#eternally dubious

[ahb-writes]

Comics Review: ‘Himawari House’

Himawari House by Harmony Becker My rating: 5 of 5 stars South Korea. Hyejung fled the suffocating pressures of family expectations as well as a messy (and unresolved) personal relationship that never had a chance to succeed. She doesn't know who she is, much less what she wishes to do in life ("I couldn't go back to seeing things the way they had been [..] I hate myself when I'm at home."). Singapore. Tina sees purpose everywhere and in everyone, except within herself. She's a hard worker, a horrible student, and on the precipice of depression ("I can't take this anymore. I don't feel like myself."). America. Nao Daniels is a biracial woman taking a year off between high school and college. Bearing the familiar burden of being neither here nor there, neither welcomed nor unwished-for, Nao's racial and ethnic half-ness has pushed her to live and study in Japan. A year abroad? The goals are numerous, whether for Nao to discover herself, learn more about the culture and people her mother left behind, or to deepen her Japanese language skills. But the numbness that comes from being an "other," no matter where one resides, only intensifies the burden ("No matter how much I learn, I don't know if it is enough."). HIMAWARI HOUSE is painfully relatable and unrepentantly exposes the fragile presumptions so easily and readily assembled to salve the wounds native of one's disintegrating youth. This graphic novel is about place and placelessness, as well as the many different types of people who ramble and scramble their way toward some semblance of peace. Hyejung, Tina, and Nao board in a sharehouse for a year, along with a pair of brothers, Japanese. The three women stress about their studies, glow over their adoration of classic shoujo comics, make a sound argument for Japanese food, weep over their beloved K-dramas, and debate their comical incompatibility with being multilingual in a nation where none of them speak the local language fluently. HIMAWARI HOUSE tracks these three women's eager attempt to understand themselves, and one another, in a country where none of them fully know the culture. If Hyejung gets into a local university, will the stress she felt when her parents worked themselves to the bone utterly evaporate or will it intensify? If Tina opens herself up to loving someone other than the pop star whose magical lyrics tether her to the earth, will that further root or asymmetrically invalidate her state of constant emotional agitation? If Nao learns the Japanese language as well as assorted Japanese customs, will she ever surpass the dreaded gaijin diagnosis? Of being a facile foreigner? Or will she finally assimilate, which is, itself, an eternally dubious enterprise? HIMAWARI HOUSE is an interesting and slyly impressive accomplishment. The graphic novel is composed of multiple points of view, written effectively in at least three languages, and concedes a warm visual style that lends its characters the space and depth they need to act, speak, laugh, and cry, and all in ways that are wholly inimitable. The art is funny and beautiful and dramatic and occasionally referential. One finds it remarkable for a graphic novel to read so smoothly while also being so complex on account of being such a profoundly layered and dynamic narrative of young adulthood. It's the kind of book that deserves to be reread; it's difficult to appreciate, with only one read, some characters' linguistic somersaults, the artist's compositional changes in lighting for a late-night hot pot, a background character's dimples, the book's clever and idiosyncratic title pages, and so forth. For example, late in the book is a chapter on mothers (and mothering). Nao reminisces on how hurt and lonely her Japanese mother must have felt, uprooted, only for the woman's two children to push back whenever her Japanese cultural sensibilities crept into their American lives. The scene is an emotional fissure in need of closure, but it's equally hard for readers to imagine Nao ever moving forward without having acknowledged it in the first place. That's the kind of book HIMAWARI HOUSE is; it's an acknowledgment of the splintering cultural rites one takes for granted, and an observation of the structural presumptions one often assembles, erroneously, in their place.

Comics/Book Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Sweet pleasures (Part 1)

Summary: You accidentally capture the attention of Lucius the Eternal while your world dies under the oppression of heretics

Lucius The Eternal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession possessive behavior, manipulation, intimidation, kidnapping, dubious consent, body horror

Word count: 2421

Song: The Sisters of Mercy - More

Good luck, guys. I tried very hard while writing all these horrors and erotica.

