically glimmer, and as you splash around in the puddles of the floor, orbs of silver light begin to float upwards from the ripples in the water.  You are wrapped in a cocoon of silver white, and move transfixed, hypnotized by the way his eyes seem to shine brighter than ever before.

Around and around you go, and then much to your delight, he begins to twirl you.  He holds on to your hand as you turn outwards, then pulls you back in and he lifts you high in the air, his joyous laughter causing you to soar higher, higher, higher, until you seem to be floating, only to be brought back down into the safe anchor of his arms.  Without even realizing it, you begin to sing.

“Ever just the same… ever a surprise… ever as before… ever just as sure… as the sun will rise…”

“O0h ah ha ha ha ha ha… sing!” Pennywise exclaims “SING!”

The song now reaches its crescendo, and you feel weightless.  Careless.  Free.

“Tale as old as time… song as old as rhyme…”

He slowly brings the dance to a close.

“Beauty and the Beast” your voice fades, along with the song.  The two of you now stand still, eyes locked, wrapped in each other’s arms.  Your heart beats wildly, and if he had a heart, you would be damn sure its rhythm would match your own.

“So that’s the waltz” he breathes.  All is quiet, save for the gentle stream of the waterfalls and the haunting lullaby of his prey floating above.

“Kiss me” you whisper.  A small smile tugs at one of the corners of his mouth and he crashes his lips against yours.  You finally allow yourself to become lost, you surrender to his magnetizing pull.  You drown into the deep and delicious ocean of his mouth as the magic dissipates and his clawed hands tear at the aged and faded clown dress you normally wear.  You welcome it, you crave it.  This was your destiny, to become a prisoner of the creature that feeds on the youngest of your kind, the monster that haunted your dreams and now inhabits your waking.

Now, as your cries of ecstasy echo off the wooden beams inside the brightly lit circus wagon, tears of gratitude spill from your eyes.  For no matter what horrors await you tomorrow, at least just for one night, you were a Beauty, and he was your Beast.

The End.  

Moon of Fire Part ii (Sastiel Sequel)

Thank you so much to everyone who showed their love for the first of part of Moon of Fire! Special mention to @thebookdiviner for her amazing, beautiful, gorgeous aesthetics edit for part i as well!

If you haven’t read A Court of Fire and Dreams:
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Moon of Fire:
Part i, Part ii, Part iii, Part iv, Part v


“Bring her back,” Kastiel had shouted, clawing at the floorboards in the House of Mist. “Bring her back!”
“She’s gone, Kastiel,” Amren said, pulling him to his feet.
Kastiel shook his head. “How do you know? How do you know where she went, if she’s alright, if she’s made it? How do you know?”
Amren’s mouth was about to open, about to make a sound, before Kastiel was yanked from his dream.
He was sweaty, despite the open windows that let the cool breeze of the night in. He wished the dream hadn’t ended so abruptly, so he could hear Amren’s steady voice, explaining to him everything so vividly, so clearly, as if to say how could you ever doubt me, Kastiel?
Now, he lay awake in the bed he’d shared with Seraphine.
It was cold and empty—just as he was.
Though he couldn’t shake that feeling, that undeniable dread at the thought of Seraphine gone from him. Somewhere he couldn’t go.
I came alive when I met you she had said to him.
Yet she still left.
And he didn’t come with her.
The shadows rippled in the corner of his eye. Anyone who wouldn’t have known what to look for could have easily mistaken it for nothing. Though Kastiel knew better.
“Father asked you to spy on me again?” he said into the shadows.
“Not quite,” Azriel said, appearing at the foot of his bed. “I’m just here to check on you.”
Kastiel turned those words over and over in his head. He couldn’t understand what exactly he was feeling—couldn’t even put it into words. But he was certain on one thing—he shouldn’t have let Seraphine’s fingers slip from his hands. He shouldn’t have let her go through the portal alone, without him, without telling her how he felt. Letting Seraphine go was the biggest mistake of his life.
“I’m going to get her back. I’m going to tell her.”
He met his uncle’s eyes and shifted to the side of the bed to make room.
Azriel laid down next to him and together, they comforted each other in their silence.

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Kharakhan war wagon: “A team of twelve land lizards or ogriphants (shown here), arranged in three rows of four across, provide impetus for the war wagon.  A wooden mantlet studded with spikes protects the beasts from above; the side-walls (exposed here to show the ogriphants) are enclosed in dragon hide, wood slats, or hammered metal plates.”  For scale, the wheels average 6 ft diameter.  (Cyclopedia Talislanta, Bard Games, 1988)

Moon of Fire Part viii (Sastiel Sequel)

I hope you guys enjoy this next part of Sastiel’s story! Don’t forget I’m running a Sastiel competition with amazing prizes. All you have to do is make an edit/fanart based on my Sastiel fic to be in the draw to win!

If you haven’t read A Court of Fire and Dreams:
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Moon of Fire:
Part i, Part ii, Part iii, Part iv, Part v, Part vi, Part vii

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Diverging Paths

Fourth Prompt for @nalu-week2017.
Second Day: Tarot; where Natsu and Lucy meet in a different time under MUCH different circumstances.

As Princess of the Realm, Lucy had many obligations. Her father, King Jude of Heartfilia had his fair share as well, hence why his only daughter was currently packed into a carriage on her way to meet her future husband. In order to preserve peace between their two nations, her father had promised her hand in marriage to Prince Dan in the neighboring country to the South. Unfortunately, she was used to feeling like a bargaining chip.

