#art the clown fan fiction

[strangererotica]

PART ONE

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

CW: domestic abuse by reader’s husband, gratuitous violence from Art 🩸🩸🩸

The clown smiled gleefully, his eyes lit with a maniacal excitement. Offering up your abusive husband as, essentially, a toy for Art to play with had his mind running wild with demented ideas. He gripped your hips and lifted you off his lap, then took your hand in his and tugged you enthusiastically with him toward the back of the mall. He stopped you both at a door marked ‘STAFF ONLY.’

Art sat aside the black trash bag he carried, then knelt down to rummage through it. He retrieved a keycard with someone’s identification on it, and swiped it through the reader. As the door clicked open, the clown extended his arm theatrically toward it, as if to say “ladies first.” You snickered, unfazed by the snort that came out of your nose. “How chivalrous of you,” you told Art, stepping past him and through the doorway.

Your foot caught on something just inside, eyes instinctively dropping to see what you’d walked into. The lifeless, glassy eyes of a dead man dressed in a mall security uniform gazed wide up at you. His throat was slit horizontally, the cut so deep you wondered how his head hadn’t detached. A sticky pool of blood fanned out beneath the body.

The clown watched, assessing your reaction. After adjusting to the scene in front of you, letting it sink in completely, you turned to him. Words failed you at the moment, so you simply shrugged your shoulders. In the corner, you noticed a yellow fold-out CAUTION ⚠️ WET FLOOR sign. Stepping over the dead man, you went to collect the sign, planting it next to the body, in the pool of blood that surrounded him. The clown’s eyebrows lifted, his eyes crinkling happily. “Seemed appropriate,” you commented, waving to the sign. Art nodded in agreement, clapping his hands excitedly.

He’d tested you, and you’d passed. Now it was safe to move on to the real task at hand: ending your husband’s life.

You stood with the clown outside your apartment door. The sound of deep bass thumping inside struck you as convenient; hopefully the loud music would conceal any sounds of distress your husband might make during his demise.

With trembling hands, you inserted your key inside the lock. Your husband’s voice called crudely from inside the apartment, “it’s about goddamn TIME you got home!” You closed your eyes, steeling your nerves. The clown tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention. He put his finger to his lips, reminding you to stay silent. Taking a few steps back, he concealed himself behind a corner in the hall.

The sound of your husband’s heavy footsteps thundering closer made your heart race with both anxiety and, with excitement. Because as fucked up as this situation was, you reasoned there was no retribution your husband was better deserving of. He’d terrorized you long enough. Bringing judgment home with you, in the form of a killer clown in a blood-caked Santa suit, was a justice you felt entitled to.

Before you could twist the knob and enter, the door ripped open, making you jump. Your husband’s eyes were wild with rage, his skin red and moist with sweat. “BITCH,” he spat at you. “Who the hell do you think you are? Kept me up all goddamn night, worrying.” That was a lie, and you knew it. Your husband never worried about you, not in the sense that any sane person would. He didn’t worry that you were safe and unharmed; he was the one who harmed you. It was your freedom, your power, that he worried about. That you might one day leave him and take with you the one person he could bully, berate, and keep underfoot: YOU.

With a trembling voice, you tried to speak; but before you could begin, your husband’s hand latched over your wrist, yanking you inside. You stumbled forward in shock, but anger quickly overtook your surprise. “Bastard,” you sneered, attempting to tug your arm from him. His grip only tightened, in what would surely become a bruise later. Frantically, you looked over your shoulder, wondering why the hell Santa Clown wasn’t coming to your aid. Had he abandoned you at the last second? Dread drifted up the back of your spine. One look in your husband’s eyes affirmed it. You realized that this time your husband beat you would end up being the last…but in this scenario, you’d wind up dead instead of him.

“So where the fuck were you?” he growled through his teeth, grip tightening. Your abuser’s fingernails dug into your wrist, making you wince at the sting, “Tell me, you fuckin’ bitch!” The back of his hand came down against your cheek. You gasped, tears of both anger and hopelessness welling in your eyes.

And then…your eyes were pulled away from your husband, to the space behind him. The clown silently approached, his wide, wet smile gleaming. “Prob’ly shackin’ up with some other guy, weren’t you?” your husband barked, his spit hitting your nose. The clown had come to a stop, less than a foot behind your husband. He carried an axe in his hands, fingers twirling around the neck of the weapon once, and then again, reminding you of all the things those fingers were capable of…

Your husband’s sharp voice ripped your focus back to him. “Yeah that’s it, isn’t it?” he grinned humorlessly. “You fuckin’ whore. Suckin’ some other guy’s dick, weren’t you?”

The clown nodded over your husband’s back. “As a matter of fact,” you replied confidently. “I was.”Santa Clown lifted the axe silently above your husband’s head as his hand balled into a fist, preparing to strike you.

*THWACK!*

The axe’s blade cracked through the top of your husband’s skull, a burst of blood gushing down his forehead. His fingers slid off your arm as his body sank to the floor, eyes wide with shock. You went quickly to the door, closing and locking it behind you. The clown stood over your husband, whose body twitched grotesquely. Blood dripped down his face and into his eyes, streaming along his cheeks like red tears.

