#( *clown music intensifies* )

[omegabenaeart]

Character 1 of 20, BOBBY

He's part of a team of clown assassins known as 6onk, acting as the leader and the firearms expert.

Also a bit of an angry dude, doesn't tend to like people. It doesn't help that his teammates seem to enjoy pissing him off lol.

Video below cut

[everlastingrandom]

The speaker of the house vote goes like this: the fourth. The fifth. The minor fall and the major lift. The baffled king composing hallelujah

[foibles-fables]

I downloaded the DD2 demo and, surprising absolutely nobody,

[normal-thoughts-official]

no i don't have a type, why do you ask?

[lunian]

love seeing this popular "for me to avoid romancing Astarion once again I just went to play as Astarion himself to try someone else lol"

it's like my dumb ass taking Gale origin but as "not only I won't slip on this wizard rizz once again but also I will finally have any kind of motivation to romance Astarion"

[thund3randrain]

hoes be traumatized by 'Alejandro' by Lady Gaga 😂

(I'm hoes)

[tierra-paldeana]

// i'm taking screenshots of the ep to make icons with and hassel's fucking face in this frame is TAKING ME OUT fhghgHAGAHGSHG

[thomas-mvller]

My comms said leverkusen will probably concede a match or two at bundes bc winning titles is more important than keeping a winning streak

I hope they concede four

[blueberrymilkcookie]

anyway, WITHOUT HOPIUM, these are the ones i think are likely to happen

WITH HOPIUM:

bingo sheet for shadow milks update on the 4th anniversary 🙏

[sepia-stained-sunset]

If DC is giving us Mia again maybe they'll reveal that Joanna Pierce isn't actually dead and she'll come back too and they'll give her a mini like she deserves and-

[quilleily]

The Iron Trio

Sure hope nothing bad happens to them *clown music intensifies*

[notdefendingtaylor]

taylor: delivers a handwritten letter of deep appreciation and gratitude to a three time woman abuser

swifties: that's my cue to clown even harder for this woman *circus music intensifies*

[doccywhomst]

♫ CLOWN MUSIC INTENSIFIES ♪

[deafeningladyruins]

Carnival of Shadows

3: The First Contact

The days turned into weeks, and their nightly encounters at the abandoned carnival became a macabre ritual. She was drawn to Art the Clown like a moth to a flame, finding solace in the eerie companionship he offered. Her mental health, usually a tumultuous storm, felt eerily calm in his presence. The hallucinations persisted, but they seemed less menacing when Art was near. One particularly dark and stormy night, she found herself once again at the entrance of the carnival. The wind howled through the broken structures, creating an eerie symphony that sent chills down her spine. She clutched her coat tighter around her, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of him. The rain began to pour, heavy drops drumming a relentless rhythm on the ground.

As she ventured deeper into the carnival, she spotted a faint glow emanating from one of the old game stalls. Her curiosity piqued, she made her way towards the light, her heart pounding in her chest. When she reached the stall, she found Art the Clown seated behind a makeshift counter, an assortment of peculiar trinkets spread out before him. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked up and met her gaze.

"You're here again," she said, her voice barely audible over the rain. "Why do you always come here?"

Art remained silent, his smile unwavering. He picked up a small, intricately carved music box and extended it towards her. She hesitated for a moment before accepting the gift, her fingers brushing against his cold, gloved hand. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, but she felt a strange warmth in her chest. As she opened the music box, a haunting melody filled the air, blending with the sound of the rain. Art the Clown stood up and moved around the counter, coming to stand beside her. He extended his hand, inviting her to dance. She hesitated, her mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement. But the allure of the dance was too strong to resist.

Together, they waltzed through the rain-soaked carnival, their movements graceful and fluid despite the uneven ground. She felt a sense of freedom she had never experienced before, the weight of her mental struggles momentarily lifted by the dark beauty of the moment. The rain plastered her hair to her face, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the dance and the silent connection they shared.

"Why do you stay here, Art?" she asked as they danced, her voice barely a whisper. "Why do you choose to be alone in this place?"

Art the Clown tilted his head, his expression unreadable. He gestured towards the carnival, then pointed to his heart, as if to say that this place, with all its darkness and decay, was a reflection of his soul. She understood more than he could ever convey with words. They were both outcasts, drawn to the shadows and the forgotten places where others feared to tread.

As the dance came to an end, Art the Clown led her to a small, hidden alcove where a makeshift shelter had been set up. It was a place of refuge from the storm, filled with old blankets and flickering candles. They sat together, the silence between them comfortable and soothing. She felt a sense of belonging she had never known, her heart beating in time with the rhythm of the rain. As the storm outside intensified, she began to feel the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she stifled a yawn.

"I'm so tired," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm afraid to sleep. The demons in my head... they come for me when I'm alone."

