#error 93

[m0on-lightt]

Yo no peleo por cuero, mami, quédate con él

Ya lo probé, lo descarté: no era pa' tanto💓

Me lo robé, lo secuestré, perdió el encanto

#letras #lyrics #music #letra de canciones #musica #letra #música #m0on-lightt #letra de música #lyric posting #♡ #cazzu #mucha data #error 93 #trap

[bocchidaily]

Day 93: Bocchi the not particularly convincing extortion attempt!

(Error message made with this site)

#bocchi the rock! #daily bocchi #bocchi the rock #hitori gotoh

[annabelle--cane]

do we have any information on the approximate dates or year that TMA takes place in? I’m obsessed with timelines and I’m so curious about if those dates are Known or not or can only be guessed about

yes we do! some parts of the timeline are a little vague, but every live and "in situ" statement (with a few exceptions) has a date attached to it. I won't go through every known date, and I'm also not scrupulously checking to make sure I've copied all these numbers down correctly so there's probably an error or two in here, but some significant ones include:

s1

mag 13 - alone: the first live statement and the first hard date for the show, 13 january 2016

mag 22 - colony: martin's statement after being trapped by jane prentiss, 12 march 2016

mag 26 - a distortion: sasha's statement about meeting michael, 2 april 2016 (<- that was my fourteenth birthday :3)

mag 38 / mag 39 / mag 40: jane prentiss's attack on the institute, sasha's death, and all the debrief statements afterwards, 29 july 2016

s2

mag 41 - too deep: jon's statement about exploring the tunnels and his first supplemental tape about gertrude's murder, 2 september 2016

mag 43 - section 31: basira's statement about diego molina + the start of her giving gertrude's old tapes to jon, 19 september 2016

mag 47 - the new door: helen's statement about the hallways, we meet michael in person for the first time, 2 october 2016

mag 61 - hard shoulder: daisy's statement about seeing the coffin for the first time, 1 december 2016

mag 73 - police lights: basira's statement about rescuing callum brodie from maxwell rayner, 11 february 2017

mag 76 - the smell of blood: melanie's statement about her investigations into war ghosts, at the end she and jon have a bit of a fight about how That Is Not Sasha, 13 february 2017

mag 78 / mag 79 / mag 80: jon releases not-sasha from the table, martin and tim get trapped in the corridors, jon meets leiter, elias smashes leitner with a metal pipe, all on 16 february 2017

s3

mag 81 / mag 82: jon makes a statement at georgie's place about a guest for mr spider at the same time as daisy interviews the remaining archives staff to try and ascertain his whereabouts, 18 february 2017

mag 89 - twice as bright: statement of jude perry, ft. jon hand crispification, 24 april 2017

mag 91 / mag 92 (/ maybe mag 93?): statement of mike crew, death of mike crew, jon daisy and basira's encounter in the woods, the big elias conversation at the institute, 28 april 2017. mag 93 might also be recorded on this day, I'm not quite sure, because georgie's statement (mag 94) is 29 april, but I don't know if that's fully the next day or if jon got back really late on the 28th, recorded mag 93, and then georgie gave her statement in the wee hours of the 29th. up to interpretation and how little sleep you envision jon as having.

mag 100 - I guess you had to be there: lynne hammond's is 2 may 2017, robin lennox's is 20 may 2017, brian finlinson's is 26 may 2017, and "john smith's" statement doesn't have a date.

mag 111 - family business: gerry's posthumous statement about smirke's 14, 30 june 2017. again, trevor and julia's statement about how they met in mag 109 is dated 29 june, and I don't know if it's an either-side-of-midnight thing or a full day elapsed between them.

mag 118 - the masquerade: martin and melanie pull a fast one on elias while the rest of the gang sets up explosives in the unknowing, 6 august 2017.

mag 120 - eye contact: elias's statement about jon's coma dreams + elias's arrest, 9 august 2017.

s4

mag 121 / mag 122: oliver banks gives his statement about point nemo and jon wakes up, 15 february 2018

mag 128 - heavy goods: breekon deliver's the coffin and jon slurps a statement right out of his head, 3 march 2018

mag 132 - entombed: jon buries himself alive to rescue daisy, 24-26 march 2018

mag 141 - doomed voyage: on the boat to norway jon slurps a statement about mikaele salesa out of a shiphand's head, 11 june 2018

mag 142 - scrutiny: jess tyrell comes in to complain about jon slurping a statement out of her head and haunting her nightmares, 12 june 2018

mag 146 / mag 147: jon gets intervened on about all the brain slurping, they go to hilltop road and find annabelle's statement, 20 july 2018

mag 157 / mag 158 / mag 159: peter releases not-sasha and brings martin to the panopticon for a showdown with "elias," julia and trevor attack the institute, daisy goes monster mode, and jon follows martin into the lonely and saves him with the power of gay love and also slurping peter lukas's brain so hard he explodes badly, 25 september 2018

mag 160 - the eye opens: jon reads a normal statement and nothing bad happens, 18 october 2018.

s5

fuck if I know

#tma #answered #anons

[usafphantom2]

To help reduce the radar cross-section the pie shaped and rectangular shapes were used around the outer edges of the SR 71. This is one of many reasons why they did not allow photographs. The SR -71 was made of 93% aged titanium and 7% composites. The fins and triangle wedges that framed the outer edge of the aircraft were composite constructionsmade from a mixture of asbestos and epoxy. They provided high-temperature radar absorbent characteristics to reduce the aircraft radar cross-section. They found that to attach thin, titanium skin to heavier wing structures, simple standoff clips were developed. These gave structural integrity while providing a heat shield between components with different expansion rates.

According to Wisconsin Metal Tech, the engineers of the SR-71 were among the first people in history to make real use of the material. In that process, they ended up throwing away a lot of material, some through necessity, some through error. At times the engineers were perplexed as to what was causing problems, but thankfully they documented and cataloged everything, which helped find trends in their failures. They discovered that spot welded parts made in the summer were failing very early in their life, but those welded in winter were fine. They eventually tracked the problem to the fact that the Burbank water treatment facility was adding chlorine to the water they used to clean the parts to prevent algae blooms in summer, but took it out in winter. Chlorine reacts with titanium, so they began using distilled water from this point on.

They discovered that their cadmium plated tools were leaving trace amounts of cadmium on bolts, which would cause galvanic corrosion and cause the bolts to fail. This discovery led to all cadmium tools to be removed from the workshop.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[thorraborinn]

hello there! today i came across a claim that sort of baffled me. someone said that they believed the historical norse heathens viewed their own myths literally. i was under the impression that the vast majority of sources we have are christian sources, so it seems pretty hard to back that up. is there any actual basis for this claim? thanks in advance for your time!

Sorry for the delay, I've been real busy lately and haven't been home much. Even after making you wait I'm still going to give a copout answer.

I think the most basic actual answer is that it's doubtful that someone has a strong basis to make that claim, and the same would probably go for someone claiming they didn't take things literally. I think we just don't know, and most likely, it was mixed-up bits of both literal and non-literal belief, and which parts were literal and which parts weren't varied from person to person. We have no reason so suppose that there was any compulsion to believe things in any particular way.

About Christians being the interlocutors of a lot of mythology, this is really a whole separate question. On one hand there's the question of whether they took their myths literally, and on the other is entirely different question about whether or not we can know what those myths were. Source criticism in Norse mythology is a pretty complicated topic but the academic consensus is definitely that there are things we can know for sure about Norse myth, and a lot more that we can make arguments for. For instance the myth of Thor fishing for Miðgarðsormr is attested many times, not only by Snorri but by pagan skálds and in art. Myths of the Pagan North by Christopher Abram is a good work about source criticism in Norse mythology.