You ran to the stereo and turned up the music slightly, just in case anyone was listening. Art tucked the toe of his boot under your husband’s shoulder and with a swift kick, flipped him onto his back. Your husband groaned in pain, his voice thick, chortled with blood. It trickled from his nostrils and between his lips, every labored breath expelling more drops of blood. He saw Art looming above him, and being so near death himself, your husband recognized the demon that would send him to Hell. It was the last thought your husband would ever have, as the clown’s axe shattered his sternum to pieces. He died immediately, but Art continued his assault, chopping through your husband’s skull till his entire face was nothing but a pulpy mass of flesh.

You felt yourself getting sick, and knelt down over the couch. Cinnamon spice vodka-flavored vomit belched out from between your lips, spattering the upholstery. The clown was stuffing his axe back inside the garbage bag. He swung it over his shoulder, preparing to leave. You watched as Art propped one of his feet onto your husband’s obliterated chest, and took a humble bow. You smiled back at him, wiping the vomit off your chin. “Thank you,” you told him, and you meant it. Art approached you, his smile fading. Leaning close, he placed a chaste, final kiss to your cheek, then made his way to the door. After he left, it occurred to you that Santa Clown had left your life as quickly, and silently, as he’d entered it.

[tethered-heartstrings]

[funtimeisparty]

🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿

Drop on by the clown café (Metal cover, full song form Terrifier 2)

🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿

[whitchy-women]

⚠️⚠️⚠️THIS STORY IS FOR 18+ PLEASE NO MINORS!⚠️⚠️⚠️

This fanfic contains extremely graphic and mature content and includes

-rough sex

- gags

- oral (giver and receiver )

-art harming reader

- really messed up shit 😭👍🏻🖤

This is my first time EVER writing a smut and I hope you like it! I will definitely be writing better ones in the future. If you could give me some tips that would be great thank you!

———————————————————————

Story line- you are sitting on a empty subway bus when art the clown, a man that you have fantasized about walks in. You think your time on earth is up when he starts walking towards you, only to find out he has other plans for you… enjoy!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••your sitting down half asleep after a long day at work when you felt the subway come to a stop. You look up to see a tall man with black and white clown makeup and a matching consume. It was art. Your heart dropped when you saw him and his blue eyes. His costume was completely drenched in blood and he looked tired. He saw the look of terror on your face and it brought a huge smile to his.

He slowly walked towards you, almost teasing you. You didn’t know what you were thinking but you kinda got turned on by the way he was staring at you while walking towards you. And he could tell. He sat across from you and just started looking at you, admiring you. He had had a long day of killing and you could tell my his beat up outfit. You thought it was the end for you. But as you looked at his eyes, you saw something in art. He looked up at you and you made eye contact.

You had had a crush on him ever since the first terrifier and you finally have a chance with him. You started slowly spreading your legs just enough to put your hand under the tight- thigh length dress you were wearing. You started rubbing your clut slowly,while making eye contact with art the whole time. Making a slight moan slip threw your lips.

———————————————————————- (!⚠️NEXT SCENES ARE EXTREMELY GRAPHIC AN D ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS. SHOULD READ PLEASE CLICK OFF IF SO⚠️!)

———————————————————————- arts face changed drastically when he realized what you were doing. His eyebrows in a confused look. This was an act tho. He knew what you wanted and he knew what he wanted. He was gonan give it to you. You could see a bulge growing in his pants as your finger slid in and out of your wet hole. You took it out and licked the slick off of your long finger. All while maintaining eye contact. He got up out of his chair, you could now clearly see his huge boner imprinted on his white outfit. He walked up to you with a smirk on his face. He was now standing right infront if you, you were still sitting, and he looked down at your soaking when thighs and then looked at his boner that was now standing straigh up basically looking at you. He grabbed your hand and put it on his dick. You ripped it out from under the costume and started stroking it. You stopped for a second and looked up at him. He nodding with that smile on his face and then puts your mouth into him. You started sucking it as he moved your head back and forth making him eventually cum. He rolled his head back and held your head so that he was balls deep while he came into your warm throat, making you choke. He then pointed at you and started silently laughing and mocking you while you choked on his cum. You looked up at him and smiled sarcastically. He put his finger up in a “ wait” sort of way and walked over to his seat and dug threw his iconic black trash bag. While occasionally looking back at you, still trying to catch your breath back. He grabbed shooed of something, hid it behind his back and walked over to you. Once he was infront if you he waved for you to stand up so that you were face to face, him towering over you a little, and he pulled out the things behind his back. A hammer, and two ropes. He put the hammer down and you could guess what the ropes were for. You opened your mouth as he tied the rope and made it into a gag. Making you now unable to speak. He put his arms up telling you to do as well and tied your hands to a pole on the roof of the bus. You looked at him in the eyes, telling him to fuck you without saying a word. He ripped off your dress, so that your boobs bounced and and you were only covered by tiny, now soaked laced panties.

