#clownpainted

[literallyneurodivergentandaminor]

went 2 the fair 2day!!!!!!

had sm fun w my friend :•)

[fatrabbitky]

Either book will make a great gift for that shady uncle to whom you’ve learned to not ask too many questions. #clowns #clownpaintings #dianekeaton #fatrabbitky (at Fat Rabbit Thrift & Vintage) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cmjsavdu2Bi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[blackjackkent]

So I lied - Rakha has reached the meltdown point after everything that happened yesterday. :P Which means, as usual, drabble time.

-----

It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

Rakha stares at her reflection in one of the few intact windows of the nearby rotted-out building. She takes in the curse the pixie laid on her - the emulation of facepaint burned into her skin. Rakha has never seen a clown, but she understands instinctively that this is a mockery, an insult. 

And it is too much. It has all piled up for weeks now - Ethel’s betrayal, and the noblestalk, and the broken wrong magic of the shadowlands, and now Isobel and Sceleritas and a sudden escalation of every murderous thought she’s ever had. And with this final taunting indignity, Rakha - suddenly, dramatically, and without any preamble whatsoever - snaps.

“RrrrrrrraaaaaaAAAAARRRGGGHHH!” It starts as a growl but she can’t stop it; it rises up her throat and into her mouth as a furious scream. Her fist smashes through the window, shattering it apart. Pain stings through her knuckles and she smells blood. Her breath quickens until she is hyperventilating. Her vision goes white.

Fire spews out of her hands. The building, dead and desiccated as it is, erupts in flames at once, catching like kindling as if expressly prepared for the purpose. Her magic rebounds in on itself and then explodes outwards in a sudden noxious cloud of poison gas that mingles with the conflagration. Rakha stands amid the chaos, a column of elemental energy, her body glowing by turns with radiant light and crackling lightning and a sheen of ice that erupts into steam the moment it appears.

For a terrifying few minutes, she cannot think, cannot see, cannot breathe. She is aware only of the rage and desperation and abject, brutal despair, and the bloodlust laugh of the beast roaring in her brain.

-----

“Rakha?” Wyll calls cautiously. He steps carefully into the ruins of the building - now far more ruined than before as the fire has started to burn itself out.

None of them quite know what happened; he and Lae’zel and Shadowheart simply watched as Rakha seemed to… well… explode. For a moment he is very, very afraid she just destroyed herself. But after a while, they become aware of a strange choking sound coming from a dark corner of the ruins. 

Rakha is sobbing.

She’s not crying - there are no tears. But she is curled into a ball on the floor, shaking with ragged dry sobs that wrack her whole body. Her fingertips are pressed into her hair as if she wishes to rip out her skull. 

“Rakha…” Wyll drops to his knees at her side, reaches out cautiously to rest a hand on her shoulder. She jerks away from the touch, pulling herself against the nearby wall like a kicked dog. “Rakha… breathe. It’s all right--”

“It is NOT!” she snarls. It is barely even her voice; she sounds more animal than woman. “You don’t know-- you don’t-- understand--”

“Tell me.” His voice is soft, a counterpoint to the terrible chaos in her mind. “Tell me what’s wrong…”

“It hurts…” She chokes the words out. Her head lifts to meet his eyes and he’s startled to see that her face is filled with panic. At her best moments she is placid and serious, at her worst filled with rage - but he has never seen her look as terrified as she does in this moment. The pixie’s clownpaint curse in the shadowy half-light only accentuates the effect, giving her the look of some kind of storybook monster. “Wyll, it hurts… I can’t-- make it stop--”

Inside her mind, she is hanging on by her fingernails against the maelstrom. The beast is so close to taking control. She is slipping. 

“I would-- rip out your throat--” she growls. “Don’t touch me--”

“No…” He is reminded, abruptly and viscerally, of the moment they found Scratch on the road, terrified and lost and in need of gentleness. “You won’t. I promise-- I promise you won’t.” He knows her well enough by now that he can guess at some of the meaning behind the cryptic words - and thus behind the terror in her eyes. “I won’t let you hurt me, Rakha. It’s all right. It’s all right…” 

Every muscle in her body is strained tight, but he thinks he sees her relax almost imperceptibly at this. The sobbing breaths stutter a little, losing their implacable rhythm. Her eyes remain locked on him, desperate, pleading. “It’s stronger here,” she finally manages to gasp out, more quietly.

She wants to tell him everything. About Sceleritas, about his gifts and hints and taunting deference. About the image of Isobel’s head severed from her body and sitting in a pool of blood. About the way the beast claws within her brain and takes her apart from the inside. She can’t find the words. She is not Gale, she has no eloquence, only halting sentences half-formed and blunt and broken.

He considers this. “The… ‘beast’?”

She nods unsteadily, curling further into herself. “It’s too much… too much-- too hard to hold on--” The sobs quicken again, so hard and fierce that she is struggling to breathe. “I could have smashed her. Crushed her against the rock. No curse then. No paint. But I let her live…”

“Yes,” he agrees. “You did right…”

“And she mocked me…” She groans and her whole body shudders deeply. “Too much to bear…”

A long, long silence, broken only by her ragged gasps. For a moment, he is very afraid of her - afraid of the parts of her that he doesn’t understand. 