You're scared. You're very scared. It was unusual. Wrong. No. No. No. You always knew how to find a way out of any situation. Could always adapt to circumstances. Wear almost any mask. Anyone could like you. Well, apparently this last skill failed you.

You were born on one of the many Imperial Worlds. One of many hive worlds. Аather was a worker, mother a laundress. Joyless life at the middle levels. And a beautiful daughter. Only the daughter turned out to be strange. Behaved differently, thought otherwise.

You didn't want to live so poorly. So that your already short life passes unnoticed. But you didn’t intend to zealously serve the Emperor as a Sister of Battle. No, it was foreign to you. You weren't going to fight. Besides, you didn't have much faith in the Emperor. Of course you prayed and did not say heretical thoughts out loud. But what can you do?

You were quite beautiful. And healthy for your status. Could make friends with many people. Even the gloomiest arbitrators were touched by the sight of you when you were a child. You could become a courtesan. And then could become the concubine of a rich aristocrat. But such a role did not appeal to you either. Quite the contrary. Scared you away.

At some point you found yourself at one of the ports. Spent almost the whole week there. Due to fatigue at work, your parents did not notice your long absence. And at this time you were learning to read. Learned the jargon of smugglers and honest traders. Looked at the maps and kept an eye on the Mechanicum. Occasionally, on the sly. And sometimes openly.

They offered to take you with you. Show all these amazing worlds, but you knew it was a trap. But staying in your parents’ house was also a trap. No matter how you look at it, an honest life did not give anything, but only took away. That's why you started lying.

And you were good at it.

Who have you been in your short life? No actress can compare with your talent. You learned to play the organ. A couple of times pretended to be a nun to look at the holy relics. Made your way into the palace of the aristocrats as one of the maids of honor. They believed you easily. You even thought that you might have been born a psyker. But no, the Black Ship did not come for you.

A couple of times you even followed the mutants hiding in the bowels of the city. Maybe you are one of them? You felt pity for these creatures. They were different from people in appearance, but they were still humans. But they were disgusting to everyone. And you were loved.

You continued to ingratiate yourself with the arbitrators. The hands of the law, of course, could not refuse a lady in trouble and allowed you a lot. And you attended evenings with the nobility. You saw how it was possible to live. You ate and drank things you could never afford as a laundress. You were free and happy.

And you wanted to try so much. Feel it. And at some point you realized that you wanted to leave your world. You wanted to see the whole Imperium. To taste everything. You were ready.

And then Chaos came.

***

The resistance to the heretics did not last even a week. They were too strong. As you later found out, this was not just one band of space marines. There were several of them. Apparently the heretics pursued a new goal after the fall of Cadia. And your planet has become just an obstacle on the way, which can be turned... into entertainment.

You're probably lucky that you didn't meet any fanatics of Nurgle or Tzeentch. The Khornites would simply crush you. Only now you find that your part of the city was captured by the Slaaneshists... Hedonists and debauchees. Admirers of torture and lovers of using human flesh as a drug.

You tried to hide from them. Used every opportunity. The survivors looked at you and couldn’t help but share their shelter with you. they were so kind. You felt a shame. You were a liar but not an evil woman. In the end, you left this family hiding in the bowels of the city and took to the streets. You hoped to find a new shelter.

And in the end you encountered mortal cultists who were looking for city residents to make offerings to their masters. They rejoiced when they captured you. They mockingly consoled you. Caressed. But nothing more. They said that their lord should receive a whole and untouched toy.

At that moment, for the first time in your life, you felt helpless.

***

You fully appreciated the perversity of the Emperor's Children when you saw the main hall of one of the richest aristocrats. The golden and white walls were covered with pieces of human flesh. The heads of the statues were cut off and human heads were placed in their place. Men, women. Even children. Liters of blood flowed down the walls and floor. It was impossible to stay clean in this mess.

The center of the hall was filled with bodies. Alive and dead. Their bodies were joined in a brutal orgy. Although this word only narrowed down all the horror that was happening in this place. Men and women, young and old, mated like animals. They cut each other and themselves. They devoured human flesh, blood and even excrement. They sang, no, they shouted, drawn-out melodies. Mortals are mired in the ritual of the heretics, unable to resist.

