#damien x happiness

[porters-fangs]

no shut up actually DAMIEN AND GAVIN

IVE SPOKEN ABOUT THEM BEFORE BUT I NEEDED TO DO IT AGAIN BC THEYRE EVERYTHING TO ME????

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader

Includes stalking, public sex, vaginal fingering, two characters are 💀 by the end of the story, groping, choking

You decide to visit a haunt the week before Halloween with a group of friends, expecting an evening filled with innocent scares and a few lighthearted screams. It’s all in good fun, right? No one ever finds themselves in any real danger at one of these events, do they? So you assume it’s just your mind playing tricks when you notice the clown in the black and white costume, subtly following you and your friends around the park.

Your friends are oblivious; and you wish you were, too. Because maybe then you could enjoy yourself like they are, without the potent mix of dread and excitement competing for first place inside your gut. Everything about this clown should set alarm bells ringing in your head. He’s a walking red flag, some creep in a clown costume, with a black garbage bag slung over his shoulder (what the hell??) The costume looks eerily familiar, but you can’t place where you’ve seen it before. Maybe he’s dressed as a character from some obscure horror movie that came out decades ago, and that’s why you can’t place it. Whoever this person is, he must have nothing better to do than to stalk your friend group at haunt. And while his resemblance to something you’ve seen before is unsettling, what’s truly bizarre is that whenever you lock eyes with the clown, his eyes are always already fixed on you. As the night progresses, you begin to realize that he isn’t stalking you and your friends. He’s stalking YOU and only you…and despite your better judgement, you find yourself intrigued by his pursuit…

You’ve completed most of the attractions, with only a couple left for the night. Next up on your friend’s itinerary is the haunted asylum, a walkthrough attraction that takes place in an ‘abandoned,’ building deep inside the park. It’s filled with medical equipment and gruesome-looking props. Fake blood lines the doorway and floor of the entrance as you and your friends approach the asylum.

A ghoulishly made-up scare actor in a tattered lab coat lunges out at you from a dark corner. Your friends cry out in surprise, their squeals quickly turning to laughter. But your focus is elsewhere, specifically, on the clown whose tall, lean frame is outlined ahead. He’s already inside the asylum, leaning against the doorway of one of the ‘exam rooms,’ down the right hallway. It’s difficult to make out his features in the dim, flickering lights of the attraction; but you know he’s watching you. One of your friends tugs your arm to follow the group down a hallway to the left, but you hesitate.

Glancing back at the doorway to the right, you see that the clown is no longer standing there. You can’t understand why, but you find yourself disappointed that he’s gone. You decide to follow along with your friends, pretending to be interested when various scare actors jump out at you throughout the attraction. Immersed in a haze of artificial fog and flickering lights, you resign yourself to the fact that you’ve lost the clown in black and white for good.

After finishing the asylum, you linger just outside its exit. You make an excuse to your friends about needing a minute after the experience, telling them it was a little too much for you and you’re a little shaken. They’re understanding, and agree to give you some space to decompress while they go grab a snack just down the fairway. Grateful for a chance at some alone time, you pull out your phone and decide to do some investigating. Something about that clown struck you as so familiar, and you want to know why. You type in a description of his appearance, and immediately, an image of the exact same clown you’ve been seeing all night appears on screen. It’s a police sketch, of a man the attached article refers to as “The Miles County Clown.” Your stomach twists as you read further in the article, which describes his crimes in graphic detail. The final sentence informs you that the killer’s body went missing, and hasn’t been found in the year since the gruesome murders took place.

The sound of movement close by pulls your eyes from the screen. With a small, trembling voice, you ask “…is someone there?” Only silence answers you, till a familiar figure emerges from the shadows. It’s the clown, a wide smile stretched across his face. You notice that in addition to his usual black and white costume, he’s now wearing a lab coat over top of it. It’s just like the one the scare actor was wearing at the entrance of the asylum…in fact, it’s the exact same one. Except now, it’s spattered, along with the clown’s face and gloved-hands, in what appears to be fresh blood.

“I-don’t-please don’t-,” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back. Your hands lift in front of you, palms facing outward in a vain attempt at protecting yourself. The clown strides forward quickly, one of his hands reaching around the back of your head and clutching your hair. He whips you around so your body is pressed against his. You wince as the clown tugs your head against him, his body curved around yours from behind. Secured against his shoulder, he has you locked in place. With his free hand, the clown dips inside one of the pockets of the lab coat, retrieving a stethoscope. He fixes the ear tips in place on the sides of his head, pressing the circular metal chest piece against your skin.

You shiver, trembling in the clown’s arms as he pretends to listen to your heartbeat, like a doctor would. When he’s finished ‘examining,’ you, he glides the chest piece lower, releasing it just as his hand slips under your bra. You shudder when he roughly squeezes your tit, his hot breath dusting your cheek. The clown’s sick smile deepens; he assumes your response is one of revulsion. In reality, you find yourself uncomfortably aroused for reasons you can’t explain. The man holding you against him is evil incarnate; you should be terrified right now. He curves his hips forward, grinding against you slightly, enough for you to feel the unmistakable prod of an erect penis poking your ass.

Your heartbeat thunders as the clown gropes you, your nipple perking to meet his palm. He releases his grip on your hair, letting your head land back against his shoulder. While still kneading your tit in one hand, he shoves the other beneath the front of your pants. Your hips jerk as the pad of his index finger finds your clit and immediately applies pressure, rubbing rough circles over the swollen bud. The clown nestles his nose into the curve of your neck, his wet tongue licking up to your ear. Your thighs quiver around his wrist, your breath visible in the chilly Autumn air as you pant quietly. His fingers continue to explore you, spreading apart the soft, slick folds of your cunt, opening you up for himself. He dips his tongue inside the hollow of your ear; the moist feeling and the filthy wet sounds it creates have your clit pulsing against his fingertips. Your back arches instinctively, craving something more, something inside you. The clown indulges your need, pressing two fingers just past your entrance.

