Laugh Joker Novels & Stories

“Jokes have owners, Grace! Do not try to crack one if you know you will do something contrary to what a joker can, and that is to pull a smile or erupt outbursts of laughter from people. That back there was not a joke at all, Grace!” I say that because if she was joining, that was a terrible one. She should know that she stinks at it.

She walked towards him and hit him in the back of his head. "What are you wearing, Al? We are not on the beach for sh*t's sake!" she exclaimed. The good looking man frowned. "No one has a violent reaction to my clothes except you." Maia put her hands on her waist. "First, they are afraid of you, and second, they find you hot. But, not me." "Well, that's my charm," the guy laughed. "How disgusting," she shook her head in disappointment. Alcot Blake Basil, the twelfth rank ambassador and the youngest wolf in the council. He is the Queen's nephew, also known as The Joker, for he is a clever, smart, and strong wolf, but cunning, cruel, brutal, and has a lot of mysteries under his sleeves.

My husband had been very busy with work recently. We did not want him to miss out on his son’s birthday, so we decided to celebrate it at his office. I decided to cosplay as my son’s favorite Marvel character as a surprise, which required me to put on a heavy and stuffy onesie. The moment I stepped foot into the office lobby, I saw two familiar figures—Jared Carter in an expensive suit, with Isabelle Jenner hanging delicately from his arm. He did not seem to have changed over the past three years.

But her expression was so strained that it was obvious to anyone that her smile was fake. Another reporter turned to Dad. "Mr. Walker, as the father, are you really okay with your son giving up Easton University?" Dad stammered, "This… This is his own decision…" His answer was clearly unconvincing, and he looked especially nervous on camera.

“What are you talking about? “Brady is well-behaved. He would never say something like that. “You are the one who causes problems everywhere you go, making people laugh at me. You do not think about anyone but yourself.” The slap was loud. My head snapped to the side, and my left cheek burned white-hot, the pain bleeding into the throbbing at the back of my skull until it was all one thing. My ears rang. I could not make out anything he said anymore. The only thing still cutting through was that word, turning over and over inside the noise. Laughed at. Laughed at. Laughed at.

“Don't be so mean. I mean what if…” “Shut up and tell me what you need!” I said as I breathed through my mouth. “What? You're confusing me,” he was wheezing again, about to burst into another round of laughter, but I wouldn't let that happen, so I threw the nearest thing my hand could reach at him. “Shut up, your laughter is really annoying. You sound like the fucking Joker!” “Whoa whoa, I didn't know you could swear, plus whose fault is it that you wanted me to talk and shut up at the same time. Even a robot can't do that!” And he started laughing again, until I noticed the red on his face.

Jones burst into laughter, making Logan join involuntarily. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be laughing, but damn! This is funny. You got home and your wife showed you this picture, saying you were with your ex? Wow! Sorry I laughed, continue please. I promise not to laugh again.” Jones was a very simple fellow who laughed even in serious situations. Most times, his laughter held a spell or charm that made it impossible for the victim to get offended. This spell worked again and Noah continued his story. “You haven't stopped laughing at the wrongest times,” Noah complained and sipped his wine.

“Stop being a fucking coward.” Joker’s face hardened. His ice-blue eyes looked even more white and deadly than usual. He placed both hands on my chest, pushing me backward. “You don’t know shit! Shut the fuck up and get out!” He pointed to the door, and the rest of his body looked visibly shaking.

Not hard enough to break it, but enough to make the wood creak under the pressure of his self-loathing. “I would’ve fucking killed myself if I knew I ever—” He growls, pacing again. “That piece of shit version of me—he doesn’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.” And just like that, a noise escapes me. A laugh. Not a giggle. Not a chuckle. Not even a dignified laugh. No, I burst the fuck out, this choked, confused, what-the-fuck-is-my-life kind of laugh. I cackle, holding my stomach and stumbling back against the wall, because holy shit, this guy is hilarious.

The day before the high school reunion, the queen bee who'd bullied me for three years suddenly posted a video in the group chat. In the video, my 220-pound high school self was locked inside a bathroom, with a piece of paper stuck to the back of my uniform that read: [No Food for Pigs] The group chat instantly erupted. [Holy shit, she's coming to the reunion?] [Do you think the hotel chairs can hold her?] [After all these years, she can't possibly still be so fat she won't even fit through the door, right?] Naomi White, the queen bee who'd led the bullying back then, tagged me. [Old friend, everyone wants to see you. You have to come to the reunion this time.] Soon, someone started