#circus verse

[beetle-not-yeetle]

TUBBO CIRCUS VERSE???

Yes

He hasn’t been introduced yet but he will be soon, his design might change but for now I’m really happy with it!! If you can’t tell he’s a clown (in more ways than one :))

FLATS

As always a link 4 u if you want to check out the fic and there’s another on of these with Wilbur on my page

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[gummie-shark]

🐸  🐸  🐸

Some Lailah and David ( @aphoticabyss ) !!

[bandit-art]

Descent of The Fool

ft. Eve

[circusglass]

✚ (and jesssiieeeee)

acts of affection meme: @feralandfair​

“Oh, when you see this, Molly, you’ll want to get it as a tattoo,” she coos with a playful little flourish. The gritty drag of the paintbrush tickles enough for him to suck his stomach in, laughter a startled puff of warm air.

“I’ll be the judge of that, darling,” he murmurs breathlessly, and he can hear Jester grinning as she goes over the same spot again with a bit more pressure until his clawed toes are twisting together, skin pebbling. He’d made a promise, though, and he isn’t about to break this one so Molly keeps his eyes shut per Jester’s instructions. He doesn’t see her playful wiggle, but he can imagine it, same with the way she must be catching her lower lip with those fanged teeth of hers, like she’s eating up the mischief of her smile.

He’s long since stopped trying to guess what she’s painting. Initially he figured Jester was writing something, but the soft dabs across his chest makes him think clouds, the short blunt strokes similar to her fondness for flower petal-esque rays. Molly’s spent enough time peering over her shoulder while she sketched to pick up her favorite shapes.

His breath stutters when she circles his navel, brush bristles catching the metal bar there. She makes a disgruntled sound and flicks it, annoyed.

He scents the air. “Jester, dear?”

“Yeees, Molly?”

His tail curls up, flicks at the skirts pooled around her hips. “Why does it smell so sweet? You’re not covering me in honey, are you?”

“Well, that’s a thought.” There’s a delicate lace-lattice work of a giggle in her voice. “It’s paint, technically! But it is also sugar.”

“It’s edible?”

“Mmhmm!”

Molly feels along his side, touches the crust-wet edge stroke of drying ink. She smacks his hand and he laughs, snatching her wrist and smearing paint.

“Stop it! You’ll get paint in my fur,” she yelps.

“Only wanted to taste it,” he says, innocent enough. He pulls her wrist to his mouth and brushes a kiss to the soft inside, and when he draws his tongue across his lips they come away sweet. Jester’s silence is oddly still.

“Almost–almost done,” she announces after a moment. Her brush hits her palette, tap tap.

“I felt some clouds,” he muses, pressing his shoulders back into the worn carpet in her tent. “And a sun, and maybe some waves.” He tongues the corner of his mouth again. Sugar-sweet, a little cinnamon. He wonders what color his lips have turned. “Ah, I know. You’ve made me into a beautiful, scenic ocean-scape. Nicodranas from your window.”

Jester claps, and then her voice is muffled, laughter painting it bright. “Not even close! But it is very beautiful, cross my heart!”

He hums long and low. “…It’s a dick, isn’t it?”

There’s a bit of scrambling, the soft clicking of claws. “It’s not a dick! Open your eyes, open your eyes!” So Molly does.

He squints into the mirror Jester is holding over his torso. The first thing he notices is that his lips are smudged green with something like frosting, the second is that his initial guess had been right. She had, in fact, been writing words.

“You’ve vandalized my beautiful body,” he says flatly.

Her giggles poof like the white head of a dandelion. “Do you know what it says?”

“Give me a minute.”

And because Jester is Jester, and she is kind and does not baby him, she does.

She’s written backwards across his skin in spring green ink, hidden the letters in flirty curlicues, each one embellished with creeping ivy and flowers, and flowers that yes, absolutely look like dicks. Molly collects each letter slowly in the reflection of her mirror, sounds them out in his head, then aloud:

“The…Traveler…is…the….”

“Tits!” she bursts out before he can finish, doubling over with laughter, the mirror squished to her bosom. Her tail lashes back and forth, high and perky. He snatches at it with his own and tugs.

“You little minx,” he play growls, shoving himself up onto his elbows. “You can just use me to proselytize!”

“You like when people look at you!” she defends, sounding utterly un-sorry. “Now they will even more and learn something new, maybe!”

“I’ll get thrown in the clink is what’ll happen,” he moues dramatically. He falls flat on his back again, lays his arm over his face. “You want me to die forgotten, destitute behind bars.”

“Nooo! Mawlly!” She grabs his forearm and tugs, and he resists until she really puts her weight into it. There’s no resisting that. “You won’t die! I’ll clean it up!”

He peeks out from under his arm, shoved askew for a single-eyed peek. “Promise?”

“Promise! I smudged the shout point anyway,” she pouts, grabbing a rag. He gives her tail another loop of his own, slides down towards the tuft. Her ears twitch. “Your stupid belly button ring got in the way.”

Molly peers down the length of his torso at the sun she’s made of his navel. Its little rays are a bit off. He grins.

“Just fix it. I’ll be your, mmm, barker for the Traveler for now,” he chirrs, rasping his claws over the fabric of her skirt. Those ears flutter again. From here, their tips look a touch violet and he can’t help but smile, twisting the lace hem between his fingers. “I doubt our troupe will rat us out to the Empire dogs.”

Jester’s eyes half-moon with glee. Molly’s fingers edge beneath layers of skirts.

“Okay okay! This won’t take too long.” She swipes up her paintbrush and twirls it between her claws.

“You can make it up to me,” he begins with a mischievous grin. His palm curves around the swell of her thigh. She shivers underneath press of his hand, and when he glances up, her cheeks are blooming lilacs. “And use your mouth to do it.”

[nerdylittleshits]

Twisted under the Big Top/ Closed

Dick was up early as always, he could never sleep in past 7. The circus had pulled into a new town last night, shrouded in inky blackness and dim starlight they pulled into a sleepy little town and set themselves up in the back field of a farmer's land that he had already harvested. Only the essentials had been put up last night, the big top had been raised along with a few smaller side show tents, everyone was in charge of handling their own living trailers, the the rides would be put together today. Dick was inside the big top putting together his trapeze. Climbing the towering posts bare-handed and attaching catches and cables to connect to his tight ropes and bars. He was finishing attaching his practice net when he heard someone down below. @islandxmisfits

[aboxfulofmusesandonemun]

☀

My muse is kept in a cage at the circus. Your muse comes across them before tonight’s performance. Send ‘☀’ for my muse’s reaction to yours stepping towards the cage.

The BOW lounged in his large, reinforced cage, tail twitching as he relaxed. Well, relaxed wasn’t the proper word. Sure, he looked relaxed but he was anything but. It was hard to relax when he was being forced to entertain others like he wasn’t a person in his own right. Whoever it was that had stepped towards his cage didn’t seem to be too much of a threat, compared to what he’d fought before. He snorted and rolled away from them, tail thumping.

[bandit-art]

My husband and wife, respectively

Ft. Samuel/Samael and Morgan/Lailah

[bandit-art]

Jaws of Life

Some morgan/lailah, i worked really hard pls like/reblog it ;;m;;