This is a new fanfiction idea, inspired by these pictures on tumblr. It's my rendition of Circusstuck (an au version of Homestuck taking place in a circus/freak show). You don't have to know anything about Homestuck to read it, since it's an au (or alternate universe for those who don't know the term) This is also my challenge for November. Instead of trying to do a 50,000 word story, I'm trying to see if I can continue with this story for the month (and longer if I really get into it). So yeah I'll be it on here. That's about it. Also if the title of the story/circus is grammatically wrong, please tell me. I don't know any French, so I was going off whatever my friends told me.

Cirque De Folie

(An AU Homestuck fanfiction)

__________________________________________________

An Introduction by the Ringleader

Welcome, welcome, to Cirque De Folie! Did you have a safe drive here? How were the roads? Little traffic? Good, good. Your seats await you, just step inside and sit down, anywhere’s fine. Comfortable? Yes, yes, it is dark but we don’t want to spoil any of the show. Spoilers are dreadfully awful. Now, look to your neighbors, get to know their faces… because this might be the last time you see a familiar face. Oh, you thought I was being serious? Oh no! I was merely trying to lighten this thick tension. You can practically run your fingers through it!

Now that we’re all seated and chummy with one another, you might as well get to know what you’re in for! This show is like none other. This show does not contain freaks that you find in dirty city alleys, but everyday people you pull off the street. Ordinary people with extraordinary talent, that is.

Warm up with Aradia; a woman with extraordinary beauty, but with the breath of a dragon. Be mystified by the Captor twins; identical twin boys, exactly the same except in the eyes, but with the powers to turn your world inside out. Eat your hearts out with Dave Strider; a man who could have his arm hacked off and still keep a cool head. Risk your life with Gamzee; a clown with one too many skeletons in his closet. Is there anything you've always wanted --something beyond your wildest dreams? Take a gamble with Vriska to see if your desires come to life. And so much more!

They’re all waiting for you --waiting with smiling faces. They want to play with you! Do you want to play with them? They'd be so terribly upset if you refused. There, those are the faces they want to see. Happy, bright, smiling faces. ...Okay, curious, worried, and anxious faces work too. The performers aren't that picky, and neither am I!

If you want to leave, now’s your chance, the exit doors are open. Oops, too late!

Relax, the show's about to start.

Alright, first chapter to this. This is actually the first time I've written in a circus setting. I haven't been to a circus since I was like... 4 and I don't even remember it then. I'm just going off what I've seen in shows and read in books. So if you find something wrong with the setting then let me know.

 

Cirque De Folie

(An AU Homestuck Fanfiction)

___________________________________________________

(Warning, this chapter has some strong language.

It also has mentions of blood so... if you don't like that then don't read it.)

Chapter 1: Don't Eat the Mind Honey!

With the final word from the ringmaster, the lights that were pointed on him shut off. The audience was left in complete darkness, only to be accompanied by the ragged breathing of their neighbors. Occasionally a person would be bumped by another’s shoulder. A few could feel how cold and clammy the other’s skin was. It was only darkness, many comforted themselves with. Most were confused as to why they were getting so worked up in the darkness. A fear of the darkness was a childish phase. Some audience members noted that there was something different about the darkness. As if something were lurking inside of it.

 

That’s when the prickling started. The hairs on their necks started to twitch and rise. There were prickling sensations trailing all around their necks and spines. People would smack the back of their necks with their hands, like they were trying to swat at a bug, in attempt to stop the sensation. The crawling traveled down to their legs and up onto their face. Out of the corner of their eyes they could see no bug or creature creeping along on them. Itches burned on their heads, and many scratched and scratched in hopes to ease the fire.

 

Hissing, there was hissing. Actually, it was more like a faint humming. At first it only rested in their heads, but it casually eased out their ears and all around the massive circular tent. Soon, the entire closure was filled with a loud buzzing. Those who were familiar with the sound recognized it as the sound of bees –and many of them at that. Some of the audience members clung to one another in fear of being stung. The volume of the buzzing increased and a few screams were heard.

 

The screams weren’t from the buzzing. No, it was from the prodding that gradually grew painful. The prickling turned into poking, which then turned into stinging. Members of the audience stood up and looked for the exit, but were unable to due to the darkness of the tent. Slapping started to fill the tent as well. Not people slapping one another, but more at themselves. As the buzzing started to near their ears, their arms would wave wildly trying to hit the bee, or hit anywhere they felt a sting. But to no avail did the stinging or buzzing died down. In fact, it only made it more powerful.

 

After a few minutes of this routine, the sound of the buzzing moved, circulating towards the middle of the tent. The audience members that stood felt a strong pull, urging them back into their seats –a few swore that they could hear a voice whisper in their heads “Take your seats.”

 

Everyone was seated, and the buzzing died down until it was a faint humming once more. And then, there were footsteps. One set echoed from one side of the tent, the other set from the other side. The footsteps continued until the owners of the feet reached the center of the buzzing. Overhead two spotlights turned on, filling the tent with enough light to reveal the figures standing center-stage, but not enough to reach the edges of the premises.