Sitting in the ornately decorated, wood cart, Lucy stared out the window at the passing landscape, sighing to herself quietly. Her Royal Guards, Erza and Gray, sat on the bench opposing her, bickering about their responsibilities once they arrived in their new home. She’d been lucky when Dan had allowed her to bring two of her closest loved ones with her. Even the fact that he’d allowed her to do anything made her want to scoff. All that did was set the tone for what she knew would be the rest of her miserable days.

“Cheer up, Lucy,” Erza remarked warmly, drawing the princess’s attention her friends. “I’ve been assured that the King’s castle has a beautifully maintained garden. Perhaps we could take a walk through it after we’ve settled in our quarters.”

“If my new jailer permits,” Lucy grumbled, crossing her arms delicately over her chest, as much as the tightly laced bodice would allow of course. All she’d done was move from one prison to the next. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. Sighing, she dropped her shoulders and attempted to relax. “Sorry, Erza,” she said, her royally influenced smile etching on her lips. “You’re right. I’m sure they’re beautiful.”

Gray was the next one to voice his opinion. “I don’t get why your Father picked this guy, apparently he’s a royal pain in the ar–.” He didn’t get to finish his thought before Erza punched him in the arm, hard. His steely gaze turned on his ally quickly. “Was that really necessary?!”

The two soldiers were bickering before Lucy knew it, causing the blonde to laugh at the familiarity of it all. It felt like she was home again, easing the ache in her heart for a moment. All before disaster struck.

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So I’ve been thinking about aravels, and how much the tiny red ships bug me, and devoted far too much time to planning out how I think they work.

To maintain a stable, healthy population, Dalish clans must be 250 members strong minimum. With only so many resources and 250 people to shelter the tiny (though admittedly pretty) delicate little aravels seen in DA:II and Inquisition would not be accurate or useful structures. The large, bulky wooden wagons of Origins would be much more likely, although to be honest they should be bigger. In the Masked Empire Briala describes them as “great wagons” and compares them to buildings. They’re big.

Long post with much rambling and sketchy diagrams ahead:

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Cruel But Beautiful chapter 14

From the relative safety of the tree where Armin had left him and Mikasa, Eren’s concern only grew as he watched the scene play out. Armin had stopped dead, as if he had been ran over by a boulder. He just stood there, staring at whoever Levi had successfully wrestled from the Titan’s corpse, though Eren couldn’t get a clear sight of them. Despite that, he could feel anger building up in his chest and if it wasn’t for the fact that he cared too much for the broken girl in his arms, he would have gladly confronted whatever sorry bastard had betrayed them.

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Title: Sweet December

Writer: Monsoondownpour

Recipient: @vizodi  it won’t let me tag you!! D:

Contents: AU, Veteran Levi, Fluff, The prompt was for domestic fluff and this is… domestic? (I hope you like it I’m actually not that good at domestic fluff so I cheated and added dogs for extra cute.)

Summary: Eren ditches the town Yule festivities to visit his favourite customer.

“Bye Eren! Do send Levi my best wishes!”

The shop door groaned painfully as Eren pulled it open, the little bell above it tinkling.

“Alright Hanji, happy holidays!”

Hanji’s bespectacled head popped around a shelf, frowning. “And at least try to convince him to pop down to the square for the Yule festival, I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

I’m sure he wouldn’t, Eren thought, but smiled politely nonetheless. Levi wasn’t the biggest fan of the cold, and to trudge around in the muddy slush of town being greeted by the townspeople as ‘the Christmas miracle’ was probably the worst way Eren could think of to force the man to spend his birthday.

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A Little Preseason Training || Open

The local gym in Hogsmeade left a lot to be desired. Instead of getting a membership or traveling back and forth between the training facility in Appleby, Shang gathered up some supplies and found a decent sized clearing to train in. 

He lugged his supplies on a wooden wagon he fashioned out of some supplies he bought in town. He wasn’t too far from the main strip of stores but far enough where a crowd wouldn’t be drawn. He wasn’t sure how many people knew of his new position on the Appleby Arrows since he didn’t officially start as their seeker until the new season. Just to air on the side of caution, he wanted to stay off the radar.

While he prepared his equipment, he hummed an old Cantonese folk song occasionally letting a word or two slip from his lips.

The Bat and The Dove (Closed RP with zhemedic)

Azure was in his office chair leaning back lazily. “What do I feel like eating, for lunch?” Speaking out loud to himself.

He rubs back of his neck, “There is a new world portal, they might have some interesting food.” He hop out of his chair and check the locations. “ Something about Sand … vich? Sandvich? Why is there the ‘v’ " 

He shrugs at the misspelling. "Ah, well. Why not.” He open the portal and dive into this sandy landscape. While landing, war sounds could be heard. “!?”

Some Blue beam was on him, then a Red beam. He squeaked and darted under a wooden wagon. The ground started to shake, he looked out. “!?!?” It was a huge man carrying a machine gun. “Wha the Hell!?” He zooms out going behind another wooden object.

The vampire started to cough, “I .. I smell cig smoke.” He darts away and trying to find another safe spot gets hit by a baseball bat by mistake by some kid?

He was out breath, and confused. “What is with EVERYONE?”

Request: Could you maybe write a longish Thorin imagine in which the reader and him were lovers back before the Mountain was taken, and reunite at the Shire? maybe Thorin had thought the reader was dead and they have a sad/romantic reuniting?

Author’s Note: THORIN. I tried to make it as long as I could.

Originally posted by thingols

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