And you could have ended up there... if you had not looked at the warrior who grabbed you with pitiful eyes. He liked your look. Stroking your head, he said that such a beauty should not die so early. Although you saw that among this mass there were also noblewomen who were much more beautiful and healthier than you. You definetly was a rare mutant.

And luckily for you, it was even easier for you to please the heretics. You didn't even have to try. Didn’t have to learn anything new, make an effort or try to understand the other person. No, they just liked your defenseless and vulnerable look. Something fragile that can be broken. Perverts.

You try not to shake so as not to drop the tray. You have been registered as a “servant”. You and several other slaves stood against the right wall, holding a tray with various dishes. Someone had drugs created from the tears of prisoners. Someone's got guts. You are lucky, on your tray there are fresh berries from the aristocrat's reserves.

The food was not intended for ordinary traitorous Space Marines, much less mortal cultists. They were having fun on the lower levels of the palace. No, you had to serve the gang leaders, who sat on pillows made of human skin. You looked at them sometimes, unable to contain your curiosity. But how you wanted to erase their image from your memory.

On the left side was a Space Marine, hairless and with incredibly bottomless black eyes. The mouth stretched out, more like a lattice. He slowly stroked his weapon, enjoying the “music” of the slaves. Next to him sat a half-man, half-bull. The huge armor was strewn with the skulls of defeated enemies. The Space Marine was talking with the main leader, lazily playing with the dissected brains of a slave with one hand...

The unfortunate man had just recently presented them with wine. The rest of the servants usually went back to their places to get a new tray. But apparently the space marines did not like the wine. Or, on the contrary, they appreciated it, and the heretic simply became bored. You couldn’t know the exact answer and it made you shiver.

On the right side lay an incredibly handsome man in pearl armor. Amber hair framed a pale, bored face without a single scar. The man was much more interested in sorting through his test tubes with the brightly colored substance. And given the rumors, you didn't want to know what was inside. A space marine with a gold-plated mask stood at a distance, keeping an eye on the orgy in the center. It was this sorcerer who was responsible for the ritual.

Well, in the center sat the leader of this gang. One of the slaves even recognized his name. Lucius the Eternal.

He was disgusting. His entire face, which looked more like a piece of raw meat, was covered with scars. Three flasks with a narcotic substance were attached to the space marine’s suit, which flowed directly through the tubes into the heretic’s flesh. The clawed teeth smiled as Lucius whispered to the bull, holding a glass of wine in his left hand. A daemonic sword rested nearby.

“They want sweets” - a servant approaches you and you flinch in surprise. The slave's eyes are empty and yet he looks straight into your soul. - “Bring them berries.”

Now it’s your turn. You inhale through your nostrils and slowly walk towards the Space Marines. You feel the other servants looking at you with pity. Soon you come to the heretics. The man in pearl armor and the heretic in a golden mask pay no attention to you. So you approach Lucius and his friend.

The man glances at you quickly... and freezes. Violet eyes shamelessly scan your body, especially looking at your face. Lucius takes a deep breath and you realize that he is trying to recognize your scent. A low laugh comes from his throat.

“Oh, I asked for something sweet,” the man runs his tongue over his teeth and you wince at how long it is. - “But I was expecting food, not a pretty face.”

You purse your lips and pick up the tray.

“I-I brought berries,” you babble before squealing in surprise as one of the arms grabs you. You can barely hold the tray of food in your hands, finding yourself next to Lucius. Your surprised gaze meets his mocking one.

“And the voice is sonorous.” - the man laughs to half-bull, hugging your body to himself. His hungry eyes linger on your parted lips. - “So you brought berries, sugar? Then feed me.”

You gulp at the slaaneshist's strange behavior, but comply. You take a bunch of grapes and bring one berry to the Space Marine’s mouth. Trying your best to focus on his ugly face and his hand on your waist. Ignoring the blood-sticky leather pillows and armor of your tormentor. Bloody, covered with faces frozen in agony.