 

The two figures were almost completely identical. They wore the same uniform; a full-body, feet included, black speedsuit that had yellow stripes down the arms and legs. Their hair was black, but neatly groomed so the bangs swooped to cover their foreheads. On the crown of their heads there was a noticeable cowlick. From the light given, those sitting on the bottom row could see that they were from some country in the South-East Pacific area. The only difference visible were their eyes. One twin had freezing blue eyes, the other had burning red ones –but both sets seemed to glow in the dim light. From the small description the ringleader gave before the show started, they must’ve been the Captor twins.

 

“Pathetic,” the blue-eyed one spoke. His voice echoed throughout the tent, and everyone noticed his obvious lisp. He seemed to be talking more to himself, but for some reason he let the whole audience hear him. “Those firetrucktards couldn’t even handle the bees.”

 

“What bees? There weren’t any,” the red-eyed one replied. He too had the lisp like his brother. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Suddenly the whole tent was then lit up. The buzzing was still there, but the audience members now saw that there weren’t any bees in the tent at all. The audience looked around in confusion. If there weren’t any bees, then what caused the stinging and buzzing?

 

The blue-eyed twin scanned the room for a quick second before smirking, “I guess they can be let off this one time. They better be firetrucking thankful I’m a saint.”

 

“But the bees will be back, after all” the red-eyed twin closed his eyes for a second before opening them once more. This time even those in the back row of the tent could see his eyes glow, “this is the hive, and they are sitting in the honeycomb.”

 

There were a few confusing seconds as the audience pondered over the twin’s words. One of the younger audience members screamed as she tried to move in hear seat. That caused a chain reaction of the other members to check their seats. There was a stick substance keeping them glued to it. Some would raise their hands to their faces and see their fingers covered in honey. As some of the children would wiggle in their seats, enjoying the stickiness, the adults were rather repulsed by it.

 

One of the kids started to eat the honey that covered her fingers. To her it was the sweetest thing she ever tasted --even sweeter than ice cream. The blue-eyed twin, who was facing the direction of the girl, smiled. That wicked smile went unseen by the audience as their attention was brought to the girl. She was screaming and writhing in her seat. Tears stained her cheeks and her cries only crew louder. Her mother who sat next to her tried to comfort her, but to no avail as she continued to cry out in pain. The girl’s skin grew pale and cold, and she shivered in her seat. Goosebumps covered the cool skin, and the veins were now clearly visible in a sickening way, and they pulsed as her heart beat faster with anxiety.

 

The mother looked at the twins, “Aren’t you going to do anything?” Her voice cracked with distress, she was close to crying herself.

 

“How can I do anything,” The blue-eyed twin started.

 

“When we don’t know what’s causing your daughter to scream like a little bitch?” The red-eyed one finished.

 

“Can’t you see she became that way after eating that honey?” The man that sat next to the girl shouted.

 

“What honey?” Both twins asked in unison.

 

“Unless you mean,” the red-eyed twin started.

 

“The mind honey,” the blue-eyed twin finished.

 

“But even then we can’t do anything, it’s all in your head,” they once again spoke in unison, “All it took was for us to plant it in there. You yourselves let it grow.” Both of their eyes glowed and suddenly all the honey that the audience saw was gone. The girl was no longer crying. Instead, she was sitting curiously in her seat, wondering why her mother was smothering her. It was as if she didn’t remember the whole ordeal.

 

“Next time, don’t eat the mind honey,” the twins warned before they disappeared with one last wicked glow in their eyes.

 

The audience members had no time to reconcile from the twins’ performance as a new voice spoke out. “Bluh bluh bluh,” a cheery voice mocked. Heads turned and spotlights moved to point at that girl that was sitting up on one of the tightropes. She had short blonde hair that flipped out at the edges. Her eyes were covered with sunglasses. The way she dressed herself made it look like she didn’t know how to do such a simple act; all she wore was a black tube top, a teal tutu, a bright pastel pink bow in her hair, polka doted thigh-high socks, and cowboy boots.

 

“Honestly, I found that a little boring,” the girl spoke between giggles, “Now, something like this is exciting!” She stuck one leg out away from the tight rope, wobbling a bit only on one leg. Her arms were held out away from her sides, and she leaned a bit backwards. A few screams later and the girl was falling. There was no safety nets beneath the tightrope, and many in the audience thought she was going to die.

 

But out of nowhere came a ball of pink ribbon flying after her. The ball unwound itself as it caught up with the girl. An arm reached out of the ball and caught the falling girl’s wrist. Another blonde-haired girl was wrapped inside of the pink ribbon. Her ankle was wrapped tight around the ribbon so she held herself up. The oddly dressed girl was only a few inches from the ground, so she let go of the hand that held her safely. When the girl wrapped up in ribbon saw the other was safe on the ground, she rolled herself back up to the darkness of the tent.

 

“Okay, now maybe Sol was a little bit harsh in a deliciously genius way,” the girl walked over to where she heard the mother’s sobs that were slowly calming down. “Now, let good ol’ Terezi take care of you.” With a few giggles and walked back to the center of the stage and stood on a now-raised podium.