Your knees feel weak, not just from the pleasure you’re feeling, but from the sickening realization hitting you about who this man really is. You’re certain he isn’t just a random person dressed up as the killer clown from the previous Halloween. You know this is HIM. You can feel it in the confidence he projects, the ease with which all of this comes to him. And his hands, the hands that choked and stabbed and sawed the life from multiple people, are now knuckles-deep inside your cunt. His tongue languidly probes the hollow of your ear, his hand rocking back and forth between your thighs, fucking you mercilessly. Slippery cum splashes down your thighs, your eyes rolling back as the aching tension in your core begs to be relieved.

Just as you feel the first wave of your climax begin to unfurl, you feel it being ripped away. The clown yanks his fingers from inside you, making you wince at the sting left in their wake. You’re reeling momentarily in disappointment at your ruined orgasm, but the feeling quickly shifts to horror when the clown takes you by the throat, compressing your breath beneath his cum-covered fingers. The world around you fades in and out of focus, your body convulsing against his stoic frame as his hands crush your windpipe along with your last frantic hope of survival…

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news from Miles County. Two bodies have been identified this morning in what authorities are calling a double homicide. The murders occurred last night at the local Halloween Haunt held in the old carnival fairgrounds. One of the victims, a male, has been identified as twenty-two year old Carl Holland. Holland was working as a scare actor in one of the event’s walkthrough attractions. Police report that the lab coat Holland was wearing when last seen was missing when his body was discovered. The other victim, identified as (Y/N), was attending the Haunt yesterday evening with a group of friends. Both victims’ bodies appear to have been ‘placed,’ inside the asylum by the perpetrator, as if they were nothing more than props. Unfortunately, due to the macabre set design of the event, the victims’ bodies blended in with the gruesome scenery so well that their deaths remained undiscovered for hours, affording the killer plenty of time to escape the fairgrounds without capture. Police advise local residents to be cautious when going about their daily activities the rest of the week and especially Halloween night, as only one year has passed since the Miles County Clown murders occurred. Authorities tell us that based on the way last night’s victims were mutilated, they believe a copycat killer may be replicating the work of last year’s killer clown. Please use caution when giving out candy this weekend, as you never know who may be waiting on the other side of your door with something more sinister than tricks and treats in mind… This concludes our special report. We now return to your previously-scheduled programming…”

[fictionalcharacters-mybeloved]

Goodbye bad feelings, hello empty memory.

Alright, I love the idea of Damian and Danny as twin who love each other very much but for some reason split up or didn't get along but learn to do so because they love each other more than they resent each other, really, I swear, but.... Danny never remembers anything from his time in the league.

Absolutely nothing, maybe he had some memories before he died for the second time, maybe he remembers Damian and he misses him, he is his brother and he loved him and.... not anymore, when he has his accident and dies for the second time his memory is lost, for a while he has a hard time recognizing his friends, he opens his eyes and doesn't know who are the guys that look so desperate in front of him.

Time goes by and although there are memories that never came back (he hardly remembers his first years with the Fentons, let alone the ones before that), he improves, learns to use his powers, gets closer to his friends, learns things again.

He discovers things in his room, something about a past he no longer knows, it bothers him not to know but even though he tries to remember nothing comes back, the name "Damian" causes him nothing, reading a little of what he wrote after researching the language he also doesn't recognize, he decides it wasn't important, not anymore at least.

He reads what he can and decides that yes, there are things he is fine without remembering, maybe he lacks context, maybe there is something there that he should discover or be more interested in a past that seems so mysterious but... if when he remembered him he thought he would be happy now that he was far away, maybe he was just as important as Dash, someone who unfortunately won't let himself be ignored but one day he will leave behind and never think of him again.

Life is good.

Or was until Robin, Gotham's vigilante, ambushes him with a heated speech full of pain and resentment while on "vacation" with his parents in Gotham.

Danny has had weird things happen to him before but he usually has context.

Robin looks furious and about to cry (if his unsteady voice says anything), Danny stares at him, from his hair to the way he moves, he pays attention to his voice and his sword but all he can say is "you know me?" without acknowledging him in the slightest.

[shayziee]

happy new year yall!! messy animation for today

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Bait and Switch (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - A series of unfortunate events leads to (Y/n) turning on her favorite clown.

Notes - Based on a request to show reader snapping on Art 🫢 I originally wanted to take a smutty approach, but I didn’t feel that it was realistic to his character and behavior in this scenario so decided not to for this one.

Word Count - 1,926

Warning(s) - Acts of aggression, minor argument/tension, angst

Song Inspiration -

Ice Nine Kills - Ex-Mørtis

The rain started the week. It wasn’t the soft, misty kind (Y/n) usually enjoyed during her peaceful walks through the cemetery, finding time for herself to recoup.

No, it was a downpour that began when she was still a good distance from home. An unrelenting, soaking storm that had her sprinting back, camera now ruined despite her best efforts to shield it. 

When she entered the building, anyone who even glanced at her would steer clear. She stood stiff in front of the door that closed behind her, clothes drenched and dripping wet along with her hair that stuck to her face. Her eyes held a heavy glare, filled with hatred for the universe that defied her. 

As she shuffled into the work area that Art occupied in front of his desk, she made her way over and took the camera from around her neck, nearly slamming it onto the empty stool beside him. 

Art jumped, items dropping from his hands and snapped his head to look over at her. He took in her disheveled appearance and emotionless expression, then suddenly started to hunch over in laughter. He motioned at her during his fit and held a hand over his stomach as she crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. 

“I don’t suppose you know how to fix a water-damaged camera?”