Though this raises another point, because the myth of Thor fishing is not always the same. Just like how we have a myth of Thor's hammer being made by dwarves, and a reference to a different myth where it came out of the sea. Most likely, medieval Norse people were encountering contradictory information in different performances of myth all the time. So while that leaves room for at least some literal belief, it couldn't be a rigid, all-encompassing systematic treatment of all myth as literal. We have good reason to believe they changed myths on purpose and that it wasn't just memory errors.

I know you're really asking whether this one person has any grounds for their statement, and I've already answered that I don't think they do. But this is an interesting thought so I'm going to keep poking at it. I'm not sure that I'm really prepared to discuss this properly, but my feeling is that this is somehow the wrong question. I don't know how to explain this with reference to myth, so I'm going to make a digression, and hope that you get the vibe of what I'm getting at by analogy. Edward Burnett Tylor (1832–1917) described animism in terms of beliefs, "belief in spiritual beings," i.e. a belief that everything (or at least many things) has a soul or spirit. But this is entirely contradicted by later anthropology. Here's an except from Pantheologies by Mary Jane Rubenstein, p. 93:

their animacy is not a matter of belief but rather of relation; to affirm that this tree, that river, or the-bear-looking-at-me is a person is to affirm its capacity to interact with me—and mine with it. As Tim Ingold phrases the matter, “we are dealing here not with a way of believing about the world, but with a condition of living in it.”

In other words, "belief" doesn't even really play into it, whether or not you "believe" in the bear staring you down is nonsensical, and if you can be in relation with a tree then the same goes for that relationality; "believing" in it is totally irrelevant or at least secondary. Myths are of course very different and we can't do a direct comparison here, but I have a feeling that the discussion of literal versus nonliteral would be just as secondary to whatever kind of value the myths had.

One last thing I want to point out is that they obviously had the capacity to interpret things through allegory and metaphor because they did that frequently. This is most obvious in dream interpretations in the sagas. Those dreams usually convey true, prophetic information, but it has to be interpreted by wise people who are skilled at symbolic interpretation. I they ever did this with myths, I'm not aware of any trace they left of that, but we can at least be sure that there was nothing about the medieval Norse mind that confined it to literalism.

For multiple reasons this is not an actual answer but it's basically obligatory to mention that some sagas, especially legendary or chivalric sagas, were referred to in Old Norse as lygisögur, literally 'lie-sagas' (though not pejoratively and probably best translated just as 'fictional sagas'). We know this mostly because Sverrir Sigurðsson was a big fan of lygisögur. But this comes from way too late a date to be useful for your question.

[janmisali]

Hey Jan, I've done some more research, and I'm wondering if you could post this analysis so I can get help from your followers:

To recap, I've been trying to fill out the Mario survey, but I’ve been getting an error message in Google Forms saying "Your response is too large. Try shortening your answers." I had been clicking the multiple-choice questions and typing answers into the text boxes for several pages before getting the error message on the last or second-to-last page, which then prevented me from viewing the rest of the form unless I refreshed the url and started at page 1. I've been unable to determine the maximum answer length because Google does not tell you how your inputs are being read by the form.

After some searching, I found this Google Help article.

According to help center volunteers, the default character limit (~32,750) includes the responses to the multiple choices questions. They also say that breaching the character limit can trigger a bug that lowers the limit to around 10,000 characters. This seems accurate to my experience, as I have tried shortening my answers after getting the error, and continued to receive said error, to the point where significantly shorter answers still trigger the error. At first, I misread this as including only the answers chosen, so I added the maximum number of characters from answering the longest possible answers to the amount of characters in everything I ever typed into the text boxes, and got a maximum response length of 30,944 words.

However, the volunteer said that the form includes every possible answer in the multiple-choice questions in the response length. That means that for each game entry, the six possible answers for question one and three possible answers for question two constitute 93 characters out of the maximum response length. This does not seem right. The 358 game entries I counted would max out the form response by default (93*358=33,294). This would preclude any other respondent from typing in any comments, much less a song parody.

And now I've hit a roadblock. At some point, I reached the maximum response length, which may have triggered a bug that lowered the maximum response length even further, but I have no idea how any of these figures are being calculated. Getting help from Google is almost certainly out of the question. Has anyone else encountered this issue? Does anyone have any suggestions or solutions?

yeah idk what to do in this situation sorry

[immortalbutterflycos]

I've come to realize something important in writing. (specifically in my personal experience)

(TLDR; I have ADHD and writing is hard even though I'm still doing it every single day. Make it make sense.)

If you have a story in your head that means a lot to you, and you need to take more time to develop and fully flesh it out before posting it, that's totally okay! In fact, in my experience, it has the potential to make the story better over time, really forming it into what you imagine it to be.

Here's an example because I just typed a lot of words and right now I can't seem to process whether they make sense or not.

I have a fanfic that I've been working on for a year now. (For the Marauders fandom if y'all are curious)

It's one that I haven't talked about much because every time I do, I end up losing the motivation to write. This is what happened to another one of my fics for the Haikyuu fandom. (well that and the Marauders.. yeah they fucked me up in the best way and Freckles and Constellations has really suffered because of it smh)

So the reason why this fic is taking so long is because it is such a specific AU that I'm out here trying to meld magic systems, and I've got like EIGHT MAIN CHARACTERS to write backstories for to fit this AU while also being true to them and even though I know the basic plot, there are just so many little details and aspects that will make this fic what I desperately need it to be.

And no one knows just how intricate it is or how important it is to me. Which is totally fine. I don't even know if people are going to read it when I finally manage to post it. This fic is purely self-indulgent.

let me just break down for you what I have prepared for this already:

countless drabbles and scenes and plans written on the backs of receipts and on bits of scrap paper

a 3" 3-ring binder that I've been trying to organize it all in

a google doc titled "TAoRfOL Doc Masterlist" that has links to every single doc I have for this one fic. (it's dated back to March of last year and as of this month has 93 total links. Only 5 of those are reference links.)

notes and ideas i have written in my phone to transfer into docs so I can add them to the masterlist

Hero Forge digital models of those 8 main characters because I wanted to see what their group would look like outside of my imagination

Multiple Spotify playlists dedicated to this fic and the characters which I listen to every single day. (currently @ 494 songs)

And you know what? I just recently, at 6 am this morning, finally figured out the solution to a fucking plot hole I could not work around.

Basically what I'm saying is that I needed all of this time. Every single day I see things and get inspiration. Every day I learn new things and fix errors in my own plans.

As much as I crave the validation and recognition for all of my hard work on this project, I know that If I had just bit the bullet and posted the first chapter without having done all of this research and all of this planning, then it would not have lived up to the story I have in my head.

I admire people who can just write without all of the added steps and in some cases, I can do that. I haven't been able to in a while (which is why that Valentine's Day microfic was actually really big for me to have posted) but that's just how my brain works.

I needed all of my experiences and all of my daily thoughts and all of my collective playlists for this fic to be able to write the story I intended and that is exactly what I'm going to do.

(though if I'm being honest, this timeline is rough. I really want to just write and post this first chapter so so so bad. ToT)

#writing with adhd #fanfic author #writer #TAoRfOL #marauders fanfiction #jegulus #wolfstar #rosekiller #marylily #dorlene #the marauders #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #lily evans #dorcas meadowes #barty crouch jr #do Peter and Benjy have a ship name??? #platonic moonwater

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Undoing

Chapter 3: Undoing

Chapter 2: Frontiers

Chapter 1: Backstory

Chapter 4: Casting

Chapter 5: Continuing

Chapter 6: Ergonomics

Chapter 7: Facts

Chapter 8: Gods

Chapter 9: Oneiric

Chapter 10: Replaying

Chapter 11: Storing

Chapter 12: Subsumption

Chapter 13: Transfer

Chapter 14: Transience

Chapter 15: Unlearning

Chapter 16: Velocity

Chapter 17: Vietnam

Chapter 18: Vilification

Chapter 19: While you were gone

Chapter 20: Xitalis

Chapter 21: Zooming

Chapter 22: Treatment plan

Chapter 23: What was it?