 

Terezi fumbled with a few layers of her tutu before she pulled out some knives from who-knows-where. “There are dart boards all around the sides of the tent. It is my job as a ‘certified-handicapable-dart-thrower’ to get bullseye in all of them!”

 

There were a few whispers of “She’s handicapped? Doesn’t look like it.” Terezi’s head turned to the side, and smiled. To answer the question with subtlety, she took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were a burnt-red color, as if someone took a torch and stuck her eyes in the flames. She heard gulps, a common reaction when seeing her eyes. Nobody ever trusted a blind girl to throw a few knives! She was a professional! It really hurt deep down inside at their lack of trust.

 

Terezi pulled her hand back, taking aim randomly. When she felt like she waiting long enough, she throw the knife. The blade went whizzing through the air. It looked as if it was going to actually hit a target, but the tip started to lower. Then, unfortunately, a man got in the path of flight, which led to him being struck in the shoulder with the knife. The man fell with an awkward grunt. Two people that sat near him stood up and rushed to his side. They grasped at his shoulders, ignoring the groans of pain he uttered.

 

Tilting her head to the side, Terezi seemed to take no notice of the man. In fact, she raised her hand again and threw another knife. The blade flew through the air and struck the same man once again, this time in the foot. She repeated this process two more times. Each time the knifes struck the man.

 

“Are you insane?” One of the people trying to help the man asked.

 

Terezi giggled, “Flattery gets you nowhere, but thank you though!” She walked up the steps to the man. Kneeling down next to him, she pulled the knives out, saving the one in his foot for last. When she pulled that one out, she took off his shoe and sock and licked the blood that trickled out from the wound. The man was no longer groaning in pain. In fact he looked rather emotionless. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, and his mouth was slack with lack of care about his wounds.

 

“Come on Dave, stop acting like such a wimp and get up here,” Terezi held out a hand and knocked the knives away. The man, Dave, shrugged and stood up, despite the protests to the people who previously tried to help him. The pair walked down the steps to the stage. From there Dave took off his red shirt to reveal faint scars that littered his chest.

 

“So, Dave Cool-Boy Strider,” Terezi pulled another knife from her tutu, “Are you ready-”

 

“Just where do you get those?” Dave asked.

 

“Someplace.” Terezi smiled wickedly. She then did a favorite past time of hers. Standing behind Dave she began to make quick, rapid movements with her arms.

 

“No. Terezi. Don’t. You’ll regret it.” Dave tried to stop Terezi with such ‘great’ enthusiasm. A few strokes later, she once again stood by Dave’s side.

 

“Bitches and hoes!” She called out, using her arms to gesture to Dave, “Look at my masterpiece! …Dave that’s your cue.” The shirtless performer turned around, showing all of the audience that masterpiece that Terezi had cut on his back. It was a perfect self-portrait of herself, all carved out on Dave's back. The audience didn't know whether to be amazed at her work, or disgusted by the blood that was lightly dripping down his back.

 

“And what kind of trick is that?” One of the teenage boys muttered in the front row.

 

Terezi looked over to him, then faced Dave. “So, did you feel anything, Big Boy?” She slapped his ass at the end of her question, only to receive a scowl from “Big Boy.”

 

“I didn’t even know what you were doing, for all I know you could’ve been scrambling eggs on my steaming abs.”

 

“It was either that or paint a picture, and I think it’s my best work yet! Maybe next time I‘ll cook up a feast.” The two bantered on like that for a bit, with Dave offering some sort of brag about himself, and Terezi rebutting with a suggestive flirt. The audience didn’t know whether to be disappointed in the act --especially after the first act they had to follow through with--, be repulsed by the blood and kept oozing out of Dave’s wounds, or be angered that the performers forgot that they were there.

 

“Oh hoooooooow rude! Forgetting about the audience! How unprofessional can you get?” A nasally voice called out from the back. Spotlights pointed at the source of the voice --a girl who sat in the back that had her feet resting up on the chair in front of her. “Really, I guess that you two have soooooooo much sexual tension gathering up between your hormonal bodies, that you just can’t help but eye-firetruck each other each moment you’re together. How gross, I mean, you’re just about to rip each other’s clothes off--”

 

“That’s why they invented masturbation,” Dave casually interrupted.

 

“That’s beyond my point,” the seated girl continued, “You two need to get off the stage, and let me show you how you entertain a crowd of strangers.” The girl stood up and began to walk down the steps.

Dave shrugged and started to walk away with Terezi. He, however, couldn’t resist throwing in one last question, “What are you going to do? Strip and blind us all with your flabby, wrinkled body?”

 

“Oh hahahaha,” the girl fake laughed, “That was so funny I forgot to make those obnoxious sounds of joy from my respiratory organ. But no, I’m going to do what I do best.” The girl stood where the previous performers once stood. She stood with her hands on her leather covered hips, her boots making her appear a few inches taller. She looked tougher with the leather jacket that she wore over the black t-shirt that had the black widow insignia on the center. Her black hair was a curly, tangled mess, which gave her an insane look that was only intensified with the eye patch that covered her left eye and the devious smile that burned into the eyes of the audience.

 

“So, you poor unfortunate souuuuuuuuls, who‘s feeling lucky tonight?”