He then gasped, laughter coming to a halt. He pointed to the soaking camera and her eyebrow twitched in confirmation. Art pouted and solemnly shook his head. 

She rolled her eyes and went on to spend the next few hours trying to salvage what she could, praying the water hadn’t seeped into the lens she so loved, but no amount of drying or tinkering helped. The final death blow came when the shutter jammed with a soft click. Silent, but devastating.

The tone was set for what she now declared a dreadful week. 

(Y/n) woke up the next night to find her latest series submission, Memento Mori, was shredded by protestors through the local newspaper. She had come to expect the harsh criticism, but something about this particular review clawed at her. It was brutal, dismissive, and worst of all, physically destroyed her work.  

Tasteless, is what they called it. As if her entire soul, spilled across her paintings and photos, could be reduced to a single word. (Y/n), who had always been quiet and careful about how she handled criticism, could barely stop her hands from trembling as she lowered the paper with an incredulous chuckle.

It stung in a way it hadn’t in a long time. And that sting stayed with her as her hand came up to press against her forehead in disbelief. 

“I don’t get it. These same people go out and watch people get slaughtered for fun in the movies, dress up all bloody and disfigured for some holiday, yet when I put it on a canvas it’s morbid?” (Y/n) ranted and ripped the newspaper in half, tossing it into a steel bucket and beginning to pace. 

Sensing the rising tension, Art put down his tools and spun on his stool to face her, one leg crossed over the other with his hands folded over his knee as he gave her his full attention. 

She whipped to face him, hand on her hip as she continued. “Am I really that fucking messed up? Am I wrong? Just because I don’t follow their status quo?” 

Art shook his head with a snobbish expression, pointing his nose up, hand shooing at the space beside him. 

“Trust me, I wish I could brush it off, but when someone tears up my work, that’s an entirely different story.” His face twisted into an offended countenance, nearly breaking his neck with how quickly he looked at her. 

He then stood and grabbed the ripped newspaper from the bucket, holding the two pieces together to read the article. He analyzed the photos provided showing security cam footage of the perpetrators, taking in every detail of the individuals involved. 

Art then dropped it back into the bucket, stalking past her to grab his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He turned to look at (Y/n) who simply watched indifferently and nodded his head towards the door for her to follow him. 

As the rest of the week piled on with a series of small mishaps, it seemed as if she was only inching closer to her breaking point. The littlest inconveniences chipped away at her already weaker state of mind given what had happened already. 

Packages arriving late, leaving her without the materials she needed for her next gallery submission. Tripping over a piece of wood laying around in the work area to which she casually flipped off. Her shirt getting caught on a doorknob as she walked past it in an already irritated state of mind. 

(Y/n) tried to push it all aside to maintain her usually calm demeanor, but it all inevitably added to the growing pit of frustration in her chest. She felt it slowly spreading, a storm forming just beneath her skin.

By Friday, her patience was thinner than spider silk.

She painted the canvas on her easel, limited to such mediums as her new camera had yet to be delivered. She felt the metal piece connecting the bristles to the handle wiggle as it loosened over time, teetering on the edge of falling off as she painted in the finer details of her work. 

As per usual, Art sat at his desk beside her, tinkering away. He then paused with a thoughtful expression, tapping the screwdriver in his hand against a nearby empty jar. 

(Y/n) sighed, trying to keep calm as she thought the sound wouldn’t last too long and he would go back to working. When it didn’t, she took a deep breath to compose herself. 

“Please stop.” She asked politely, but he caught her irritated undertone and his eyes glimmered. 

He held up the hand that was tapping in an apology, nodding before looking back at what was in front of him. As (Y/n) continued to paint through the interaction, he grinned mischievously. 

The tapping resumed and (Y/n) poked her tongue at the inside of her cheek, dropping her arm that was painting and tapped her foot. She closed her eyes to calm herself once she felt the familiar sense of anger begin to bubble, taking another deep breath. “Art, stop.” She asked a second time, her voice now firm. 

He pouted and put his hands in his lap, looking down at it in disappointment. She paused for a moment, waiting for him to start back up. When she deemed it clear, she lifted her arm again and resumed painting. 

For the third time, the tapping resumed, this time in a rhythm. Her heart began to race as the frustration continued to build, nearly spilling over. It felt as if the sound was only getting louder, the high-pitched sound of the glass nearly painful. 

Just as she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the tip of the brush finally fell off and paint smeared onto the canvas as it fell. 

Without hesitation, she dropped the handle and snatched the jar from Art’s desk, chucking it against the wall nearby and shattering it to pieces. 

She stared at Art furiously, nose flaring slightly. His hands were up in defense, mouth creating an ‘o’ of surprise with eyebrows raised. He then smiled deviously, setting down his tools without breaking eye contact and rising from his chair intimidatingly. 

Her head tilted up to look at him, standing her ground and expression unchanging as he stepped in front of her. His hand then snatched her jaw, almost painfully as he forced her to hold his gaze. His nose twitched before he suddenly let go, turning away from her with a frown and walking towards his bag. 

He picked it up, slinging it over his shoulder and looked at her one last time before walking out of the building. 

(Y/n) stared at the door as it closed behind him, taking a deep breath. She turned to look at the shards of glass on the floor, biting her lip in thought. One of her hands covered her eyes, then ran down her face before she grabbed a broom sitting against a corner and began to sweep up the mess. 

Guilt began to set in as she finished, deciding to wind down in her room before anything else had happened. She sank into the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees as her hands held her head.

(Y/n) tried to defend him, telling herself that he was just trying to cheer her up. But that couldn’t have been true. He knew she was irritated and went ahead and continued to annoy her anyways. But that still didn’t mean she had to lash out at him of all people. 

He had his own personal oddities and behaviors that were out of the norm, but he still had her best interest in mind. He just didn’t know how to properly show it and she should have been more understanding. 