Chapter 24: Planning

Chapter 25: Acceptance

Chapter 26: Simple

Chapter 27: Editing

Chapter 28: Siphon

Chapter 29: Evening

Chapter 30: Universes

Chapter 31: Belief

Chapter 32: Meeting

Chapter 33: Molly

Chapter 34: The best of times

Chapter 35: Is that why?

Chapter 36: Sport

Chapter 37: Starlight

Chapter 38: Effects

Chapter 39: Girlbossification

Chapter 40: Status

Chapter 41: Fearful symmetry

Chapter 42: Reference

Chapter 43: Venom

Chapter 44: Letting go

Chapter 45: Sincerity

Chapter 46: Megido

Chapter 47: Mockery

Chapter 48: Freezing

Chapter 49: Ring

Chapter 50: New

Chapter 51: Discovering

Chapter 52: Destroying

Chapter 53: Conquest

Chapter 54: Liberation

Chapter 55: Seclusion

Chapter 56: Swelling

Chapter 57: Shaking

Chapter 58: Considerations

Chapter 59: Magick

Chapter 60: Dog

Chapter 61: Goncharov

Chapter 62: Lonely

Chapter 63: Hobbits

Chapter 64: Giving up

Chapter 65: Water

Chapter 66: Drops

Chapter 67: Depths

Chapter 68: Improvising

Chapter 69: Quid pro quo

Chapter 70: Hurting

Chapter 71: Anticipating

Chapter 72: Cavity

Chapter 73: Bypassing

Chapter 74: Building

Chapter 75: Assembly

Chapter 76: Nocturne

Chapter 77: Disappearing

Chapter 78: Memory

Chapter 79: Extinguishing

Chapter 80: Approaching

Chapter 81: Interpreting

Chapter 82: Target

Chapter 83: Numbers

Chapter 84: Late

Chapter 85: Safety

Chapter 86: Measures

Chapter 87: Worlds

Chapter 88: Granting

Chapter 89: Jumping

Chapter 90: Fleeing

Chapter 91: Discerning

Chapter 92: Now

Chapter 93: Ultimate

Chapter 94: Brackets

Chapter 95: Instructions

Chapter 96: Severing

Chapter 97: Dire

Chapter 98: Bodies

Chapter 99: Heal

Chapter 100: Consciousness

Chapter 101: Cyclical

Chapter 102: Heaven

Chapter 103: Species

Chapter 104: Empires

Chapter 105: Light

Chapter 106: Waterfront

Chapter 107: Impermanence

Chapter 108: Consummation

Chapter 109: Salving

Chapter 110: Unlimited

Chapter 111: Mediating

Chapter 112: Unity

Chapter 113: Space

Chapter 114: Birds

Chapter 115: Stars

Chapter 116: Telepathy

Chapter 117: Dawn

Chapter 118: Vortex

Chapter 119: Passages

Chapter 120: Defending

Chapter 121: Averting

Chapter 122: Control

Chapter 123: Stars

Chapter 124: Inhabiting

Chapter 125: Stars

Chapter 126: Spoons

Chapter 127: Stars

Chapter 128: Room

Chapter 129: Angels

Chapter 130: Shining

Chapter 131: Offerings

Chapter 132: Rhythm

Chapter 133: Overcoming

Chapter 134: Stars

Chapter 135: Patriarchy

Chapter 136: Rage

Chapter 137: Myopia

Chapter 138: Devouring

Chapter 139: Void

Chapter 140: Juggernaut

Chapter 141: Slumber

Chapter 142: Growing

Chapter 143: Flight

Chapter 144: Showing

Chapter 145: Mutation

Chapter 146: Revolution

Chapter 147: Customization

Chapter 148: Introspection

Chapter 149: Mandates

Chapter 150: Carnival

Chapter 151: Credulous

Chapter 152: Snack

Chapter 153: Earth

Chapter 154: Liberty

Chapter 155: Arete

Chapter 156: Instruction

Chapter 157: Allowing

Chapter 158: Memories

Chapter 159: Traveling

Chapter 160: Binding

Chapter 161: Outside

Chapter 162: Returning

Chapter 163: Birds

Chapter 164: Cabin

Chapter 165: Starlight

Chapter 166: Heat

Chapter 167: Service

Chapter 168: Severing

Chapter 169: Woods

Chapter 170: Siding

Chapter 171: Flowing

Chapter 172: Unreasonable

Chapter 173: Golden

Chapter 174: Unfolding

Chapter 175: Holding

Chapter 176: Sloth

Chapter 177: Wind

Chapter 178: Quarantining

Chapter 179: Awakenings

Chapter 180: Errors

Chapter 181: Motors

Chapter 182: Geometry

Chapter 183: Subsumption

Chapter 184: Crossroads

Chapter 185: Release

Chapter 186: Explaining

Chapter 187: Retrofit

Chapter 188: Returning

Chapter 189: Molly

Chapter 190: Haunted

Chapter 191: Bestowal

Chapter 192: Chances

Chapter 193: Firsts

Chapter 194: Margin

Chapter 195: Thy Kingdom Come

Chapter 196: Harbor

Chapter 197: Crisis

Chapter 198: Searching

Chapter

[cobbbvanth]

"the LGBTQIA+ community makes up about a quarter of the Tumblr community" factoid actualy just statistical error. the lgbtqia+ community makes up about 93% of the tumblr community. the het presenting pornbots georg community, who make up about three quarters of tumblr users, are outliers adn should not be counted

[go vote in the poll and see if staff are right]

#CISHET PEOPLE IF YOU'RE OUT THERE PLEASE SHOW YOURSELVES #we need to make this poll appropriately representative #tumblr #staff #tumblr updates #hellsite #text #**

[ultrahardcollectorcomputer]

A poppers session audio file. I stopped taking heart rhythm and slowing meds a few days ago and noticed a sharp increase in rate, frequency of PVCs and PACs, and blood pressure (even though I continued on BP meds as they don’t affect my heartbeat). Rate has been in high 80’s and 90’s and BP 175-190/95-98 for two or three days.

The first couple of minutes are baseline with a few PVCs. BP at start of recording was 189/95 and rate was 89. Just before first inhale of poppers the BP was 207/108 and rate 93. My BP didn’t drop much after the first fit. When the rate hit 140 the BP was 151/133 and only got down to “normal” toward the end.

I was hoping for a higher rate than 140, but there were several runs of bigeminy including one at the end that continued for 15 minutes after the recording ended. Just before, there was a point where I thought my heart was stopping as it stumbled for what would have been several beats.

Note there is a technical error silence toward the last part at 6+ min.

#irregular heartbeat #cardiophile

[poindexters-labratory]

(Here's a Hurricane: Reunion ficlet that I made as an apology for the late Easter fic that I'm making. Apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, it's 3 a.m., and I can't read very well. Bone apple teeth :3)

The warm early morning air felt cold and uninviting. Sunlight was peeking over the mountains and dipping into the valley, but Mike couldn't comprehend the embrace of its rays. Instead, he stood in the shadows of the building he had just left and stared at the pathway to the building that was still under construction. Thinking. Processing.

For thirty years, Mike had been looking all over town for him. He had assumed that he had wriggled out from under Michael's watch back in ‘93, and skipped town, perhaps died, but this was where he was. This was what he had become.

Charlie's visions had only gotten more fervent this whole week, and he kept asking, tormenting himself for an explanation why. He wished he had stayed ignorant. He wished Charlie's soul was capable of lying. He wished and hoped for another answer, but brutality was the way of the honesty he demanded.