He grabbed the hammer and your heart started racing. He could do absolutely anything in that moment and you were not at all in control. He slowly, gently glided the round end of the hammer down your cheek, to your boobs, down to your stomach. Giving you goosebumps. He spread your legs apart and teased you by spreading your lips then rubbing your clit and after him repeating this you were so eager for him to fuck you that you let out a groan. He looked up at you and slapped you in your face. You started crying realizing that you are in a dangerous situation now. He could do anything at this point. He went back down to your throbbing pussy and ripped off your panties. He then shoved the long wooden side of the hammer into you without warning. Making you scream in pleasure. Your legs flung when he started moving it in and out of you. Art didn’t like this. He looked up at you with a mean stare. He got up and was face to face with and and gave you a “wait” motion. He walked over to his bag and grabbed his whip. You tried to scream for help but your gag made it muffled and you just staired at him. Sobbing knowing that you are stuck and the only way you would be helped was if someone would walk onto the bus. But at the same time you didn’t want anyone to walk in, because you wanted the pleasure to continue.. he raised the whip up and nodded. He hit you in your side. You let out a cry and he started pointing and laughing at you. While you were busy crying he when back to your pussy and shoved the hammer in. He again started thrusting it in and out going as deep as it could and going very fast. Making you roll your head and eyes back. You felt your climax coming and managed to look down at arts face. He was smiling while also looking so concentrated. You caught you looking at him with your weak eyes and he slowly nodded, telling you to orgasm while staring him in the eyes. You let go, covering the hammer and arts legs in your cum.

He stood up and took the gag out of your mouth, but then gave you a “shhh” with his finger. He untied your arms so that you were free, but he wasn’t gonna let you leave yet. He was just getting started. He grabbed you by your waist and flung you into the seat, so that you were on your back with your legs bend . He grabbed your hand in one hand and put them above your head. He then tied them back up and stuck two fingers inside you without warning. His whip was right next to him so you tried not ti make sound, because you knew he would punish you. He then moved his mouth to your clit and started sucking. While moving his finger violently into you. Making you loose control of your body and start shaking. You got that feeling when you knew you were about to orgasm in your stomach and you couldn’t hold it in. Covering arts face in your slick. He got up quickly and gave you the finger. He then grabbed his whip and smack your stomach with it. Making your scream and cry. The pain and pleasure made you want to scream. You were disgusted with yourself. But you didn’t want it to ever stop. Still laying on the bus seat, art picked you up and put you on your stomach so that your ass was in the air. Art grabbed your hands and tied them behind your back. You tried to look back at art to see what he was doing but you felt him shove his dick inside of you. Making you scream in pleasure, making him smack you in your back with the whip. He was going so fast that you couldn’t concentrate on anything other then his dick inside you. Which he liked. “Don’t stop art…. Please don’t stop” you let out making him go so much faster. “ I … I’m gonna cum… ah” you looked back at art and he nodded his head once again at you. Your released your slick while he was inside you, making him roll his head back and slow down. He also came inside you making you scream in pleasure. The warmth of his slick mixed with yours made you so horny it was crazy. You were now all fucked out and he looked at your weak body with a big smile, proud of what he did to you. Blood, cum, and tears were everywhere. He untied your hands.

He picked up your clothes off the floor and helped you put them on. He was being so gentle now, making sure not to touch any of the big wounds on your body. He got up and blew you a kiss, sarcastically. Then gave you a pet on the head. He picked up his bag and walked out, leaving you there. Confused and fucked.

[indigopoptart]

i remember! I remember! i have something to share With you all!!!

a little bit ago i decided to make myself a Welcome Home wallpaper for my laptop! i will Share it with you all

there are a few variants! since i am Picky!

original art belongs to clown! i just did a lil thing to make a simple bg >:)

i hope you enjoy!

[plantwithoutplot]

*No brain cell was harmed in the making of this scene

Speak Up, Boys! Chapter 08

[sporadicthingcollection]

Buggy frowns as he stares at the poster. There's no way that's you. That's not your name and the woman is way too pale to be you. Not to mention that he couldn't imagine you all dolled up like this even if he tried. And yet... Same blunt nose. Same round face. Same dark, deep eyes that smolder like warm coals. There's no one else it could be. But who the hell are you that someone is offering that much cash to get you back?

When in live action, do as the live action do and turn a real, unsuspecting stock image person into your OC. Made in Affinity Photo with elements from Unsplash!

[spaceagetoon]

Some Buggablue doodles

[nehswritesstuffs]

Make Her Open the Box (and that's the way you do it)

So the One Piece Rare Pairs server is doing The Laziest Art Fight and I took this one from Dio (@boneparrot), because their mind is just as cursed as mine because, yes I have thought of this for a long time (maybe as long as Dio’s been alive(?)), though no it’s not due to using Alvida as a stand-in.