(Y/n) eventually laid down on the bed, closing her eyes as her music played softly in the background. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been before she heard the front door open again, a couple of hours at the least. She shot up from her bed, taking a deep breath and stood to open her door. She looked to her left, seeing Art’s now bloodied form dropping his bag in the workroom and she immediately walked over to him. 

Art jumped when he felt arms wrap around his torso from behind, face twisted into confusion before he realized what was happening. His shoulders relaxed, expression neutral as his dirtied hands came up to rest over (Y/n)’s arms. 

Her breath seeped through his suit as she sighed and he patted her arm, turning around in her grasp to face her. She looked up at him with apologetic eyes, lips frowning and his head tilted endearingly. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you…” She mumbled in shame, gnawing at her lip anxiously as he stared down at her with a level of intensity that was almost too much to bear. 

Art patted her cheek, his usual smile popping onto his face when he pulled away from her and motioned for her to wait a second. He turned to his bag and began to dig through it, picking out a few things before turning back to her. 

In his hands were new brushes. From the looks of it, they seemed to be of higher quality and her eyes lit up. 

The smile now on (Y/n)’s face nearly rivaled his own as she gently took the brushes from him, eyeing them in appreciation. She giggled excitedly and hugged him tightly, cheek squished against his chest. He patted her back, tipping his hat when she pulled away. 

“But why? I snapped at you?” She asked genuinely. 

He simply shrugged with a sheepish look and she giggled and shook her head, stepping up to kiss him on his cheek. He blinked rapidly at her, swinging abashedly. 

“Why are they bloody?” (Y/n) asked him with a smirk when he started to turn to make his way to his desk.

Art froze, lips downturned as if he was caught in the act with wide eyes, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. 

Tag list: @callsignwidow @hoe-for-daddywise

[cupiowaffles]

I reanimated one of my animations so enjoy!!

[sassylegshayne]

marry me, idiot.

AH ITS HERE!!!! I will say, like I've been saying, I'm still in the really early stages of this fic. like this has been edited twice where as every chapter of sylcd is done three times over so. I really have no clue when the next chapter will be out as I haven't finished it yet; might be during sylcd's final chapters or it might be after. 3.2k words let me know what you guys think!! enjoy mwah xx

series masterlist

"Okay, we have a slight issue." You heard the voice beside you clear as day despite the headphones that sat over your ears.

"Is the issue something you caused for us?" You turned to your best friend with a brow quirked.

"That's extremely rude but very true, yes." Spencer nodded as he took a sip from his cup, spinning his chair to face you. Spence and you had been close for a while, you joining the crew only a few months after Spence had, the two of you spending countless hours editing beside each other. The two of you grew close after a couple of longer projects. The two of you leaning on each other for advice and well needed breaks from time to time.

It has become a joke around the office about Spencer being your work husband; he had a knack for picking you up an drink on his way in, or grabbing lunch for the both of you, or Spencer's ability to pause anything he was working on at the snap of a finger for you. He was pretty much head over heels for you, and you were the only one blind enough to not see it. It's funny to think that you felt the same exact way, and everyone but Spencer could tell.

"So, remember when we started here and we became friends and we made that joke about when we turned thirty."

You stared blankly back at your best friend, the joke about marrying if you're both still single by thirty a distant memory in your mind by this point. It crossed your mind once recently. Last year, you spent your entire 'Dirty Thirty' party that the office threw for you clinging to Spencer.

You made a habit of keeping him alongside you for every big moment of your life since you'd met. You wanted to look back on these moments, that were destined to be great already, to include Spencer.

"Okay, so you do remember, that's great." Spencer clapped his hands together as he grinned at you.

"I saw a TikTok about the wedding gifts you get from inviting companies and rich people, even if you don't know them and I want in!" Spence argued, wiping his sweaty palms off on his pants as he worked his way towards the problem with this rambling explanation.

"I think it's unfair that just because two people are getting married they get to have all that stuff. With all my info had, I made some quick wedding invitations and sent some out, fully expecting PR packages to come back." He trailed off as

"Charles Spencer," You quietly chastised, wanting to not believe a word he was saying, but knowing deep down that Spencer was being truthful. "You are insane, I can't believe you did that!"

"T'm sorry, okay. Listen, Y/N, I thought it was gonna be a funny joke to give you a bunch of fake wedding gifts for our fake wedding on your real birthday! I didn't expect people to accept, but I know that is my fault for inviting some people that actually agreed."

"Charles," You started, using his legal name yet again. He wasn't usually worried about you using it, it wasn't some secret he was keeping it anything, but the tone in your voice told him that you weren't happy at all. "Who all accepted?"

"I'm sorry, I know I'm never gonna say that enough, but it was only a few people!" Spencer knew his voice was just getting higher and higher the more you two spoke, his anxiety spiking.

"Yes, okay, Rhett and Link accepted," A gasp left you as Spencer cringed, knowing his mistake. "Kathy Bates politely declined but sent an autographed headshot!" He removed the framed photo from his backpack before setting it beside your monitor.

He grinned worriedly, gesturing towards it as you let your forehead meet the desk, groaning.

"Besides the people that own the company we work for, who else said yes?" You asked through gritted teeth as Spencer looked to his phone, finding the note that held his list.

"Rapid fire, Tana Mongeau, Carrot Top, and Rob Schneider. It's not that many people, Y/N, we can just call it off." Spencer placed his hand on your back, rubbing softly as you groaned again, completely shocked by just how royally fucked this whole thing was gonna turn out to be no matter what you did.

"I'm so, so sorry, Y/N but. will you marry me?"

"emergency meeting at my desk in ten please need advice bc Spencer's an idiot"

"That's was very rude and I am plenty offended." Spencer quipped, setting his phone down on his desk after reading the group chat message you'd sent out. You shot him a glare, all argued out for the day after spending the last hour trying to convince Spence to let you tell your friends, hoping they'd help you figure out the story you'd make up in place of a wedding.