The heretic opens his mouth and bites half of the berry, splashing the juice over your hand. The man moans and you tremble from his rough voice. But the worst thing is when he starts licking the juice from your palm. Extremely slowly and carefully. You've heard that, in addition to regular saliva, Space Marines also have poisonous saliva that can be used in battle. It's surprising he hasn't used it...at least not yet.

“I love the taste of your sweat, sugar.” - the man chatters his teeth in your face, but obediently eats another grape. - “And who were you before we captured your wretched planet? Hardly one of these poor things.” - the traitor lazily shakes his head towards the hall. - “We let all noble women in for the ritual. Well, some passed for new decor.”

The bull grins. He had already managed to eat half the brains of the slave, who somehow miraculously survived. The prisoner's eyes looked at you pleadingly with tears. They asked to be relieved of pain and suffering. But you couldn't. You need to take care of yourself.

“I-” - you try to squeeze out a word, but freeze mid-sentence. Who were you? What have you done useful in this life? Catching Lucius’ furrowed eyebrows, you begin to babble desperately. - “I-I don’t know. My mother is a laundress, and my father is a factory worker. I studied history at the academy and played the organ a little for the nobility. Pretended to be an official, keeping an eye on the cultists. D-dressed like a nun for fun. I tried all the jobs which I liked. Am I...am I a tramp?”

You are asking either yourself or Lucius. As if he knows who you are and what your destiny is. The man looks at you with an unblinking gaze before laughing madly. You look at him blankly, with a terrible feeling of foreboding, feeling his hand drop from your waist to your thigh.

“How funny you are, sugar! Such a rare thing. Instead of washing clothes, you decided to try everything at once. I see you don’t like living according to the laws of the Corpse Emperor at all, huh?” - you nod with displeasure, noting to yourself the bitterness of the truth. No you do not like it. Lucius sees this. - “Yes, you crave pleasure. And you can’t get enough of trying on more and more new roles. My mortal slaves with their little enjoyments are not worth your finger.”

The traitor buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent. You thought it was so easy for you to please a mortal heretic. But the Space Marine almost melted next to you. This was your salvation. And a curse.

“I'll take you with me.” - Lucius purrs, licking your neck. You feel his fingers begin to caress the inside of your thigh. Your legs tighten, some of the berries fall from the tray onto the pillows. This only makes the man laugh. - “You will see agony. Ecstasy. More."

You shrink into his hugs and caresses, unable to resist. Fear takes over your body. Lucius' fingers gently stroke your sex through your clothes and you can't hold back your shameful quiet moan. The man almost giggles like a young boy. The rest of the space marines don't pay attention to you two except the bull. He breathes loudly and shamelessly, carefully following The Eternal’s antics. Tears blur your eyes. What a humiliation.

A cacophony of cries of martyrs, clutching each other in pain and pleasure, can be heard throughout the hall. You see how their naked flexible bodies merge with each other and twist like a spiral. Many find themselves buried under the flesh, while others scream madly, unable to get out of the trap. You feel like they are looking at you.

You fall into darkness.

[prince-liest]

I am having perhaps an excessive amount of fun with this one.

[normalbrothers]

TOMMY: The war is done! Shut the door on it like I did.

[i-cast-zone-of-truth]

hey it’s ok you don’t have to do apologism to like Li Lun! He WAS wrong and he DID kill people for attention and ZYZ being unable to accept that WAS reasonable! Li Lun simply refused to get over his ex and made it everyone’s problem and that’s what makes him great. embrace the wretch! be free!!

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #63

Danny was on the run from the GIW after a raid gone wrong and his family and friends are dead. He’s 15 years old and a king to an entire realm and has no where to go. He remembers a promise he made to someone named Harleen Quinzel, if he’s ever in trouble to seek her out. They we’re cousins after all and while he knows she’s a reformed villain, she’s also the least likely person to rat him out to the GIW so he takes a gamble. Of course little to his knowledge the bats keep a close eye on Harley.

[fauvester]

nicholas biddle, the god-favored prince of philadelphia!

beautiful and brilliant and just sweet 16!