2507 words; extra-cursed (affectionate) Bugvida that I can't post here because it is too nasty; I honestly don’t know why this doesn’t have more traction because it’s… like… right there; you can’t convince me that anyone in the Buggy Pirates have had a single sex since joining up, let alone ever, with their Barto Club levels of devotion to their captain; I last wrote this ship back in 2007 so this is tapping into some real ancient stuff; takes place somewhere nebulously in the East Blue idk just assume there’s a lot of character development still to be had; also almost s1!OPLA compliant, so if you having an OPLA-only in your life who needs fic, this can be for them too

Read on AO3: [here]

[daisyrayne]

I wrote this descriptive 2nd person story out of inspiration of one of my favourite clown’s (Art the Clown from the Terrifier movies) as well as practise for myself as a descriptive writer. This story is also based on the difference between coulrophobia and the contradiction of this intense fear.

Title: Not Scared

In the corner of your small bedroom across from the open window is a glow in the dark, multi-coloured, fuzzy velvet poster of a clown. Which peculiarly their malicious and vile face painted grin does not inflict any sort of discomfort upon your eye gazing demeanour. However, the jester’s soft, rainbow - neon hair displayed on your wall art causes visual satisfaction, along with a pungent rush of positive sensations throughout your delighted figure standing by the casement inviting the brisk cool air from outside. As you gazed outside of the open window, you discovered how the polar ice - white dots glisten at night beside the dark blue, almost painted sky on the night of All Hallows Eve. Well technically it is Halloween right now since your black and blue digital alarm clock located on your red nightstand to the right side of your queen sized bed currently read 1:22am. You decided to beat everybody to the punch and go out to purchase some of your favourite candy for the traditional sugar - circulated event occurring this evening.

Grabbing your purple key chain that obtains your requirement to drive your matte black Kia forte with red interior, you tried to pick between going to the grocery store or the local gas station. Choosing the grocery store Walmart you began your venture to the location due to your prediction of greater candy selection at Walmart compared to a gas station. The second you arrived at Walmart, there was a very strong, nose penetrating, marijuana scent currently invading your nostrils. This odour was slowly being replaced by the fresh, cold air entering your car from the cracked window beside you and drove off in your Kia to your desired area of interest.

During the drive your thoughts shifted to attempting to understand the comprehension of the reasoning behind why the emotions you personally experience regarding the (to you) enthusiastic, face -painted jester is dissimilar, as opposed to coulorphobes. (Which is a fear - saturated phobia triggered by clowns.) You suppose their intense anxiety develops because when you are incapable of perceiving someone’s physical features, you notice that your brain tends to create generalizations concerning what they resemble underneath. Clown makeup is rather concealing, regardless of enabling an individual’s facial reaction to be observed. You believe that coulorphobes simply imagine that it conceals something frightening and sinister behind, when washed off.

The flow of your thinking is interrupted regarding this random concept is interrupted by a loud, ear piercing honk to your left. Generated by a frustrated middle - aged woman, with long, straight red hair, who is curing at a distracted teenage boy glued to his phone walking directly behind her blue chevy trailblazer. Mentally shaming the boy’s ignoring the presence of the lady’s car, you quickly turned off the ignition and then exited your vehicle. However, not before reminding yourself to grab one out of the four green twenty dollar bills from your lilac purple wallet, which is currently tucked into the glove compartment, to satisfy tonight’s sugar desire. That is when you noticed that the ground in this specific market’s huge marijuana - scented parking lot was significantly cleaner than it had been three days previously when you stopped by to grab essentials for your dinner one night.

You paced through Walmart’s aisles at approximately 1:36am, just a minute after an elderly couple who came into the same area you were currently in at the simultaneous time you did. Trying to recall which long shelf of groceries obtains your customary sweet treat, when you then become aware of a very tall, must be over six foot guy disguised in a black and white dirty clown outfit. As well as matching (The Crow 1994 style) intricate facial makeup. Glancing over at the only thing your eyes are drawn to in this huge store, you observed how the clown was just standing by the checkout registers pretending to act like he is going to buy one out of the various bottled soda’s next to him. This bizarre costumed individual accomplishes this by fiddling with every single soda bottle on the shelf beside him in a methodical demeanour.

The jester’s eyes were as dark as despondency and saturated with barbarity. You did not even perceive your body’s hormone regulation symptoms increasing because of your sugar desire neglection. Which is caused by your flabbergasted manner towards this mysteriously disguised clown standing beside the very last aisle of this store, right next to the now disturbed cashiers behind their registers. There is now the same, still frustrated middle aged woman (30ish) holding her little toddler’s hand, while around twenty feet away from you simultaneously and aggressively cursing as well as shamefully pointing at the black and white jester. Who is currently mocking the exasperated ginger mother with dramatic placement of his gloved hands on his costumed hips, generating sardonic facial expressions in an imitation to this new mother’s loathing towards this, in your opinion, uproarious clown. “I realize that is it Halloween sir, but do you really have to keep on scaring my son?” The red headed 30 something year old woman about two aisles away from you stated in the direction of this unique jester’s presence.

You then witnessed this lady’s facial appearance shift from infuriated and defensive to perturbed and agitated. Her facial indentations were probably emanated by the now spine - chilling grin, as well as this peculiar clowns hopefully fake blood - stained glovelettes in motion from side to side in an animatronic manner. You just stood there, not being able to move your feet, observing the comical interaction amongst each individuals. Your two dark, mesmerized pupils began to widen as you continued to observe this bizarre scene in front of you, while resisting your own contradiction of coulorphobia in your currently astonished mind.