He finally caved, feeling terrible about the mess he had drug you into, allowing you to explore different ways out of this mess. In no time, Courtney, Damien and Shayne accompanied the two of you at your desks, various stolen chairs offering comfort to your friends.

"What did Spencer do now?" Damien asked, causing Spence to scoff and shake his head.

"I'm starting to get upset that everyone just assumes that I really fucked something up this bad." He defended himself as he leaned back in his chair, practically able to hear your eyes rolling.

"You did, though. You lied to people and now we're getting married." You stayed simply, eyes wide as you began to argue with your future better half yet again.

"You're already my work wife, we're pretty much married." You rolled your eyes once as Spencer countered you, reaching his hand towards your mug of coffee, being stopped as you lightly slapped at him.

"l'm sorry, I don't know if l'm missing something and everyone else is up to speed but, uh, when did y'all get together long enough to lead to getting married?" Shayne questioned, pulling your attention from Spencer as you took in the looks from those around you.

Damien's face held a mix of confusion and excitement, Courtney was rendered speechless and it seems like Shayne was using every last braincell he had to piece together this puzzle.

"Okay, phew, wow, that is what this meeting is about, honey." Spencer cooed as he grinned goofily at you, wrapping your left hand in his as he held your palm to his chest.

You tried your best to hid the smile that so desperately wanted to grace your lips, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes, the feeling of a migraine quickly approaching.

You took your time explaining through the story, Spencer chiming in when needed but mostly stuck to nodding along as you spoke.

"Spencer," Damien pointed his index finger at the shorter man, both with brows raised at each other. "You're an idiot, my guy. Why did Rhett and Link seem like a good idea? Why did any of this seem like a good idea, but especially our bosses."

You sighed, resting your head in the palm of your hand as you awoke your monitor. You sat up as an email sat at the top of your inbox labeled important.

"Congratulations to Y/N and Spencer!"

You couldn't tell how long you spent staring at the desktop, the company wide email from the Mythical Management staring directly back. The noise of your friends chatter drown out as the words in the letter repeated over and over in your mind.

You had to go through with this, or you had to hide behind the arrangement and a shitty excuse of a prank. No other options popped into your head.

"Y/N? You okay?" A warm, familiar hand rested on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

Spencer's eyes worriedly searched your face as his brow furrowed at your slumped frame. His gaze followed you, his heart sinking as he Scanned over the email.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back once more.

The other three moved, all looking over your shoulders to read the message. Gasps and murmurs broke out between them as they say back down.

Your small group sat in silence for a moment. You thought you'd have more time to find a solution, a couple of days at least, but now you couldn't leave this room without some semblance of a plan.

"Let's get married." You still sat with a blank stare at the computer, your mind running a million miles a minute. You slowy explained your thoughts as thoroughly as you could.

Spencer and you were known as each other work spouses, even fans making memes about it. The two of you have talked about the agreement in the podcast, on an episode of Board AF, and in an upcoming reddit video with Shayne.

The fans always reacted well when the two of you were together, engaging with the content. There's countless edits of the two of you, even with the small amounts of videos you've been in together.

You can blame it on the arrangement you'd made, pull lan and a few of the other higher ups aside, presenting the idea.

Spencer and you would get married; you could make the content last up until next April, as planning a fake wedding would take some time anyways. That would mean an announcement video, probably a celebratory video with others in cast, even the process of picking out different parts of the wedding for Pit videos if they really wanted to milk it. Maybe even a TNTL gauntlet with your bridesmaids and groomsmen.

The one thing you wanted to thank Spencer for was the convenience of sharing one braincell. You could release the wedding video, the big finale in which the joke is revealed to the audience, playing it up as a fake relationship until April 1st. Spencer had thought it was funny to put the wedding date on the invitations as April Fool's Day, but it worked perfectly.

You took a deep breath, nodding your head as your eyes darted around your friends, anxious for their thoughts.

Spencer quickly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, kissing your forehead before he grinned at you.

"You are a fucking genius, lan's gonna love this idea. We can say we were prepping for the video, getting our invitation letters together accidentally sent it out. We can use whatever stuff we get as presents for the bogus invites for another video, too." Spencer added, looking to his friends as he chewed on his lip.

"I hate how quickly the two of you worked this out. We weren't needed." Shayne laughed softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"So it's not a stupid plan?" You asked, quickly distracted as the office door opens, lan's head peaking inside.

You lock eyes, offering him an awkward smile. He entered, coughing softly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, uhm, can I talk to you guys in a little bit? Probably like twenty minutes, in the conference room." lan spoke, a tight lipped smile on his face as he looked between you and the man seated beside you.

You felt a pit in your stomach growing rapidly as you swallowed, nodding your head. This was horrific, it felt like you had disappointed your dad but he wouldn't admit it yet.

And the conferernce room? There was no doubt in your mind that if this wasn't happening in lan's office then it would be bigger than you expected. Lisa would have to be there, maybe Daniel, if they were that concerned; Rachel would probably be forced into it, no matter how much she wouldn't want to be involved. n nodded before promptly exiting, barely acknowledging the cast members.

You groaned loudly as the door shut, Spencer copying you.

"This sucks and I hate you." You shoved at his shoulder, huffing.

He rubbed his arm, pouting a bit.

"It does and I hate me too." He chuckled as a smile appeared on your soft lips.

Spencer felt like the boundaries between the two of you were figured out very early on, never set prematurely, always discovered naturally. Kissing your cheek was okay, forehead was okay, drunkenly kissing your neck was okay sometimes. Hand holding was very normal and platonic and something you two did constantly. Cuddling and spending the night together was normal, but you two wouldn't sleep in the same bed.