[lotrmusical]

i choose the evening, and your love is given to the morning.

[watcher0033]

Heyo! I was at the peripheral but will now be joining the jjk fandom.

Would like to thank @cursedvibes (sorry for the notes spam XD💞) for singlehandedly convincing me with his KenJin fic "Stitches Across The Eyes" and his truly intriguing jjk meta posts to finally look into JJK and not just cursorily watch from the sidelines at the fun fandom shenanigans. I’ve been successfully infected with Kenjaku Brain Rot (pun totally intended) as well. So, Curse Ye for that (affectionate).

Thoughts on JJK so far:

From some posts l've seen, JJK is like a deconstruction of the Shounen Tropes like how Madoka Magica was for Magical Girls lol I wonder if Gege watched it

Apparently lots of parallels w Tokyo Ghoul too fsr. l've seen some posts making parallels on some of their themes and narrative structure

I can't fathom why, but I just can't get passed the first ep of JJK anime 😅 I have no trouble reading the manga tho so I’m doing that instead

I love Yuuji!! and l've only had him for 2 chapters! I love how he’s portrayed as kind and considerate via his thought process, or how he interacts w those he's close w like affirming his presence and his friends niche interests in their weird little circle, or saying he got flowers for the nurses bcoz of Wasukes apparent allergy to gestures of wholesome feelings (the horror lol), and the reason why he saved his friends and Megumi not just because it's right but how he made a distinction between "proper" and "improper" deaths. That last one really filled me w glee. It’s such a unique and morbidly wholesome (justified) take of an MC on his first venture to heroism. A new beginning right after death. I really like the potential shown.

Anyways, glad to have came in fully investing on the Itadori Family. Fun existential and psychological horror abound in the guise of Shounen Tropes! Tropes! Tropes! 🧠🫶🏻

Edit: My notes as a budding JJK scholar ft. first impressions. 😂

[legobiwan]

I didn't think this would happen, but I am totally writing a chapter of this now-story that is entitled, "From the Journals of E. Gadd," and hoo boi, this is going to be very exciting.

[devoutjunk]

[squinting at the icon of a classics/mythology/medievalist blog and trying to determine if they are a cool nerd who posts primary sources or some Western Civilization Is Crumbling Because We No Longer Beat The Knowledge of Latin into Our Sons Wh*te Supr*m*cist-Adjacent Freak]

[blueiight]

i do think some of the old guard of utena fans underestimate the sheer level of anthy’s disempowerment & what that entails for her. once again its the assumption that observing how & where a fictional character is a victim is somehow a remark on the moral superiority or ‘inherent goodness’ of a character when nobody is saying such. we talk about the duelists projecting on her but what r the rammifications knowing & being fully aware of how literally everyone around u sees u as a tool? there is nowhere anthy can actually claim power of her own no matter how malicious or well intended until damn near the end id argue. shes constantly forced to wear diff. costumes for purposes that risk her own self w no benefit or power bestowed upon her. abuse on some level requires the benefit of power, the gaining of control over somebody bc ur brutally reminding them ‘of their place’ & theres not a scene where anthy has this. she reminds utena of ‘her place’ & betrays her in ep38, but anthy receives no benefit. in fact, ‘humbling’ utena also comes at anthy’s own expense. shes being stabbed by the swords of hate & locked in the coffin.. nobody thinks shes ‘virtuous’ for being a victim. ppl r able to recognize her capacity for cruelty, but r also cognizant on how this is not the same as abuse, bc she reaps none of the control/ power abuse bestows upon its actor.

[janusfranc15]

Elden Ring has a lot of Queer Characters. All of their relationships are Problematic. BUT. It’s not like the Straight relationships are any better, and that is not because they are Queer, that is because God (their Mother) is a terrible Parent and wants them to commit Fratricide, or threw them in a Sewer, or sealed them in The Shadow Realm for 1000 years, or had sex with their Mother, or gave them Gifted Kid Syndrome.