This particular clown’s appearance obtains a white washed face, while his large, plump lips are decorated with black face point, seemingly fake thin, black arched eyebrows. As well as this jester’s pitch black eyes are outlined in dark facial paint. His clothing animates the presentation of a white bald cap obstructing the concealed hair over his head. Along with a mini black top hat securely fastened by a long, thin strap on the right side of his decorated head. Not that far away from your amused figure, this specific clown is also wearing a black and white outfit, followed by clutching a shinny, noisy, black garbage bag in his left hand.

Visually taking in this personally gratifying as well as picturesque disguise, constructed by this bizarre, unknown individual, you wondered why the woman, her son, along with the cashiers felt unsettled due to this peculiar jester’s attendance. Alongside the occasional enthusiastic sign - language conducted by this clown’s formerly white fingerless gloves, which are now mysteriously saturated with dark red liquid. Also, your curiosity questioned how your portrayal towards this dressed up jester is an entirely opposite conduct of emotion inflicted by his presence, in contrary to the other people in this grocery store. (Hence my next question)

What causes people to develop coulorphobia? Perhaps those experiencing this specific anxiety are reacting to the clowns vibrant facial paint? An art of creatively putting monochrome themed elements that would take many hours if your happened to be the one disgusting yourself on this particular evening. Or could it be this clowns dramatic, exaggerated facial expressions that you noticed often alter between contrasting, mimicked emotions which convey an apparent feeling of danger perhaps? Maybe the reasoning is note either, yet however is triggered by the unpredictability of the clowns conduct. After all, their appearance on rails emotional indications, therefore bystanders are unable to identify any malicious intentions. Either way this question still baffles me, I assume this is because of my speculative wondering regarding this personally unsympathetic phobia.

[mantraamo]

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝟸 ? 🪚🩸

𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜-𝚘𝚗-𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚂𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢!

'𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍'𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é!

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader | SMUT | CW: reader is married to an abusive husband | reader uses drugs/alcohol to cope with her abusive marriage | murder/killing mentioned

This story is extremely explicit and deliciously fever dream-ish imo. Hope you enjoy it, my fellow clown fuckers ❤️

What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

That’s what you were thinking as your common sense peeked out briefly from the fog of alcohol and weed in your system…a moment of sobriety just long enough to make you question what motivation you could have for the decisions you were now making.

He smelled. Like dried blood and sex, the kind of sex that hurts you, but doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Maybe it would have been enough to stop you, under any other (sober) circumstances. But as it was, you were already sitting in this strange man’s lap, in the middle of an empty mall after closing. And what made the situation even more surreal? The fact that he was dressed in a goddamn Santa suit and wearing gaudy black and white clown makeup all over his face.

Yeah, you really needed to stop sneaking into the mall bathroom and getting fucked up. Swiping a pack of edibles and two travel-sized bottles of cinnamon spice vodka from the gas station had been a bad idea to begin with. Using the privacy of the bathroom to get wasted and scroll through your phone for two hours would have been considered strange behavior by most people. But most people (in fact, no one) knew the reason why you avoided home like the plague.

Your husband was abusive, in every way possible. He controlled every aspect of your life, to the point that sometimes, you worried he could even read your thoughts. Where you went, who you spoke to, your finances, your diet, your sex life; everything about you belonged to him. It was suffocating. And while your habit of stealing from the gas station and hiding in the mall bathroom was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you were coping. Even if eventually it bit you in the ass, like tonight. When you got a little too high, a little too drunk, to notice the time, or the fact that the mall outside the bathroom stall you were locked in had grown quiet…

The mall was closed. Fucking closed, with you locked inside it. You’d staggered out of the bathroom like a fucking zombie in what looked to be a post apocalyptic scene. The mall was empty, devoid of life. Everything was eerily silent, apart from your footsteps shuffling across the tile floor as you took in your empty surroundings. The mall was dimly-lit, the only light source coming from high above, moonlight streaming in through the big panel windows on the mall ceiling.

You found one of the exits, and tried the door. It was locked, or maybe you were too high/drunk to figure a way out? It didn’t matter because regardless, you weren’t going anywhere for awhile. Either you’d sober up and figure out how to get out, or you’d be stuck waiting till security came by in the morning and let you out. A pleasant thought tickled at the back of your mind: your husband had no idea where you were. It felt good to be so far beyond his radar that his ability to oversee your every move was completely fucked. What did scare you, however, was the thought of confronting him in the morning. How would he react to you staying out all night? Obviously it wouldn’t go over well, and just imagining what your husband’s punishment might involve had your stomach twisting.

So instead of ruining your high by worrying about the inevitable, you decided to finish the last of your vodka, yelling “fuck it!” into the empty void around you. Your voice echoed back at you off the walls of the empty mall. It was creepy, and a little exciting, being unsupervised and alone with this kind of freedom. The excitement you felt only heightened when you noticed him. Your mouth twisted into a grin of disbelief, because how fucking high WERE you that you were literally seeing Santa Claus in front of you right now?? You took a step towards him, still unsure if he was even real.