He knew that, so far, this system had worked If that didn't happen soon, things might get nuddy, feelings getting involved. Spencer knew his feelings on you, he had since about two years into your friendship.

For six years now, he's known just how much he cares about you with every fiber of his being. He knows he really would do anything for you, anything to be with you. He respected every boundary you set.

Spencer had a thing for constantly taking advantage of the things he could have. You were always greeted with some sort of kiss, never once on the lips. Your fingers laced well with his, especially when you were on his left side. He constantly sat close beside you, tossing an arm around your shoulders, resting a hand on your knee, giving your thigh a gentle joy in excitement.

Spencer yearned for you for so long that he'd learned to accept it. He didn't want to cut you out of his life to get over his feelings, he cared too much about you, so his only option was to accept his feelings and keep close to you. You two were best friends, where one was, the other wasn't far behind. You loved him, so fucking much you loved him. He knew this, but he also knew that you didn't love him in the way he wanted you to.

Your group is quick to disband, giving the two of you some space before your meeting. Spencer let the two of you sit in silence before he decided to pack his bag for the day, despite it barely even starting. He could feel your eyes on him, his back to you.

"Packing because figure they're gonna send us home today, no matter what they decide. Give them time to think it all over." You smiled, enjoying just how well he knew you. His words settled in, prompting you to follow suit.

As you zipped your bag shut, it hit you that in just a few minutes before you were supposed to face the consequences of your best friends well intended actions. It was a toss up over which of you was more nervous, the both of you with pounding hearts.

"I love you, dude." You mumbled as you wrapped your arms around Spencer's waist, sighing softly.

"I love you, too, dude." He chuckled, rubbing your back as he kissed your forehead.

"C'mon, champ, let's go knock 'em dead." Spencer winked as he held the door open for you. You took a deep breath before leaving you little editing room bubble.

The room was much, much more packed than either of you had expected it to be. The people you expected to be there were indeed, but alongside them sat Kiana, Selina, and Lizzy.

Spencer thanked his lucky stars when neither Rhett nor Link joined the lot of you. He found himself sitting back a bit, allowing you to take the reigns of explaining your bullshit reasoning for the situation you'd found yourselves in.

Three hours, three scarily long hours later and you finally stood from your chair, your feet tingling and your head pounding. Spencer and you said your polite goodbyes to everyone before heading back toward your office.

"I think that was fine." You stated, arms crossed as you stare down the hall ahead.

He chuckled, nudging his shoulder into yours.

"That went really well, you heard Daniel. It's gotta go through if he liked it that much. It's gonna work out."

You nodded your head, a smile tugging on your lips as you both grabbed your bags.

"Wanna hangout or, uh, give me a ride home? Shayne drove me this morning." Spencer smiled heepishly as he followed you into the parking lot.

"If I'm your fiancee now, I think you should tell me if there's something going on between the two of you." You poked as you both got into your car.

You scooted your chair away from your desktop as you rubbed your eyes, now realizing just how long you'd been sat starting at your screen playing Minecraft with Spencer.

You smiled softly, feeling a tug at your heart at the sight before you. He sat slumped into your couch, eyes focused and brow furrowed as you cat napped on top of the cushion behind him.

Craig and Spencer had a love hate relationship, both of them usually eager for your attention at the same time, causing them to butt heads. Your cat and your best friend were both horribly stubborn.

But then there'd be moments like this, or when Craig curls up with Spencer on your couch, or when he follows Spence through your own house, even if you're still right where your kitty left you.

You stretch, taking off your headphones as you rise and stretch, catching Spence glancing over at you, smiling softly.

"Oh shit, you're still here?" You questioned as you walked past the couch, heading into your kitchen, yawning softly. You check your watch, catching it at just past five in the afternoon.

Spencer chuckled, watching as his eyes followed your every move as you danced around your small kitchen, seemingly opening every cabinet to find what you needed.

"Check your email, Charmander." You mindlessly called out to him, the nickname leaving him to roll his eyes as he dug into his pocket.

"You are the absolute worst with nicknames, need you to know that. Just call me Charles at this point." He laughed as you flipped him off as you turn, spoon in your mouth.

You join him on your couch with two peanut butter and banana sandwiches on one plate, sitting it on the space between you. Spencer nods a thanks to you as he grabbed his, taping your sandwiches together as a toast.

He loads into his email, refreshing it as you take your first bite. His wide eyes cause you a bit of stress, making you sit up straight.

"Good or bad?"

"Uh, good, I think. My schedule got changed." Spencer quickly switched over to his calendar, it had to be good; they don't just switch the schedule halfway through the month.

His eyes scanned over the new or changed parts, reading the first one he saw.

'Engagement Shoot' scheduled for tomorrow at 10AM.

"We did it, Joe." Spencer turns to you with a grin, quickly pulling you into a tight hug. You groaned and rolled your eyes, before quickly squealing as you wrapped your arms around him, bouncing in your seat.

They got what they wanted, right?

[mxviko]

Happy birthday Pip aahhhhhhHHH THE BESTEST

The baby scream

Have some extra doodles on account it’s almost 2 am

[basver]

a little late, but here is my Valentine's Day comic! have fun reading!

Also i have TG, join if you want to hear me more often:

https://t.me/dristalnya228

[kiruamon]

Cuddles

Oz may be a bit shy to show his affection. But every now and then he will make the first step to come up and snuggle with Damien on his own instead of waiting for Damien to take initiative.

[dokithorn]

I love them sm

[theyanderespecialist]

Yandere Damien Bloodmarch🦇🩸🏳‍⚧With Gender Neutral and Specific Trans Man Listener (Dream Daddy)  Disclaimer: Damien Bloodmarch is a trans man in canon! Trans men like Reader can be Femme boys and buff femme boys like Jojo's bizarre adventure kind of style! Reader being a femme boy does not make him any less trans or any less a man! Clothing does not make your gender, clothes can be worn by anyone regardless of what they look like! Trans men are Men and Trans Rights Are Human Rights! Disclaimer: 

Damien Bloodmarch is once again a trans man and he is not Yandere in canon! This is just for fun, and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! Your Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life, also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanons from canon! Thank you!