"we need less sanitized queer stories" yall keep saying fucking she-ra romanticizes abuse. you couldnt possibly handle less sanitized queer stories

[selfchiller]

Why are people I don't know reblogging random completely untagged posts of mine. How did you even find that and why do you care where I put my buttershitter Jean Vicquemare sticker.

[mssalo]

debt

Joel saved you - since that day, you’ve stuck to him, unable to survive on your own. But another mistake pushes him over the edge—this time, his patience snaps. Now, he wants you to pay him back for every time he’s saved you, using your body as the price.

After all, you owe him, and he’s come to collect.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Dark themes, dubious consent/non-consensual themes, explicit sexual content (penetrative sex, oral sex - female receiving), graphic violence, psychological manipulation, dark Joel (possessive, dominant), 5k.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

You had been traveling with Joel for what felt like an eternity.

Time had lost all meaning in this world; days bled into nights, and weeks into months, marked only by the changing light in the sky and the constant push to keep moving, to survive.

Everything blurred into one long, desperate journey, and the only constant was Joel. You and Joel had fallen into an unspoken rhythm—walking, scavenging, finding shelter when the sun dipped below the horizon. He was your protector, the reason you were still alive. You wouldn’t have made it this far without him. In fact, you wouldn’t have lasted a week.

Joel was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was older, rougher, with edges worn sharp by years of survival. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, his words were clipped and to the point, always with the hint of a warning behind them.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but fill the silences, rambling on nervously, hoping to break the tension that seemed to follow you both like a shadow. You knew you weren’t the smartest, or the strongest. You weren’t a fighter, and your instincts weren’t sharp like his. But Joel had kept you alive despite all of that, and for reasons you didn’t quite understand, he hadn’t left you behind.

That’s why you stuck close to him—because, deep down, you knew that without him, you were as good as dead.

It had all started when Joel saved you for the first time. You hadn’t been prepared for the kind of dangers that came with living outside the walls, beyond the safety of any remaining settlements. You were clueless, naïve—wandering off into the wilderness with nothing more than a backpack and a vague hope of finding food. You hadn’t thought it through. You never did. The moment you left, you were as good as lost.

You didn’t even hear them coming, the raiders. They crept out of nowhere, brutal and fast. By the time you realized what was happening, it was too late. You were surrounded, their eyes filled with malice as they circled you like predators closing in on prey. You were frozen, paralyzed with fear, your mind spinning as you tried to come up with some way out. But there was no way out. They were going to take everything from you—your supplies, your life—and you could feel their intentions burning into your skin, the dark edge of something even worse.

And then Joel appeared.

He moved through them like a shadow, silent and efficient. You barely had time to register what was happening before one of the men fell to the ground, Joel’s knife buried deep in his chest.

The others turned on him, but it didn’t matter. Joel was faster, stronger, and brutal in a way that made your stomach turn. You watched in shock as he killed them all, one after another, without hesitation, without mercy. He didn’t flinch, didn’t waver—his face a mask of cold focus as he wiped the blood from his knife.

When the last of the raiders fell, Joel looked at you, his dark eyes unreadable. You had been trembling, still too stunned to speak, too scared to move. You were supposed to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of the man standing in front of you.

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice low and rough, as if saving you had been an inconvenience. “You’re not safe out here on your own.”

And just like that, you followed him. You didn’t even think about it. You just knew that Joel was your best chance, maybe your only chance, at survival. He was dangerous, but that danger was your shield. He was protection in its most brutal form.

Since then, you hadn’t left his side. Traveling with Joel was a balancing act—one that required you to keep up and stay out of trouble, though you often failed at both. He kept a tight pace, his long strides carrying him forward with purpose, while you struggled to match his speed, constantly lagging behind.

He never said it, but you could feel his frustration simmering beneath the surface, especially when you slowed him down.

Joel was patient, to a point. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched when you talked too much, filling the silence with nervous chatter.

He never asked for details about your past, and you had learned quickly that asking him about his wasn’t wise either. You were opposites in so many ways. Where Joel was quiet and calculating, you were naive, overly optimistic at times, always hoping things would get better.

You talked to fill the space between you, trying to ignore the constant danger that lurked just beyond the edges of your awareness.