He was sitting in an ornate wooden chair framed by two massive Christmas trees. The strands of lights decorating them weren’t on, just like all the other lights inside the mall. Above him, a sign written in ridiculously large print read “SANTA,” as if the scene itself would have implied anything other than the jolly old elf’s presence. You forced your gaze to focus on the man/hallucination in front of you, the smile on his face as big as yours. And he was a…clown, too? You laughed out loud, the absurdity of it all becoming too much. Your laughter was tinny and soft, like the sound of jingle bells, and it seemed only fitting considering you were standing mere feet away from the man, the myth, the legend himself: Santa Claus.

He patted his lap, encouraging you over. The fact that he apparently didn’t speak made the vodka-soaked dreamworld you were currently wandering feel even more like a dream. As you approached ‘Santa Clown,’ the possibility of him being a figment of your imagination became less believable. When he reached for your arm and tugged you onto his lap, you were certain. He was absolutely real.

You gasped, a surprised giggle spilling from your lips. The clown seemed to enjoy your amusement, bouncing you on his knee just to hear the string of excited giggles that tumbled out of you. He was playing with you, and you were loving it. His hair, or the wig he wore, spilled over his shoulders in off-white waves, flecked by bits of red. It took you a few seconds to register that the red bits were actually dried blood, and that the same blood was caked onto the beard that hung loosely underneath Santa Clown’s chin.

Should you have been alarmed? Probably. But instead of sensing danger coming from the clown, you felt oddly protected, safe. Whoever that blood belonged to, whoever he may have hurt, the clown didn’t seem in any hurry to hurt YOU. In fact, based on the stiffening pulse of his cock under your ass, it seemed like the clown was enjoying your company very much.

To test your theory, you decided to tease him a little and see where it led. Shifting intentionally on his lap, you reached to smooth the blood-crusted strands of hair back from Santa Clown’s face, revealing his sharp cheekbones and smooth, painted-white skin. He was oddly handsome, attractive in a dark kind of way. The way villains are always more appealing than heroes, or more philosophically, how Eve must have felt when she was seduced by the serpent’s persuasive tongue. There was something forbidden about the clown, something instinctively, inherently wrong about wanting him. And yet, that wrongness was precisely part of the reason you did want him.

His smile faded slowly to an expression you couldn’t name, his eyes going dark. Had your flirting upset him? A chill ran through you as even the air around you both seemed to go colder. A sudden sizzle of electricity made you flinch, and you watched as around you, the lights on the Christmas trees were illuminated. You smiled, a pleased chuckle of surprise leaving your lips, and the clown smiled with you. He seemed to enjoy making you feel good; and perhaps the dark supernatural forces that followed him came in handy in times like these, when manipulating electricity could be used to impress a pretty girl?

The rest of the mall remained in darkness, with only the Christmas lights illuminating the festive scene. “It’s so pretty,” you said, and you realized it was the first time you’d actually spoken to the clown. He nodded, feigning a kind of bashful grin, and extended his index finger toward you, tapping lightly against your breasts. Your eyebrows lifted at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since anyone had called you ‘pretty,’ and somehow, even in the absence of words, the clown had said everything right.

“Me?” you asked coquettishly, feeling emboldened by the vodka thundering through your system. “You think I’m pretty?”

The clown nodded vigorously, his big, toothy smile returning. “Well y’know what?” you asked through a giggle. “I think you’re pretty handsome, Santa.”

The clown’s mouth made the shape of a surprised ‘O,’ and he pointed to himself, his lips forming the word ‘me???’

“Yeah,” you replied. “And, as a matter of fact-.” You leaned in so your lips were at the clown’s ear, the coppery scent of blood stronger by his face. “-I’m ready to tell you what I want for Christmas…”

You didn’t expect to feel his hand on your chin, turning your head to face him. His expression had shifted back to the one you’d been unable to read earlier, the look you’d mistaken for him being upset. Now, as his thumb tugged your bottom lip downward and his dark eyes studied the shape of your mouth, you realized his expression was one of lust.

You sucked in a breath, extending your tongue to meet his thumb. The metallic tang of old blood met your tastebuds, melting over your tongue as the dried blood under the clown’s thumbnail was wetted by your spit. You didn’t care whose blood it was, because in this strange new reality, nothing beyond this space in the empty mall mattered. His eyes followed his thumb as it pressed deeper, your lips closing around its base, sucking lightly. You shifted again on the clown’s lap; it was so bumpy now that he was fully hard, his erection making it difficult to sit still.

His gaze was fixed on your lips, the space his thumb had disappeared between. You backed your head away slowly, letting his thumb slide out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your hands closed over his thighs to balance yourself as you slipped off his lap, locking your eyes with his as you settled between his boots on the ground. Resting your head against his right thigh, the heady smell of piss and sweat filled your senses. His hand was on your head, fingers laced through your hair and guiding you, inward. Closer. Closer to the space he wanted your mouth, where he needed it to be.