Art the Clown's expression softened, and he nodded understandingly. Without a word, he stood up and began to prepare a makeshift bed for her. He gathered the old blankets and arranged them into a cozy nest, ensuring it was as comfortable as possible given their surroundings. When he was done, he gestured for her to lie down.

She hesitated for a moment, then crawled into the bed he had made. The warmth of the blankets and the faint glow of the candles created a cocoon of safety around her. But even in this comforting space, the fear lingered.

"Art, will you stay with me?" she asked, her voice trembling. "You... you keep the demons away. I'm scared to be alone."

Art the Clown nodded once more, his smile reassuring. He sat down beside her, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of her mind. She reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly as if afraid he might disappear. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt the darkness recede, replaced by the quiet strength of the silent clown beside her. For the first time in a long while, she felt at peace, knowing that she wasn't alone in her fight against the shadows.

The night wore on, and as the storm raged outside, they found solace in each other's company. In the heart of the abandoned carnival, a bond was forged—a bond that would lead them down a dark and twisted path, forever changing their lives.

---

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

[davycoquette]

Find the Word Tag

Thanks so much for the tag, @marlowethelibrarian! The words you chose were, um

these snippets are almost all bonks

BURN

“Look up. Now.”

He did. He tried to focus on the soldier’s eyebrows, then his nose, his mouth. It didn’t matter. The laser burn seared his eyes, which wept instantly. But it wasn’t like staring into the sun, as he’d imagined. He didn’t experience the urge to close his eyes or look away.

Context: Futuristic setting. Character has been approached by militant police force with augmented peeper-scanners, apparently. This is pretty old, but it was an interesting find for me when I searched the word!

He gives a Mona Lisa smile and says, “It’s better this way, isn’t it?” He cleansed his dialect of its Smoky Mountain flavor long ago, about the time he burned the prints off his fingertips.

Context: Shiloh don't got no fingerprintz

Ruck Ward does not have the premonition the barmaid has, but he feels the phantom burn of their eyes on him. Maybe his time has come.

Context: Gee whillikers I sure like to burn people with other people's eyeballs. (Classic old west saloon scene.)

DROWN

Context: Trick has a really fucked up dream while in the hospital after getting creamed by a Miata.

A merry-go-round. He was the only one riding. Mountain lions with their faces frozen in idiotic rictuses bounded around him, paws stretched out, backs saddled, impaled by swirled poles. 

Trick reached down and tangled his fingers in the mane under him. He imagined a speckled horse, broad back between his legs, clown music fragmented by splintering bone.

He dropped his head, chin against his collarbone, blinking to clear the chaotic swimming of his vision. His hands were full of orangey hair. He turned them over, gripping it in wads. Bore his thighs against the saddle, let blood drip from his nostril into the carroty frizz. His brain was full of grinding bone; it drowned out everything else.

His hands drooped apart, revealing a human neck. A silky dress with a lacy rim. The silhouette of a bitchin’ mullet below him. Under his saddle, the frame of an impossibly tiny man hunched over underneath him, poked through with the glitzy gold pole.

Trick woke up thrashing, and narrowly avoided kicking the nurse assigned to him in the jaw.

SUFFOCATE

Context AND !!!CONTENT WARNING!!!: Oh no, this one's fucked up too! Shady has turned into a werewolf and is eating his sister in the root cellar while their older brother guards the door. No one should read this, honestly; I don't even know what kind of content warning to slap on it. It's a family of deranged, deeply isolated moonshiners in the 1920s.

She says, “Oh, Shady,” a little louder. Argent is aware of something else — something quaking his chest like a winter thunderstorm. Deafeningly silent, suffocating. And his sister is saying, “Oh, Shady,” and her voice is growing higher and louder, the words coming closer together before they wrench apart into a scream every bit as animal as a bobcat’s cry out in the woods. The hand that’s not gripping the shotgun dives into his pants and he shudders the door from the outside as the screams intensify then gargle and sputter into silence.

CHOKE

Context: Shiloh has a poem written for him read aloud to him and thinks deranged thoughts about it idk every single one of these words has brought forth such unhinged writing snippets y'all please don't stop liking me lmfao

Not in a hundred years would he have thought he would receive poetry; that he would be anybody’s muse. And maybe that wasn’t exactly what was going on, but it was the way he chose to look at it. And, and! maybe it was about Shiloh stabbing him, and fucking him, and devouring his heart, but that was their love language. Not so much these days, thankfully, but that was how it all started. He still felt desperate to sink his teeth in deeper. He'd love to carve initials on his heart, or just choke it down and lock it inside himself. Hold it for him; keep it safe and coyote-temperature until the end.

Taglist:

@albatris @capnmachete @harmonic-melodii @illarian-rambling @michellekarnold

@nathaniel-zellos

@sableglass

@saturnine-saturneight

Your words are:

SHINE, DELICATE, TEETH, SCREAM

Also I know some of y'all have already done this one! Please feel free to ignore, or do it again with the new words. ❤