But Joel wasn’t one for talking. He had no time for distractions, no tolerance for mistakes. His patience had limits, and you had pushed those limits more times than you could count.

You saw it in his eyes—how they darkened when you slowed him down or when you clumsily fumbled with your supplies. There was a tension between you that you didn’t fully understand, but you could feel it simmering like a storm about to break.

Sometimes, you’d catch Joel watching you. His gaze would linger longer than it should, his expression unreadable. There was something in the way he looked at you that made your heart race—not just from fear, but from something else. Something you didn’t dare name. Joel was magnetic in a way that frightened you, in a way that made it impossible to pull away.

You knew you weren’t the smartest or the most capable, and that knowledge left you vulnerable. You tried to make up for it by being helpful, offering to do the little things—fetching water, setting up camp—but more often than not, you were in Joel’s way.

You relied on him for everything—your safety, your survival—and he knew it. But something was shifting. There was a heat between you that you didn’t fully understand, a simmering undercurrent that felt like it was building toward something inevitable.

You weren’t sure what it was, but every time you caught Joel’s eyes on you, lingering just a little too long, you felt it. The storm was coming. And you didn’t know if you were ready for it.

· · ───

It had been a long day. Hours of walking left your legs aching, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and exhaustion weighed heavy on your shoulders. The two of you had made it through the outskirts of a city, avoiding trouble as best you could. But trouble always seemed to find you.

You’d been scavenging through a dusty old shop, wandering farther than you should have. That’s when you heard it. The unmistakable clicking noise that sent a spike of terror through your veins.

Your body froze, breath caught in your throat as the sound drew nearer. It was the wet, choking clicker sound—a noise you’d come to know all too well.

Before you could react, it was on you—a grotesque, twisted figure lurching toward you with inhuman speed. Your body refused to move, fear locking you in place.

Then, just as the creature lunged for you, Joel’s hand yanked you back. His knife flashed, slicing clean through the clicker’s neck, and it collapsed to the ground, twitching and gurgling before going still.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You gasped, your body trembling from the adrenaline, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at Joel. 

His face was hard, jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with fury—fury directed entirely at you.

“What the fuck were you thinkin’?” he snapped, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

His hand was still wrapped around your arm, tight and unyielding, pulling you closer to him. “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

“I—I wasn’t—” you stammered, but your voice was barely a whisper.

“Shut up,” Joel barked, cutting you off. His grip tightened painfully, his face inches from yours, his voice seething with anger. “You don’t listen. You never fuckin’ listen.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, his words cutting deep. You knew he was right.

You’d messed up—again. You’d wandered off like he told you not to, and it had almost cost you everything.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but Joel wasn’t having it.

“Sorry ain’t good enough,” he muttered darkly, his voice a low, menacing growl.

His eyes bored into yours, filled with a fury that made your heart race. “Do you even understand how close you were to dyin’?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for the first time, you saw it clearly—the tension that had been building between you for weeks, months. It wasn’t just anger.

There was something darker, something raw and primal in the way Joel looked at you now. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight, and his eyes… His eyes were filled with something dangerous.

“You wanna keep playin’ games?” Joel’s voice dropped lower, almost a growl, as he stepped closer, his grip on your arm pulling you toward him until your bodies were nearly touching. “You think I’ll just keep savin’ you every damn time?”

“Joel, I—” you began, but his hand shot up, gripping your chin roughly, forcing you to look into his dark, burning eyes.

“Shut up,” he snarled, his voice tight with barely contained rage. “You don’t get to speak right now. I’m talkin’.”

The world around you seemed to narrow, the only thing you could focus on was Joel—the heat of his body, the tension radiating off him, the way his breath brushed against your skin.

You felt your pulse race, fear and something else tangling together in your chest.

He didn’t let go as he dragged you out of the store, his hand still tight around your wrist, practically pulling you through the darkened streets.

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, and the air had turned cool, but the heat from Joel’s anger burned hot between you. He moved fast, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead, and you stumbled to keep up with his brutal pace.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, he led you into the trees. The abandoned streets gave way to a dense forest, and hidden within the thick canopy of trees was a small, dilapidated cottage.