You wet your lips with your tongue and watched as the clown worked the large buckle of his belt undone. He tugged the waist of his pants lower, just enough for his cock to spring free, smacking against his stomach, pre cum clinging to the white fur trim of his jacket. Your mouth fell open at the sight of his member, its impressive length only half as striking as its girth. He closed his gloved hand around himself, pumping up and down his shaft in a few slow, unhurried strokes. The look in his eyes was almost wicked; he knew the thought of him filling your throat intimidated you, and he liked that fear.

With his other hand locked in your hair, the clown pulled your head closer, till your mouth was poised at his tip. He pressed the fat bulb to your lips, admiring the way they parted obediently for him. Urging his hips forward, the clown pushed his cock inside your mouth. The salty taste of his skin on your tongue was unpleasant at first, but you quickly forgot about any discomfort once he’d established a rhythm back and forth inside you. The head of his cock pushed the salty taste to the back of your throat, and you swallowed it down. From there, the only challenge you faced was opening your throat enough to take him. The clown’s hand on your head continued to guide it, pumping your mouth over him like a sleeve. You needed to breathe, to swallow the air his cock was denying you. Just when you thought you might be sick, the clown removed himself from your throat, allowing you the chance to breathe, a long line of saliva trailing from your bottom lip to the head of his cock. He grinned down at you approvingly, patting your head as if to say ‘good girl,’ before lifting you once again by the hair, and shoving himself back between your lips.

He leaned forward and closed his other hand around your throat, feeling his cock fucking you from the inside out. Your cunt was dripping, a pearly string of your wetness slicking the ground between your knees. You squeezed your thighs together as the clown used your throat, desperate for some kind of stimulation. He could sense your desperation, and offered you his boot as a relief, wedging it between your legs to give you something to grind on. You humped it gratefully, rocking your swollen cunt against the clown’s shoe. He stilled inside your throat, buried deep, his fingers tightening in your hair to the point your scalp was stinging. A gush of semen washed down your throat, followed by another. You struggled to swallow it all, your throat constricting as the clown’s cum filled it to capacity. You gagged and choked, and he pulled you off his cock just as vomit began creeping its way up the back of your throat. His wild eyes and wide grin beamed down at you, his chest rising and falling quickly in the aftermath of his climax. Semen you hadn’t been able to swallow dripped down your chin in a thick line. When you attempted to wipe it away, the clown stopped you with a swat of his hand against yours. He wanted to see the results of his work in and on you, his work of Art.

He jerked his boot where it was wedged between your thighs, bouncing you on top of it. You whimpered at the sensation, your neglected little cunt aching and engorged. You needed to come, so badly that it hurt. The clown watched as you stayed knelt at his feet, straddling his boot and humping it like a bitch in heat, grunting and panting, no more than an animal. Your orgasm shook you to your core, your muscles gripping and sucking around nothing, clit throbbing against the clown’s boot as you rubbed yourself into it, moaning and spitting a string of obscenities into his pants leg, where your face was buried.

After your body ceased shaking, you looked up to see the clown still grinning down at you. He offered his hands for you to take hold of, and helped you back into his lap. An hour passed, and then another. You couldn’t say for certain, but you think you must have fallen asleep in the clown’s arms for an hour or so, because at some point, you noticed that the stars were beginning to fade in the sky. Morning was coming, and that meant going home. To your husband. To your abuser.

Fear roiled in your stomach, along with the alcohol and cum filling it. You despised this feeling of dread, of being scared by a shit stain of a human being like your husband. If only you could live free of his tyranny, you imagined. How much better would the world be without the influence of such a toxic man as your husband…?

…And then, the idea formed in your mind. You tilted your head to the clown’s face. Studying the blood on his hair and skin once again, you decided to ask a favor of him. “Santa,” you began, because you didn’t know what else to call him. “You’ve killed people before…haven’t you?”

The clown feigned an apologetic expression and raised his hands as if to say “guilty.”

You nodded your head, a hopeful smile on your lips. And then, you asked him: “How would you like to kill my husband?” 🔪🩸🤍

PART TWO

@arts-bloody-gloves

[slaughtersongs]

EVERYTHING IS FINE AND DANDY

'TIL YOU TURN TO COTTON CANDY

[funtimeisparty]

🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸

Pennywise (SONG)

🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸🎈🩸

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hello! Someone genuinely trying to understand and perhaps unlearn some reactionary tendencies. With the response to that anon about "not asking if you're a pro or anti", the response about "imagine if they put this much effort into protecting real kids" definitely got me thinking. So... Is an adult shipping children and finding that hot NEVER a red flag? Or is it case by case on seeing how that person handles the distinction between fiction and reality in other things? And bringing the issue of real kids into it, if a real kid who has been abused sees someone shipping kids and finds that a red flag in that person, that... No, no I juicy answered my own question on that one. Block them and cultivate your own experience.

hi there anon, and congrats on trying to unlearn some things! and great job catching yourself at the end there, that's exactly correct.

I will start by saying this right out of the gate: fundamentally, I do not really give a shit about what made up scenarios about fictional characters people are jorking it to in private. I am, first and foremost, interested in how they are interacting with actual, real people.