Please kill me, she thinks. Please run far away from me. Please don’t let me go.

“I’m so tired…” she whispers. “So tired of fighting…”

He reaches out very carefully, ready to pull back if she needs him to; when she doesn’t draw away again, he rests his hand on her back. He can feel her heart thundering under her ribs. “Breathe,” he finally says softly. “We’ll get through this.” He doesn’t know how. He just knows that they have to. “We’ll help you. I’m here…”

She struggles to swallow the sobs, to draw a proper breath. “I don’t want to…” she mumbles disjointedly. “Don’t want to kill her.”

“Then you won’t,” Wyll says softly. “I won’t let you. I promise.” He doesn’t know who she’s speaking of or why - but the reassurance takes hold, nevertheless. She slumps into the floor, trembling uncontrollably; the desperate animal panic begins to fade in favor of blank exhaustion. Cautiously he shifts to rub his fingertips slowly up her back to her shoulder, feeling the tight muscle there slowly loosening. “Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe…”

[spector]

im killing myself. dont let me trigger the romantic scene with the emperor while my clownpaint is on. god. NO. PLEASE.

[ringleaderising]

Greetings Pig Fans

Have you ever wanted to dress your own filthy clown sworn into the service of something the Gods forgot? well, now you can! We here at "if I like it it needs a bunch of colors" industries have heard your pleas, and now there are easily accessed dressing room outfits for Big Pig and some hypothetical friends.

PLEASE NOTE: Pig's neck ruffle layering is GOING to clip on 90% of other breeds/poses/etc, it is the angle of the male guardian's head in reference to his neck that makes it do that cool thing with the spikescarf.

The scries are all wearing parts of the "Metal" accent series by CorvidCarapace- as that's where Pig's corpse/clownpaint comes from- but you can easily substitute in one of the white windsong masks for that.

Remember: you can dress like him all you want, but he senses your mockery, and you will pay for your arrogance! :D

CLEAVERSWORN - 2496608 EVERYONE LOATHES A CLOWN - 2496615 LAUGHING IN THE DARK - 2496623

[activatingaggro]

Piccrew work today! 4 deco sections for scars + clownpaint, which can be layered and also put onto the body as well. System's all uploaded and in place, so now it's just mostly filling in the various gaps.

[shecowl]

blocked, huh? coward. >:(

do you remember that time i blocked you and tumblr softblocked you but kept me following you anyway? that’s my villain origin story ✌️😔

[neverafterss]

i took it. i am outside ur house.

hello ?? 9-1-1 ?? my nemesis followed me home again :/

[awnterslder]

for the record— if he wins, she’ll buy breakfast. 😌 / @clownpainted​

... should have started with that, honestly, now he’s considering it. / prev.

[literallyneurodivergentandaminor]

gurlies im trying to find a homestuck fic gamkar where gamzee puts clownpaint on karkats face its fluffy and cute and i read it years back where is it help guys

[mckkaria]

there   was   always   room   for      a   little   bit   a   chaos,      a   dash   of   the      unexpected,      but   harley   had   a   habit   of   taking   things   to   the   next   level…   or      the   next   few   levels.      a      question      hangs      between      them      and      mak      can      only      shake      her      head,      unsure      if      it      had      been      rhetorical      or      not.         the      whole      thing      seemed      a      little      far-fetched.      a         pause      and      then      hands      signal,         ❝   the      fewer      explosions      the      better.      —      for      now.   ❞

*   —    @clownpainted​       (  sc   )

[kingofdisrepute]

this clown. if for no other reason, simply because what the fuck

anon or not, tell me who you ship my muse with || ACCEPTING

omfggg i'm trying to imagine and wow they would be absolutely nuts. she would drag him all her shenanigans and he would follow bc he's a simp wow i mean honestly good for them

[daddyflag]

Flag was very well aware he was going against orders. There was not a ounce of his being that gave a flying fuck. He’d always made a point that no member of his team was left behind, but Harley wasn’t just anyone. They’d been through too much together, seen too much. They were a little bit more than friends. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see when he’d found her, but it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs when he saw her. Gun was put back in its holster on his leg, the rest of the world forgotten as he crossed the room to her.  “Harley? Hey it’s me.” His voice is unusually soft, hands clenched to fists at his side as he tried to calm down. “You’re okay. I got you. You’re okay.”

@clownpainted​ asked: [ THIRTEEN ]  sender was kidnapped,  receiver shows up to save them.

accepting

[penyworth]

"i never noticed your eyes were this pretty." hehehehe

❝   i’m flattered,   miss quinn,   ❞     alfred offers her a smile,   approaching the matter with civility & a cautiousness to not overstep:   he was not blind to her temper nor her malfeasance,   & chances were this was a plotted a distraction,   something that he’s sure bruce is already working on,   so it only seemed fitting that he gave her the same courtesy back.      ❝   is there something i can help you with?   ❞

[generic-lab-assistant]

Goofy ass dudes with their goofy ass disguises going on their adventure

[robichito-art]

Fanart of “medusamorewicked” on TikTok by zuroobin