Mike sank down to the gravel lot of Fazbear's Frights, trying his damn hardest to convince himself of his father succumbing to his illnesses in another town as a John Doe a long time ago. But the image burned into his hindsight of that nightmarish creature lurking the halls, harboring his father’s still breathing body inside itself, and that made wishful thinking difficult.

He cried. He sobbed quietly into the sleeve of his company lended jacket, practically biting the fabric to silence himself. Had he been stuck all that time? Thirty years? All that time passing, did his father even remember who Michael was? Even who he was? He didn't speak, didn't give any inclination that he was human anymore. Michael's shock fell through into a rage. His father was turned into nothing more than a half-dead mockery of the mechanics he once built.

“If you had just listened to me for once!” He yelled to nothing in particular, but he hoped that the rabbit that was still roaming around in circles, looking for the man in the office, could hear him. And comprehend speech. With a groan, he threw his face down into his hands, rubbing the feeling back into his skin.

He should've kept a closer eye on ‘Dave’. He should've stayed home when his dad needed him the most. Michael's regrets in life could reach the stars by now. All this time, he's just wanted to hug his father the way he should've been doing all his life and apologize for leaving him behind, but William’s never been in the state to respond to it, and he certainly wasn't now.

He then got up to continue yelling into the face of the wall, “I was going to take you home! Goddammit! I was going to take you home.” Mike's voice had lost its conviction as he realized the missed opportunity and the reminder of his inability to protect his family.

Dave responded with a hiss at the only time Mike attempted an apology, claiming to have never met Michael or know who his father was. He seemed to have completely forgotten that they'd spent three days together, even going so far to respond to ‘Dad’ a few times. But this rabbit only stared at Mike blankly whenever he stood in front of the plexiglass, not even twitching when spoken to. At least Dave acknowledged when he was being addressed.

Michael sighed and rubbed his face again, the exhaustion from the night he had started to creep up on him. He'll come back to work two more shifts this week to figure out what to do and try to see if the rabbit could respond to anything. And maybe come up with a name to replace ‘the rabbit’.

Mike got in his car, taking a moment to himself to remember his family. He thought about Evan’s cowboy hat that was always somewhere, Elizabeth’s tall tales, his father’s smile, Henry’s side-eye, Charlie's lisp. He wondered about his mother and wished her well. Wherever she was, at least she was safe.

The drive back to Jeremy’s apartment was silent as he drove his way through town. Fazbear’s Frights had been made, ironically enough, in the valley of the hill where his house used to be. Every time he looked up in the direction of the tallest hill, he liked to squint and imagine his childhood home still standing.

He took the opportunity to look around. The things his father probably missed or even forgotten about. Things as simple as sunlight, the sky, trees, grass, and water. He thought ‘people’ for half a second before deciding they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. If he responded well to whatever Michael planned to do, he might take him outside the building to get a taste of fresh air again.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head at the thought that crossed his mind as he drove his way back to the apartment complex. A name for this new identity his father had probably taken up.

It was a stupid, stupid name and downright insensitive. “Springtrap,” He ended up chuckling to himself. It was just stupid enough to be something his father would come up with. And if he didn't have some levity in this situation, he'd probably be sick.

#fnaf #fnaf hurricane #michael afton #springtrap #fnaf 3 #fnaf fic #ficlet #william afton

[horrorwhores-posts]

Arts pet.

Summary: Your family decided to reopen the miles county carnival. And you soon catch the eye of a certain black and white clown.

Word count- 6307 (it’s a doozy)

Warnings: blood, mentions of dead bodies, sexual themes (but no smut), torture, reader/ character was written as afab but you should be able to read it as gender neutral.

Authors notes: this is my first ever fan fiction I’ve written so please be gentle on me. Also not proofread so there might be some errors. And this is about Art the clown soo, yeah. This big ol’ dork has me wrapped around his horn.

Maybe reopening the rundown carnival in Miles county wasn’t a good idea. But no matter how many times anyone told my father not too, he’d just brush it off. Working with your family is hard, even harder when you’re a carny family. My family and I have been on the road ever since my parents got married back in 93’. Soon after they had my older brother, sister, me, and finally my little twin brothers. My father joined the Barnum and Bailey circus when he was a teenager after his grandmother and sole guardian died. Being 15 with no other options, the circus became his new home and they welcomed him with open arms. My mother was the complete opposite, coming from a prestigious, well off, loving family; well if they liked you that is. My mother never really fit into her family, she had always been the black sheep and problem child. And no matter how hard her parents tried, she was never suited for their perfect world. She actually met my father when she was on a date with a “proper'' young man, as her mother put it. After spending roughly an hour listening to the high collared sleaze belittle every performance and worker he came in contact with, they got to my father’s act. Over the years he had climbed the ranks from being a cage cleaner to the circus’s headlining daredevil, and he was really good at it. His stunt that night was riding his motorcycle around a metal cage that was lit ablaze. Even my mother’s date was dumbfounded. After the show was over my mother refused to spend another second with her dick headed date. She snuck away from him and with the help of a hopeless romantic bearded woman she was able to go back to my fathers trailer. He said the second he laid eyes on her he knew he was going to marry her. And that night my mom decided to run away with him. My parents have been inseparable ever since.

Growing up the way we did, my siblings and I have developed multiple talents and were able to pick our own personal acts. My oldest siblings are aerial artists. I was one myself for a while and will even join in on their performances, but my actual love is contortion and fire breathing. The twins are in their teens and still learning about themselves every day. My father had always wanted to own a circus/carnival for himself, and over the past few years his craving to get off the road grew. Through the grape vine he had heard of the Miles county carnival being sold for little to nothing, we later found out that there were multiple murders there, which explained why the value was so low. My mother, sister and I all had our reservations about buying the place, but yet we still found ourselves standing at the entrance of the carnival in all of its glory. It took us months to spruce the place up, fix broken rides, and rebrand the whole park. My father even built a circus tent in the park where my family and other performers could perform if they wanted. We had our handful of protesters over the past few days but we also had a lot of tickets sold for tonight, opening night. I stood in the circus tent, looking at the time on my phone. 8:30; 30 minutes till opening and an hour till the show starts. Deciding to practice some of my aerial work for tonight's show, I gripped the soft silk as the music blasted through my speaker in the corner of the stage. I started going through the routine one last time, not noticing the black and white figure watching intently from the shadows. I ended on my finishing pose and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard loud, sporadic clapping coming from the echoing seating area. I safely dismantled and shielded my eyes from the spotlight to see who was there. A black and white clown stood in the middle of the aisle between the seats still clapping with a large smile on his face. I felt my face heat up from embarrassment and anger.

“The show doesn’t start till 9:30, I’m sorry but you have to leave.” I said from atop the stage as I quickly gathered my items. The clapping ceased immediately and I glanced over my shoulder and saw the clown standing there, arms stiff at his sides, an emotionless face looking back at me. A shiver of dread prickled up my spine and I quickly exited backstage, still feeling his icy gaze on me. I briskly walked to my dressing room and locked the door behind me. I glanced at my phone screen and noticed it was only 8:50. ‘Wait, if we aren’t open yet how did he get into the tent?’ My thoughts were broken when three gentle raps came from my door, a common knock my sister used to let me know she was the one wanting in. I strode to the door and unlocked the handle, my sister stepped in and gently shut the door behind her.

“You okay? You rushed into this room like your ass was on fire.” she asked as I sat at my vanity, my head in my hands. With a deep sigh I rubbed my hands down my face and finally looked at her.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I weakly responded. She lowered her eyes at me, assessing if she believed me or not. Her eyes softened as I guess she decided it wasn’t worth pressing.

“Maybe you should take a nap before you go out on stage, I’m going on first so I can wake you up when it’s almost your time to go on.” My eyes light up at the thought of getting some sleep.