Here is the Request for Bonus Content after the Base Yandere HeadcanonsYandere Damian Bloodmarch (Who is a TransMan) X Transman Listener (Dream Daddy) (From Requester: I love the buff Femboy idea! (so femme Pastel Goth on a gym bro.) Like Listener is also super far in his transition like Damien and he just loves being a buff girly pop that drinks boba tea and drinks iced sugary coffee. Basically the opposite to Damien in that regard. I wanna say a Trans Man Listener who has top surgery done, and Damien has both done.I think in this scenario it'd be funny if Listener was Pastel Goth

The Listener uses testosterone gel because they're afraid of needles. But they're totally into the whole vampire aesthetic but in their own unique way.

[strangererotica]

When he’s jealous AND a killer clown… 🫦💦

[lukino94725764]

happy halloween

Not so much for these two, Damien thought his father was coming to pick him up and they woke up waiting

"pip, Get up, dad is not coming"

[shayziee]

Happy vlentines dip nation!! sorry for being. inavctive here,, i usually use twt so like yknow,, nyways, happy dipventines may your day be as lovely as the loveliest thing to exist!

[arts-bloody-rose]

Blood of A Rose - Turning Point (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - (Y/n) has always dealt with harsh criticism when it came to her work, but that never meant she was immune.

Notes - Sorry for the wait for a new post! I decided that weekends will be my off days from writing to preserve my sanity 💀

Word Count - 2,031

Warning(s) - Bullying, violence, mild gore

Song Inspiration -

Acsida - Privet Privet 2009

(Y/n)’s small living room was dimly lit by soft, flickering candlelight, casting shadows across the walls that seemed to stretch and twist in strange patterns as her TV hummed in the background. She sat on the floor, legs outstretched as her back leaned against the couch, absentmindedly working on a small canvas resting on her lap. 

Art lounged on the couch behind her, his head tilted as he silently browsed through channels, glancing down at (Y/n) and her work occasionally. His now pristine hand played with her hair mindlessly, combing his fingers through it as he found the texture satisfying. 

(Y/n) didn’t mind, though. It made her aware of his otherwise silent presence, which she had come to call home. It soothed her and kept her relaxed as she worked. 

Through their time together, they soon found that regardless of nearly being polar opposites, her more calm and reserved demeanor greatly complimented his boldness and chaos. Their shared interest in death was what drew them to each other, but everything else just seemed to perfectly fall into place for them. 

Art surprisingly came to respect her personality as she respected his. It was refreshing for him, in a way, which he never thought was even possible until she proved him otherwise. 

It started out as curiosity, wanting to understand how someone with such interests could be so tame. That curiosity then grew into an obsession, taking note of her smallest behaviors. Whether it was the way her nose twitched when she didn’t like something, or simply her breathing patterns. He knew everything there was to know about her. 

She dabbed her brush into a deep crimson, dragging it across the canvas in harsh, deliberate strokes. (Y/n) could feel Art’s gaze lingering on the piece, and for a moment, she wondered what ran through his head when he saw her art. 

“You like it?” She asked, her voice soft and curious. 

Art didn’t respond with words, as usual. Instead, he sat up, his silent movements almost ghostly as he leaned over her shoulder. His head cocked from one side to the other as he carefully observed the piece. He then grinned with a thumbs up, patting her shoulder in approval. She placed her free hand over his.

“Thanks.” (Y/n) giggled.

“I just don’t understand how someone would  think it’s appropriate to ever publicize something like that.” 

The laughter stopped, both of them looking up to the TV screen settled on a talk show. 

“I mean, think of the children! They could run into it on the internet and be traumatized and need therapy.” 

(Y/n)’s gaze hardened, heart beginning to race as she took in their insults. She chewed her lip as she watched, nearly drawing blood.

“Trust me, I don’t think they’re the only ones who need therapy -“ 

The channel suddenly changed, remote in Art’s hand as he frowned at the screen and waved it off in distaste. He then looked down at (Y/n) who began to calmly clean up her area. 

Too calmly. 

She stood up, taking her supplies with her as she made her way to the sink to clean everything off. His eyes followed her carefully, paying attention to every minor difference or change. As soon as he caught her mouth twitch he rose from the couch. 

He walked over to her, or rather stalked, and slapped a hand on the counter beside the sink as he faced her, leaning against it. She didn’t look at him until she was finished cleaning, drying her hands and giving him her best smile, albeit fake. 

His grin was wide, encouraging, and he motioned for her to do the same with his fingers. When she didn’t and simply giggled half heartedly, his smile dropped and he tapped his chin in thought. 

Art’s expression then turned mischievous, baring his teeth again with a Cheshire smile as his hands slowly reached for her, his fingers wiggling menacingly. 

“No.” (Y/n) pleaded at first, taking a hesitant step back. “No - Art!”

She shrieked when he snatched her, holding her against him as he tickled her relentlessly. He laughed silently as she squirmed and cackled, using all of her strength to try and worm her way out of his grip, but they both knew he was far too strong for such a feat. 

“Okay! Art, I’m fine - I’m okay now!” The clown stopped tickling, but still held her. He peeked his head from around her to watch her face to determine if she was lying or not. 

As (Y/n) caught her breath, she looked up at Art with the usual glimmer in her eye that he so adored and he firmly nodded before letting her go. 

She sighed dramatically and he wiped his hands off together proudly, giving her an ‘ok’ symbol with a wink and heading back to the couch with a pep in his step. 

(Y/n) shook her head in exasperation, rubbing at her temple before following him. 