"but Makenzie are you saying people who look at sexually explicit images of real human kids should be allowed near children?" no I'm not. please note that I was specifically talking about people engaging with fictional characters who are, you know, not real and do not have feelings and therefore cannot actually be hurt, traumatized, abused, etc, in any way that actually matters. I want to be so clear about this: you can genuinely think whatever vile things you want about fictional characters. you can enjoy any problematic shit you want with little guys who don't actually exist.

like, here's an example I use a lot: I'm kind of a huge Batman fan. don't know if you could tell that or not, I'm pretty subtle about it. if you spend any time in the Batman mythos, you know that this is a story where you just kind of have to take for granted that our hero is a billionaire using his vast wealth to dispatch vigilante justice with military grade weaponry and a small army of child soldiers and cop friends to help him put people in prison. these are moral quandaries that are discussed and acknowledged within the story, but fundamentally the universe is always going to involve billionaire vigilantism and child soldiers and the so-called carceral justice system. that's just the price of admission if you're gonna read Batman.

and like. I spend a lot of time in that world. I love Batman, I love his child soldiers. he's my little blorbo or whatever. but like, at no point have I said "yeah, fuck it, preteens should be learning martial arts to fight domestic terrorists, actually. I think Elon Musk SHOULD be allowed to put on a fursuit and beat up criminals. cops need more funding." no amount of Batman comics can make me believe or act on any of those things because, you know, I'm a person with a brain and I know the difference between "thing that makes a good story" and "thing that should actually happen for real."

and the thing is that genuinely, honestly, if someone thought that it was a red flag that I like Batman, and that enjoying Batman comics was somehow a red flag indicating that I'm fine with violence being done against real, actual children? I would think that person was a nut, if I can be super real. like, I'm thinking about somebody trying to make the case that I shouldn't be allowed to hang out with my nephew because I enjoy the fictional character of Robin so clearly I'm going to kill my nephew's parents in front of him to try to get him into vigilante justice. or if someone attempted to bar me from teaching my 4th-6th grade sex ed classes on the grounds that I was obviously going to teach them to do karate to clowns instead of how their reproductive systems worked.

(although, lets be real, there are a lot of politicians who would MUCH rather let little kids cage fight each other than learn anything about safer sex.)

this doesn't just apply to morally bad things, either, btw. I also read a lot of romance novels, especially hetero romances. and the thing is, not one of those books has made me want to fall in love with a ruggedly handsome but condescending straight man. hell, none of them have made me want to fall in love with anybody, period. that's not really something I'm interested in for myself, it's just a fun and frequently funny dynamic to explore. I'm hardly the first queer person to point out that the allegations that queer media "turns kids gay/trans" is obviously bullshit since the vertible mountain of cishet media evidently failed to turn any of us straight/cis, you know?

my point being: no, I genuinely don't think it's often, if ever, reasonable to judge someone's actual, real life morals by how they interact with fiction.

I'm going to say something so vulnerable right now, because we're in a safe space here: since you asked me this very reasonable question, you evidently value my judgment and perspective at least a little bit. and I once read and thoroughly enjoyed a fic in which Dr. Horrible, from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, gets fucked by a sapient evil horse. and I don't think that makes me a morally reprehensible person, or a person who advocates for real human beings having real sex with real horses. I think it just makes me kind of a weirdo with a bullshit tolerance.

if you want to hear a MUCH more thorough take on this, complete with addressing the issue of shipping fictional children, I cannot recommend Princess Weekes' video essay enough:

[ghastlyfilters]

BROO im so glad more people r talking about the oversexualization of David cuz that ain’t it, like if ur into Art ok fine he’s fictional who cares like I’m the first one to gush over him but they for real forget David is a real person, it’s SOOO weird, it happens everytime with ANYTHING like how hard is it to just be into the character the person plays omg

EXACTLY.

like man when it comes down to people thirsting for art, i could care less because yeah i get it but he ain’t real. there’s nothing for art to get offended by. however people need to separate art the clown from dht.

david is the sweetest soul and publicly writing him into situations for your own sexual fantasies and your own benefit? its fucking wrong. i have always HATED sexual rpf and got so much heat for it, but at the end of the day, you’re just straight up violating someone.

“aw but look how much effort they put in-” go get a fucking job instead of writing a REAL person into the most deranged and horrific explicit content.

and the sad thing is, these people still think they’re being respectful fans. but i’m pretty sure violating a real person’s privacy, writing or not, is the furthest thing from respectful.

i don’t think you want david’s first impression of you to be him witnessing you making fanfiction about fucking him because you were “in the mood”

“but he’ll never see..” how exactly do you know?? david engages with his fans a lot on social media and loves to laugh and enjoy certain content. it wouldn’t be the biggest surprise if he accidentally stumbled upon any of the fics written by grown ass adults who know better.

having a celebrity crush is totally cool, but y’all please keep in mind these are real people and half of them do not need nor want to know about your sexual desires when it comes down to admiring them. write all the fics you want about art the clown, but don’t keep talking about david with no respect like this. it’s fucking creepy.

ik there’s so many people saying “he’s a grown man” yeah.. but david himself has said he’ll defend people when the respect they deserve isn’t given to them.. so there’s no shame in doing the same for him.