“You promise? Like really?” I ask with hopeful excitement. She nodded her head, opened the door, waved, and gently closed it behind her. I glanced back at the mirror and saw the dark bags under my eyes, deciding a power nap would be best. I got up, turning off my main light, leaving my vanity lights on, and crawled on to the small gray couch. I had some burgundy throw pillows and a black blanket, I used to get nice and comfortable. In the dim light I could barely make out the posters I had adorning my walls. Mostly old Barnum and Bailey posters my dad snagged before he left, but there were a few photos of me performing. After a few minutes my eyes felt heavy and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

‘The colorful lights were twinkling against the night that engulfed it. My nose was invaded with the sweet yet salty smell of popcorn and cotton candy. Energy buzzed around me like electricity, lightly shocking my senses. All around me were people playing games, eating food, and laughing with pure joy. In the distance you could hear the screams of ride goers as they raced into the air, some of them twisting and turning along the tracks. The environment was warm and inviting, glowing with delight. I soaked it all in. Embracing the happiness that flooded me, I pranced around the carnival, seeking out my next adventure. As I wandered through the fair I accidentally ran into a figure. He was tall, holding a bunch of red balloons, concealing his face from my view. A black sleeve emerged from the crowd of latex, holding a floating sphere out to me. I gently took it from his gloved hand, immediately hearing a loud, threatening crack from the sky above. Glancing up I noticed a fiery red glow erupt from behind the thick clouds rolling in the darkness of the sky. Suddenly the cheery demeanor of the festival dissipated and the screams of joy turned into ones of pure horror. I whipped around and saw multiple rides on fire, the patrons festering in their seats. Mutilated corpses laid strewn across the park, blood and guts splattered everywhere. My tears were singed on my cheeks from the heat of the flames. The scream that was bubbling in my throat was cut short as long, strong arms wrapped around me.’

I was startled awake, my body jerking up and my brain still fuzzy. I looked around my dimly lit room, looking for what caused my sudden consciousness. There were alarm bells going off in my head, but I couldn’t place what was causing them. Scanning my room for a second time, I immediately froze when I noticed the figure in the dark corner, my breath catching in my throat. Panic coursed through my veins as I fumbled to come up with a single coherent thought. The figure slowly stalked out of its hiding spot and into the dim light. My eyes finally focused on the lanky black and white clown towering over me, the same blank expression on his features as before. With my heart racing, I choked back a scream as he slowly bent down to my eye level, getting uncomfortably close. His dark eyes were threatening as he looked me up and down, assessing me. For what? I’m not fully sure. My chest was heaving from my rapid breath and pounding heartbeat, something he picked up on. He reached forward and placed a gloved hand on my chest, rolling his eyes back and breathing in deeply through his nose. I sat frozen as he smirked, opening his eyes and making intense eye contact.

My mind immediately went blank as the panic dissipated from my body, being replaced with a strong need. As I gazed into his onyx eyes I felt a strange, intimate connection to the man in front of me. His hand climbed from my chest to caress the side of my face, gently gliding his thumb over my lips. I slowly opened my lips, inviting the digit into my mouth, and sucked lightly as it hit my tongue. His taste was bitter and salty, and he smelt of fire and sweat. Normally I would be repulsed but for some reason I was intoxicated. The clown’s mouth was hung open with lust, chest quivering from his deep breaths. If he had pupils, I knew they would be dilated. My eyes closed as I savored the flavor of him, moaning softly. He pulled his hand away, I released his thumb with a soft pop. My eyes shot open as I felt a rough yank on the ponytail atop my head. I fell back and the man followed me, climbing on top of me. His long lanky frame just barely fit on the small couch with me. His hands roaming my sides as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, sucking and biting with a hunger I’ve never experienced before. I moaned as his hand snaked under my shirt, roughly grabbing at my chest.

A sharp pain radiated from my neck and I shrieked. His hand quickly clamped over my mouth as he continued the assault on my neck, warm blood trickling down my shoulder. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to get out of the grip that was holding me down. Finally the man sat up, blood adorning his mouth and filled his smile. Hand still over my mouth, he ripped my shirt exposing more of my chest. A muffled scream was ripped from me as the clown dug his finger into my fresh neck wound. He then took said digit and proceeded to write something on my flesh. Once he was done, he leant back over me with a sick, mocking sad face. Dragging his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear. Finally placing a finger over his mouth in a shushing manner, he leant down and kissed my temple with a surprising gentleness. The hand covering my mouth moved to wipe the tears off my face. I whimpered as he placed another tender kiss on my forehead. The mysterious man gave me one more smile and wave of his fingers before he was gone without a trace. I laid in silence, my mind completely blank try to make sense of the last 10 minutes.

A loud banging startled me out of my daze, as whoever knocked started to come in. Fearing it was the man from before, I sprang up and used my entire body weight to slam the door shut. I heard a muffled grunt and exclamation of “what the fuck” as the lock clicked back into place, preventing anyone from coming in.

“Hey, you missed the whole performance!” My older brother yelled at me from the other side of the door. Ice ran through my veins as I scrambled for my phone and noticed it was 10:45 pm.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” I exclaimed while throwing my phone back down on the couch. I caught a glimpse of myself in my vanity mirror and I looked horrible. Somehow the bags under my eyes were worse, my body was flushed, and my hair was completely disheveled. My neck was still dripping crimson, with obvious teeth marks. My shirt was jaggedly ripped with dried blood marking the visible skin. In messy, dripping lettering, ‘Art’s pet’ was written across my chest. A strange shiver ran back up my spine, and I stood there wondering if I’d ever see this man again. Most of me hoped I never would, but a tiny part of me begged to differ.

A few weeks have passed since the strange encounter with the black and white clown, I now know as “Art”. He’s also known as the miles county clown with a long list of victims. I thought for a second he was just a weird fever dream, but the tiny teeth shaped scars on my neck prove otherwise. I’ve constantly been thanking the powers above that it was getting colder out, with me having to wear turtle necks to obscure my markings. My dreams have also been haywire since that night, filled with decimated remains and burning fire. He’s always there too, welcoming me with his demented gifts and acts of passions. Whether it's a still beating heart, a crude mural of me in coagulated blood, or gory jewelry from his victims, he always has something to give me. Greeting me with his signature wide smile, accompanied by some flourish to produce the gift of the day. With his palms out stretched, eyes blinking innocently, he’ll traumatize me yet again with a morbid curiosity.

Luckily I’ve been able to push his invading presence out of my mind during performances and when I’m around my family. My sister has noticed I’ve become a bit more reclused and only asked me about it once. When I snapped at her with an anger she hadn’t seen before, she never pressed the issue after. Tonight I sat in my heavily decorated trailer, covered in old rock n roll posters, tapestries and sentimental trinkets. I had a small dark brown vanity sitting in the front of the small room, my burgundy red twin sized bed laid adjacent to the vanity. My clothes and costumes were strewn about and hung up on a small portable hanging rack, a small bookcase sat at the foot of my bed with a vintage, delicate, lamp sitting on it. Books lined the shelves, ranging from the classics like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and Bram Stokers’ Dracula. Tonight I was reading The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe, my head was laid at the foot of my bed, my tiny lamp dimly lit the pages. I lounged lazily in only my black satin robe, trying to turn my mind off for the night, preparing for sleep. A sudden loud knocking came from my front door. With a jump, I bookmarked my spot and slowly sat up. The pounding came again, even louder and more aggressive than last time. I stood up and wrapped the robe tighter around myself, slowly reaching for the curtain covering the small window on my door. The fervent banging picked up once more, and with a flourish of anger, I ripped the door open without looking first. There, in the misty night, stood the clown of my nightmares. The white and black mirage stood stone still, eyes wide, a bouquet of wild flowers outstretched towards me. ‘No , no, no’ raced through my mind as the door started to close. My ragged breath caught in my throat as a large gloved hand slammed on the door as I tried to shut it. He slowly climbed the feeble stairs and stepped into my tiny trailer, hunching to prevent from hitting his head on the ceiling. I stared up at him with pure shock and a hit of fear. He gleamed down at me and he stretched the bouquet back to me. With shaky hands I gently pulled it from his humongous mitt, ogling the beautiful flowers in my hand and gave them a gentle sniff. The scent of fresh florals and the musky scent of the impending rain wafted towards me and I hummed with satisfaction. He bowed down, gently grasped my other hand, and gingerly pressed a kiss to my knuckles. A blush creeped up my face as I shyly looked away, pulling my hand from his grasp. He smirked and stalked towards my vanity, taking a seat on my small chair.