The following day, they both worked in silence at their hideout. Art sat at his workbench, tinkering away while (Y/n) sat on the floor against the stove beside the desk, filtering through her photos on her camera. A small radio played in the background, (Y/n) humming to a familiar song every now and then while Art nodded along with her. 

It was one of their calmer nights, the two of them deciding not to go out and to simply spend time with each other, even if it was just sitting in the other’s company. 

(Y/n) saw Art’s hand motion for her in her peripherals, looking up at him finally. He pointed to her then to the stool left unused, then to the floor and flung his hand out as an exasperated question. 

“I’m comfortable, Art, I promise.” 

(Y/n) giggled when his head ticked at her stubbornness. He then pointed back at the stool aggressively, and then next to the edge of the desk with a determined expression. 

“You want me to be closer to you?” Art nodded and she laughed. “Well why didn’t you just say that?” 

She nearly snorted as she stood up when Art threw out it arms, silently telling her ‘what the fuck?’. She brought the stool over to his desk and sat on top of it, camera in hand for her to resume what she had previously been doing. 

Her laughter died down to a chuckle. “You know I love teasing you, I hardly ever get to.” (Y/n) reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Art rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her before turning back to continue modifying one of his weapons. 

“I personally think she’s just trying to use shock value to get some traction on her work.”

Their ears caught as they continued to work, however Art glanced over at (Y/n) every now and then. 

“She’s trying so hard to shove it down our throats for attention when it’s nothing more than glorified gore.”

“Be glad I don’t shove something else down your throats…” (Y/n) grumbled to herself, the initial pain of their insults gradually seeping through into anger and irritability. 

The clown’s movements froze at her words as he stared at the desk in front of him with parted lips. 

With however long they had been together, not once had he heard her threaten another person, regardless if it was empty or not. She had always kept quiet and to herself when met with confrontation while he was the one who dealt with it accordingly. At least, what he considered to be accordingly. 

Art slowly shifted his eyes over to look at her, seeing her click the buttons on her camera casually as if she never said anything. 

And for once, he wondered if he was going crazy. 

He then looked back at the weapon in front of him, glanced at her once more, then slowly went back to working. 

One night, however, they decided to go out once they began to feel a sense of boredom, something they both passionately detested. 

Feeling particularly clingy, (Y/n) took to latching herself onto Art’s arm rather than just holding his hand. He gladly accepted it, throwing her a giddy smile and practically shaking with excitement. 

As they walked, (Y/n) noticed how much more comfortable she had become walking out in public. Art fed into her confidence, deliberately or not, and she held her head higher. He made her feel appreciated, feel important in a world where all she had before him was herself and the captious stares of those around her.

On the more rare occasions where she walked out on the town by herself to grab a bite to eat or restock on supplies, she crawled back into herself ever so slightly. Regardless, she was still more self-assured than she previously had been. 

“Maybe something with feet? I feel like I don’t focus on feet enough.” (Y/n) thought out. 

Art simply listened from beside her, genuinely intrigued and in his own thoughts about what he could do with his next victim - or victims - for her. 

She gasped suddenly and Art, ever the dramatic, jumped with a surprised expression. “A mouth!” (Y/n) looked over at him with an animated expression. 

Art tilted his head at her with his eyebrows raised, letting her know that he agreed. 

“Mouth it is tonight.” The clown wiggled his eyebrows at her perversely and she lightly backhanded his chest. 

“Oh shit, are you (Y/n)?” They heard a somewhat distant voice express. Ahead of them, a woman leaned against a wall, phone in hand as she waited beside a small food joint. 

Art and (Y/n) shared a suspicious look, continuing to walk until they were close enough to decently communicate. “Yes?” She answered with caution. 

Art made a simple decision from beside her, accepting the woman’s unwilling offer that was too easy to pass as he set down his bag while they talked. “This is so weird seeing you in person. I always hear about you but never thought I’d actually meet you!” 

(Y/n)’s eyes squinted with confusion, unsure of where the interaction was going to lead to. “Thanks? Like is that supposed to be a compliment?” She replied warily, almost irritably. 

“Oh no, I’m not a fan or anything, it’s just weird finally seeing someone you hear about a lot.” (Y/n) deadpanned, a familiar feeling of distaste building in her abdomen. 

Art, however, rather than growing defensive and upset, looked over at her curiously, letting the conversation work itself out with underlying mischief.

“It’s like if you met Jeffrey Dahmer in person, you’d just look at them like what the fuck, because of the shit they’ve done, y’know?” 

(Y/n)’s tongue ran along the inside of her cheek, casually looking over at the clown’s bag on the ground. As the woman continued to ramble, (Y/n) stepped over to it and began to search through its contents.

Art’s eyes widened, a grin spreading wide across his painted face in anticipation. “Like if the word edgy was a person -“ 

The woman was cut off as a shot echoed through the town. 

Art watched as the woman slid off of the wall and thumped onto the ground, then eased his eyes to look over at (Y/n). 

Arm straight out, the gun in her hand pointed at the bleeding woman with an indifferent expression, then lowered with a heavy sigh as she turned to toss it back into his bag after turning on the safety.

“I’m tired of this shit.” She mumbled to herself and rubbed at her forehead then looked up at Art. “Sorry. Let’s go find someone else for you.” 

Art was rigid where he stood, staring at her with an intensity that began to pull her out of her vexed state. He took a step towards her with predatory intent, grabbing the back of her neck and tugging her into him, their lips crashing together unexpectedly. 

(Y/n) froze at first, caught off guard by his behavior before she slowly began to melt into it, cupping his jaw in her hands. She gasped breathlessly for air when they parted as he silently heaved. 

“Does that mean I’m next?” She whispered. He flashed his teeth sadistically, leaning in once more.

Tag list: @callsignwidow