He patted his lap and looked at me expectantly with a big smile. I gingerly placed the bouquet on my bed, wiping my sweaty palms on my robe and approached him sheepishly, finally standing in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his long arms around me, pulling me into his lap, causing me to yelp. He nuzzled into my neck, his warm breath tickling the sensitive scar tissue, sending shivers down my spine. Smirking at me through the mirror, he rubbed my sides, gently squeezing, almost threatening to tickle me. I made direct eye contact with him in the mirror, trying my best to give him the stoniest stare I could. He frowned, looking down, twiddling with the satin belt. I swiftly grabbed his hand before he could untie my robe and I just stared at his reflection as he continued to look down with his ‘sad’ face. Slowly his eyes connected to mine in the glass and we just sat there staring at each other for a long pause. My expression stayed cold, and his frown curled up into a scowl. With a silent huff he rolled his eyes and pushed me off his lap. I stood, stunned, as he walked over to my clothing rack and palmed the sequined outfits. His face broke out with a wide smile as he grabbed a shiny red one piece body suit from the hanger, rushing up to me and pushing it towards me. I jumped at his erratic actions, my arms limply holding the outfit. I looked up at him with confusion, as he started miming taking off his clothes sensually, almost in a cartoonish manner. I gulped and tightly gripped the belt of my robe till my knuckles were white. With another silent, irritated huff, he tapped his clown shoes impatiently on the ground and looked at his wrist as if there was a watch there. Not wanting to anger the man in front of me, I turned around and with trembling fingers I picked at the knot holding my robe together. It finally fell free and it gently slinked off my shoulder. I laid the one piece on my vanity and slipped the robe completely off, avoiding my gaze from the mirror entirely. I was never one to stare at myself naked, let alone in front of the miles county murderer. Somehow I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me, instead being scared by his hands snaking around my waist.

“Why?” I whisper, finally locking eyes with him in the chrome glass. His chin was buried into my neck and his breath fanned against my cheeks. His eyebrows quirk up in a question and his face falls to the side, feigning innocent curiosity. With an annoyed huff I yank my way out of his grasp and turn to face him. My hands cemented on my hips.

“What do you want?” I ask rather gruffly. The look of shock briefly took over his features before being taken over by a look of malice. I felt the spurt of confidence I had immediately disappeared as he reached forward. His hand gripped my throat and in a flash I was thrown onto my bed. He laid atop of me with a look of glee as he watched me struggle for breath. I knew my face was on the verge of turning purple when he finally let go. He leaned over me and stuck his long sharp nose into my neck. I could feel his hot breath against my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. Somehow I just knew he was breathing in the scent of my fear. That thought caused yet another shiver to rack through me, and the clown wasn't oblivious to it. I felt something warm and wet run up the side of my neck. His tongue left a prickly sensation in its wake as he faced me again. A smile adorned his face and his finger came up to boop me on the nose. Clumsily, he crawled off of me and I remembered that I was nude. I grabbed my blanket and covered myself as Art grabbed the one piece setting on the dresser. He brought it to his face and took a big sniff. Yanking it from his nose he made a silent gagging motion and threw the one piece at me. It hit me in my chest and with caution I took a small smell of the fabric. My eyebrows drew together as the scent of laundry detergent invaded my nostrils. The clown had his nose pinched between his fingers, sticking his tongue out in yet another gag and I rolled my eyes.

After dressing in my red leotard, Art led me to the performance tent. I felt uneasy as I stood on the pitch black stage. A loud crack emanated through the room as the lights sprang to life, eerie silence followed in suit. I was temporarily blinded, squinting my eyes until they adjusted. Almost immediately I recognized the 5 people sitting in the front row. My family was duck tapped and gagged, unconscious in their confines, blood coming out of differing cuts and scratches on their faces, proving they put up a fight. My family wasn't the only people in the crowd. Decapitated torsos, gutted stomachs, and carved up bodies surrounded my family. Staring at the mutilated and bloody corpses caused bile to rise in my throat. Panic wracked through me causing tears to cloud my vision, falling to my knees, wretching. Art started clapping in a way to get my attention. I turned my head towards him, a giant blanket covering something behind him. He gestured to my family, an evil smirk adorning his face as I slowly looked back at them. They were gently stirring as they slowly started becoming conscious again. That’s when it dawned on me. 5. The twins, mom, dad, and my older brother. I whipped my head back towards the black and white clown.

“Where is she?” While Looking straight at me, he reached up, grabbing the thick white tarp. Yanking down, the cloth fell from the giant round shape. It revealed my sister strapped to the wheel of death, the spinning circular board we used for our knife throwing acts. She was also coming to lucidity, fear flooding her features once she was able to comprehend a little of what was going on. Art slowly stalked towards my crumpled frame, bending down and dropping daggers in front of me. Immediately looking between my sister and the blades I was able to piece together what he wanted.

“No, fuck no!” I screamed, crawling backwards away from the sharp knives. Art grabbed my upper arm in a Vice grip, almost immediately bruising. Picking me up by said arm he pushed me towards the pile of metal. I violently shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the ground. He pinched my chin between his fingers and jerked it towards him. I stared at him with glossy eyes. He frowned at me and gestured his hand towards my sister. My face morphed from fear to complete hard anger.

“No.” I glowered, refusing to break eye contact with him. His face became stony as he pushed my chin from him. Standing to his full height he glared at me and walked off stage. With him gone I rushed to my sister to untie her from the spinning board. As I got to one of her wrists she looked at me with tears streaming down her face. Muffled words escaped her taped lips.

“Hold still, I’ll get you down faster.” As I was distracted with the buckle my sister seemed to notice a familiar figure creeping up behind me. Her silence quickly turned into muffled screaming and thrashing. Finally focusing back on my sister, her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know. Looking over my shoulder I saw the clown raise his arm with something in it. With a quick strike down, I felt searing pain rip through me. I was lurked forward with the sheer force of the whip, screams being torn from me with every strike of the weapon. My sister's tears rained down on me as I clung onto her for support as the lashing continued. My back felt like it was being sliced open by a million little knives. The searing pain caused my consciousness to start to waiver. My sisters muffled screams faded from me as my ears started ringing, only hearing the crack of the cat o’ nine tail. My mind focused on nothing but the constant burn radiating from the wounds, refusing to let my legs buckle from the pain. Finally the lashing came to a halt as I heard a voice ring out.

“Okay! Okay. She’ll do it, just stop!” I looked up at my sister, noticing the tape dangling from the corner of her mouth. Her tears must have loosened the adhesive. “Do it. I trust you. Just get it over with.”

With heavy breath I slowly and painfully turned, looking at the demented man in front of me. Cautiously limping towards the pile of throwing blades, my knees wobbled slightly. I stopped to regain my balance, before bending down to grab the steel daggers. The cold metal bit at the warm skin of my palms, and the weight of them threatened to pull me down. Turning back to face my sister, I saw Art forcing her mouth shut with fresh tape. She struggled a bit, glaring with a hatred I’ve never seen. I stole a glance back at my tied up family, differing levels of horror adorning their faces. My mothers face was covered with tears and my fathers face was hard with a fire licking behind his eyes. Nothing but fear adorned the twins faces, and my older brother was looking around. Forming a way to get out, I assumed. Clapping for attention, I turned back to the black and white demon, watching him grab onto the wheel, to heave it down with his full body weight. My sister started spinning and I took a deep breath. Separating a knife from the bundle, I aimed it, cocking my arm back and tossing the blade directly at the board. It landed right between my sister's legs. Grabbing another blade, I wretched my arm back and threw it again. Thinking was never a good idea when it came to knife throwing. Just aim, breathe, and throw. The more you stall, the more you hit the target. Before I knew it I only had one dagger left. All the other throws were perfect misses and I readied myself for a final good throw. A loud piercing honk rang into my left ear. My throw was ruined. And I watched in horror as the sharp steel plunged itself into the soft flesh of my sister's thigh. Her muffled scream was drowned out by the intense ringing in my ears as I turned and looked at the clown. He was pointing at my sister and silently belly laughing, holding his stomach.

“I hate you! You stupid, annoying motherfucker!” I ran up to Art, hitting him on his sturdy chest. He barely reacted as he looked down his nose at me, watching me pound onto him with my full weight. He snatched my wrists and held my arms out, staring at my red face as I continued screaming profanities at him. Smiling sinisterly, he let go of my wrists and stalked towards the, now still, round board my sister was still attached to. I had no clue what his plan was but I tightly grabbed his arm, refusing to move. Realizing he was anchored, he slowly faced me again. “What will make you stop?” I basically whimpered. His grin widened even more than I thought it could. He stood back up to his full height, and I couldn't help but gawk at his towering stature. Gazing up, he tapped his chin in a ‘thinking’ manner until he snapped his fingers in a eureka moment. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned at me, leaning his face down. Becoming eye level with me he gently tapped his cheek, as an indication to give him a kiss.

A wave of nausea hit me, but I also got a fuzzy, warm feeling course through me at the same time. I hated it. I hated myself, for having some sort of affection for the man who’s done nothing but torture me and my family. I snapped back to reality when a loud clap erupted in front of my face. I blinked and refocused on the man in front of me. His face was almost child-like as he watched me with pure, I’m not sure, adoration? I took a deep, quivering breath, and stepped forward. Wrapping my arms around his neck, balancing on my tip toes, and I gave him what he wanted. Granted it wasn’t on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips still had that rich smokey flavor as last time. His hands immediately found my hips and pulled me in closer, almost desperate to get me closer. His tongue licked at my lips and I opened eagerly. I just let him have control, not feeling strong enough to put up a fight. I pulled back with a gasp as a sharp pain came from my lip. A small trickle of blood ran down Art's chin, causing me to reach up and gingerly touch my bottom lip. Pulling my hand back, there was warm blood covering my finger tips, and my lower lip throbbed.

“Let them go.” I croaked out. Art still had his grip on my waist, and squeezed almost threateningly. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes squinted together in distrust. “If you want me, let them go. I’ll be all yours, no questions asked. As long as they’re safe.” I gently cupped the side of his face and placed our foreheads together. Our breathing slowed and we shared a moment of peace. Running my thumb over his jagged cheek bone, I felt my eyes water.

“Please.” I whimpered. Tears ran down my face as I finally looked up at my tormentor. His eyes almost softened when he saw me. His hand moved from my waist to my cheek, brushing the tears off as they fell. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he stretched up to his full height and stepped back. He turned to the side and lifted his arm towards my sister. I slowly looked between the appendage and her. Making eye contact with the man again, I nodded and sped walked up to my sister. She was barely lucid. I lightly slapped her face and her eyes finally focused on me. Pulling a knife out of the board, I cut away at the leather straps holding her to the panel. When she finally tried to put weight on her leg she screamed. She grabbed the knife sticking out of her thigh and I supported her the best I could. I looked over my shoulder to see Art was gone. Not waiting a single moment I hobbled her across the stage, refusing to listen to her pleas to stop. We finally got to our trapped family. They sat there with nothing but pure terror and tears on their faces. With the dagger I cut my father loose first. Immediately he wrapped me in a bear hug, almost squeezing me a bit too hard. He held me for what felt like years but was no longer than a few seconds. My sister struggled to release my mother from her confines when we heard a loud boom. The heat came soon after as the back of the stage was lit ablaze. The fire grew to the top of the tent within seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” My father hollered as he, and the rest of us, scrambled to free our brothers. The smoke was thick and dark, making breathing almost impossible. Coughing, we were able to untie my brothers. We all were kneeling down toward the ground, trying to avoid the thick musk above us. “We’re not gonna be able to make it!” My mother screamed, as the loud crackle of the flames almost drowned her out. I could tell my sister was worse for wear, and I had no idea how to get her out. While my head was swimming with panicked thoughts, my eldest brother noticed the dagger I still had clutched in my hand. He grabbed the blade out of my hand, dashing towards the closest tent wall and carved into it.

“Come on!” He screamed as everyone rushed to the new opening. I grabbed my sister and supported/ dragged her out of the tent. Her consciousness was faltering when I laid her on her back. We hacked and gagged as we finally got some of our breath back. The tent was completely ablaze. I heard sirens wailing in the distance as my head started to spin. I started dry heaving while slowly crawling away from my family, not wanting them to see me like this. My vision blurred from the tears and the spinning when I suddenly saw I black shape in front of me.

“Get away from her!” A distorted familiar voice rang out as I looked up and saw a blur of white and black. For a split sec I was able to focus and I saw Art standing there. Blank faced and fists balled to his sides, he raised his foot. In a split second everything went black.

Waking up was almost like a nightmare to me. My head pounded and I was freezing. The room was still spinning and My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to move, but I was cramped in something small. With a groan I reached out and touched something cold and metal. But it wasn’t solid, it felt like it was made out of metal wiring. I adjusted myself and once again heard the ringing in my ears start up. The floor was solid underneath me, but I could see outside of my confines. My fingers once again grasped the walls around me and it all clicked. I was in a steel cage. Visions of what happened before I was knocked out bombarded my brain. Adrenaline mixed with panic and caused everything to come into sharp focus. There wasn’t much to see, it was dark and dingy, a single light swung above my cage. A smashed tv sat on the floor across from a table with a little stool. Blood and various sharp objects littered the table. I immediately scattered backwards until my back hit the chain wall. The reality of what I agreed to dug its way to the forefront of my brain. I agreed to be with this man. For whatever he shall need me for. My stomach flipped as all the possible scenarios ran through my mind. My leotard -covered body shivered in the corner of the cage. My erratic breathing caused me to notice that there was something around my neck. My throat felt constricted and panic wracked through me as I clawed at it until I got a decent grip, ripping it from my throat. In my hand sat a collar. A. Fucking. Collar. My ears weren’t ringing, it was the bell on the collar the entire time. I was drowning in my thoughts when The entire cage rattled, as someone else shook it. I snapped my head up and was greeted with Art's smiling face. He lifted up the top of the cage, revealing the door. His face slowly morphed into frown as he looked at my face, then my neck, and finally to the collar in my hand. He held out a finger initiating to give him a minute and closed the cage. Prancing over to the table I saw him pull a thin sparkling string up and hold it close to himself. After finagling with it for a moment, he walked back over, and completely flipped the top of the cage open. He held out his hand, dangling there was a necklace with a heart dog tag. It read “Arts pet”.

#art the clown #terrifier 2 #david howard thornton #terrifier movie #horrorwhores #slashers #slash fic #Art fan fiction #art the clown x reader #terrifier x reader #scary movies

[swagginmun]

the issue here appears to be this anon(s) more concerned about the sexualization of Nezha rather than genuine acts of disrespect toward him. I must disclose that I am a Daoist practitioner who worships the adult Nezha for various work safeties, but my family back in Hubei worships him as a generalized guardian. Being the “Marshal of the Central Altar” he is the commanding officer of various gods - even down to the kitchen. This is mentioned within “Oedipal God”.

He carries many responsibilities and is often seen as a guardian to the rest of the gods, often appearing at the entrances of pagodas or shrines/temples. In Taiwan, the only deity that has more statues than him is Tudigong which I discuss here briefly.

I do apologize though, as the links I am going to share are not in English and require Machine translation.

https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E5%93%AA%E5%90%92/35250

https://baike.sogou.com/v101051492.htm?fromTitle=%E5%93%AA%E5%92%A4

Please let me know if the machine translation is unclear and I will be more than happy to clear some details.

Wow! I once again thank you for taking the time to type all this out and provide more resources m8!

Tbh there doesn't seem to be too much translation errors on the first passover, but if I have any questions as I read through all this new info, I defo reach out to you if thats alright! ^^/

#swagginasks

[riseofthecommonwoodpile]

I have done like 50? maybe more? of these music listening things, and i am running out of general statements to make about each summary. so here (new york isabelle voice) whoa fugettaboutit mama mia pizza pie:

AMM- The Inexhaustible Document (9.0/10)

Anaal Nathrakh- The Codex Necro (8.0/10)

An Albatross- Eat Lightning, Shit Thunder (7.5/10)

Ayesha Erotica- Cumshot (7.5/10)

Beebee- Play the Girl (5.0/10)

Beherit- Drawing Down the Moon (8.5/10)

Black Flag- Slip It In (7.0/10)

Bree Runway- Be Runway (7.0/10)

Brooke Candy- SEXORCISM (8.0/10)

Bush Tetras- Boom In The Night (5.5/10)

Current 93- Swastikas for Noddy (6.5/10)

The Dillinger Escape Plan- Miss Machine (7.5/10)

Fat Worm of Error- Pregnant Babies Pregnant with Pregnant Babies (9.0/10)

Filth of Mankind- The Final Chapter (9.0/10)

Grendel- Harsh Generation (5.0/10)

Helen Love- Love and Glitter, Hot Days and Music (8.0/10)

Jane Siberry- No Borders Here (9.0/10)

Jane's World- Sugar (9.0/10)

Joe Meek and the Blue Men- I Hear a New World: An Outer Space Music Fantasy (7.0/10)

Kim Petras- Feed The Beast (2.5/10)

The Les Claypool Frog Brigade- Purple Onion (7.0/10)

Lifetime- Hello Bastards (8.5/10)

Lil Mariko- Lil Mariko (8.0/10)

Lindsay Lohan- A Little More Personal (Raw) (6.5/10)

Lingua Ignota- SINNER GET READY (10/10)

Liz Phair- Whip-Smart (8.5/10)

Mercyful Fate- Don't Break the Oath (8.5/10)

Pain Teens- Destroy Me, Lover (9.5/10)

Portion Control- I Staggered Mentally (8.5/10)

Richard Hell & The Voidoids- Blank Generation (8.0/10)

Slayyyter- Troubled Paradise (7.0/10)

The Smile- A Light for Attracting Attention (7.5/10)

Trixie Mattel- The Blonde & Pink Albums (7.5/10)

XTC- English Settlement (7.5/10)

Yellow Swans- Going Places (9.0/10)

Young Marble Giants- Colossal Youth (8.5/10)

Yuko Ogura (小倉優子)- フルーchu タルト (6.0/10)

805 Enavol- Holesome (7.0/10)

#music project

[nintendont2502]

(For context.)

7, 9, 27, 46, 47, 48, 82, 93

(If you can't, don't answer them all.)

Ever cosplayed a HS character? A few! In rough order it was uhh regular Dave, god tier Dave, god tier John, a remake of my regular Dave, and I'm currently remaking my god tier Dave for a con this 413

Ever made an MSPFA? Never. I have a few vague thoughts, but I just. Do not have the time to do one rn, or the motivation. Ig you could technically argue that the one thing I did on sdd was a proto mspfa, but eh

Favourite carapician? PM my beloved

Character you'd be best friends with? I think I'd get along so well with Roxy tbh. Maybe John

Patron troll? ....Eridan. dear god

Zodiac troll? Fef my beloved

Favourite HS moment? EOA5/[S]: Cascade will always give me chills no matter how many times I watch it, and Synchronize/Unite is up there. The Dirk/Dave rooftop conversation and the Dirk/Hal rooftop confrontation, Davesprite being prototyped, the Nep/Equius conversation in Seek the Highblood,,, homestuck can be good sometimes I think

Favourite MSPFA? I. Dont read them. I started Crow Strider and then just. Never continued reading it for reasons I can't remember, I think I started Karkat Goes To A Convention and I remember enjoying that, and I've heard good things about Vast Error but I just. Idk. I haven't gotten around to them yet. Maybe one day when I've extracted every drop of enjoyment out of HS proper

#me.txt

[angelkincensus]

(re) these links attached below appear to (us at least) be broken! we are also so happy to see efforts of angelkins coming together! <3

#3 Aether aasimar-ascendant #5 Aizalren marztown #9 Anael fallen-feline-fae #13 Araceli / Anthaea / Amon angelici-scriptus #20 Avis / Uriel / Ry'leh rylehishere #21 Azkbella azkbellaangel #24 Barachiel guideing-light #32 Daz / Dazariel / Nexus nexus-angelic #33 doctrine-doctrine doctrine-doctrine #34 Doe your1god #36 Dumah / Baraqiel serapllm #37 Eden angel-face333 #43 Gabriel hallucinogenic-angel #44 Gabriel / Judas disasterqueerpunk #46 Harmoniel jellyangelic #48 Icarus angeloverrs #59 Larkin / Larkyn a-fire-pigeon #60 Lithoniel dr-j-bright #61 Luc pulchritudinouslacuna #63 Lucifer saulgoodbutch #75 Mori / Azaphael / Cult mossgardenswithsaltstatues #76 Narcissus angelic-help #80 Nico / Nicodemus infested-writes #81 Noth lost-hiraeth #86 Rafael rauraurasputin #90 Saint / Silas divinitystainedsaint #91 Sal wasgo #93 Sanguis sanguisambrosia #103 Verchiel veriangel #104 Wade cherubkin #105 Zadkiel mercifulhalo #107 Zadkiel (link isn't broken, but it's a double of #106) #109 Zyziel knightnox #110 abhorrentcanidae #113 angelromantic #118 catdog-txt #119 divinepasserine #126 guardian-anaphiel #127 justaeldritchbeing #128 lamassus #133 pastel-rosy-princess link isn't broken, just seems like a bot(?) #135 pythonstring #136 quiet_choirs #137 quiet_choirs (double) #142 sundrunklover

Thanks for letting us know about these! Most did turn out to be dead links, but a few (@disasterqueerpunk, @dr-j-bright, and @quiet-choirs) were simply linked incorrectly. (Apparently Tumblr is more finicky than we thought about the difference between "blogname.tumblr.com" and "tumblr.com/blogname"!)

All of the inactive blogs are still listed in the directory, though the links have been removed and a note added to each of them. The duplicate lines were also removed.

If the owners of any of these blogs are still active on Tumblr, feel free to let us know your new URL so we can correct any lingering errors in the directory. There's the possibility that some of the dead links are the result of errors copying information into the directory, rather than the blogs not existing at all. If that is the case, we take full responsibilty for any mistakes.

Again, thank you for letting us know about all of these!

#Tumblr Angelkin Census #angelkin #fallen angelkin #divinekin #actuallyangelic #actuallydivine