It was old and crumbling, but it was shelter. Joel didn’t hesitate as he shoved open the door, dragging you inside with him.

The moment the door slammed shut, the air between you shifted. The tension thickened, suffocating and inescapable. Joel let go of your arm, but you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back, and when you turned to face him, his expression had darkened even more.

His eyes were wild now, filled with something you didn’t recognize—something that made your stomach twist in knots. He stepped toward you, slow and deliberate, his presence looming and suffocating.

“You think this is a fuckin’ joke?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I keep you alive, I protect you, and you don’t even listen.”

You swallowed hard, backing up instinctively, but Joel followed, his body closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand shot out, grabbing your arm again, yanking you toward him until your chest collided with his. The force of it made you gasp, but you didn’t pull away.

“Do you understand what it’s like for me?” he hissed, his breath hot against your ear, his grip unrelenting. “Every goddamn day, I’m watching over you, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself killed. And for what?”

His fingers dug into your skin, but it wasn’t the pain that made your heart race—it was the raw intensity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were both a burden and something he couldn’t let go of.

His breathing was ragged, and his body was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re mine to protect,” Joel muttered darkly, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion. 

“And you don’t get to fuck around like this is a game. You don’t get to make mistakes.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, and before you could react, he pulled you closer, his hand sliding up your arm, gripping your waist.

His touch was rough, possessive, and it sent a jolt of something through you—something that made your heart race even faster. His gaze was intense, his breathing ragged, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a heatwave.

Joel’s grip on you was firm, his hand pressing against your waist, keeping you pinned close to him. 

You could feel the tension radiating off him, his body tight with barely-contained anger and something else—something darker, more possessive. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched as he stared down at you, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to hold himself back.

But he wasn’t holding back anymore.

“You have no idea, do you?” Joel muttered, his voice rough and low as his eyes raked over you. “ Walkin’ around, gettin’ too close, thinkin’ I’m just gonna keep savin’ your ass without takin’ anything in return.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sunk in.

You’d always known Joel was different, but this… this was something else entirely. His eyes were burning with an intensity you hadn’t seen before, and the way he looked at you, the way he held you, sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can’t fuckin’ hold back no more,” Joel growled, his hand sliding up your side, rough and possessive as his fingers traced your skin under your shirt. “Every time I save you, every damn time, you get closer. You think I don’t notice?”

You blinked up at him, your pulse racing. “I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” Joel snapped, his hand moving to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You’ve been pushin’ me. You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, actin’ all innocent, like you don’t know what you’re doin’.” His thumb brushed over your lips, rough and demanding.

“You owe me, darlin’. You owe me for every time I’ve kept you alive.”

Your breath came in shaky gasps, your body trembling under his touch as you stared up at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re mine now - my responsibility,” Joel growled, his voice low and rough as his hand slipped lower, his fingers trailing down your body with deliberate intent.

“You understand that? You owe me, and it’s time you start payin’ me back.”

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning as Joel’s words sank in. The way he spoke, the way his body pressed against yours, left no room for doubt. Joel wasn’t asking anymore.

He was taking, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck as his fingers tightened around your waist, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

“You’re too fuckin’ pretty and sweet to keep walkin’ around like you don’t know what you do to me. You need to learn, and I’m gonna teach you.”

His words sent a jolt through you, your heart racing as his hands moved over your body. 

You could feel the heat of him, the raw power in the way he held you, and it made your head spin. You didn’t know what to do—didn’t know if you should fight him or let him take what he wanted. But the way he touched you, the way he looked at you like you were his, made it impossible to resist.

“You’ve been drivin’ me crazy,” Joel growled, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low rasp. “I’ve been watchin’ you, waitin’, but I ain’t waitin’ anymore. You’re mine now, and you’re gonna thank me the way I deserve.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, his grip tightening as he held you against him, his voice dark and commanding. “You’re gonna give me what I want, and you’re gonna like it.”

His words hung in the air, thick with tension and promise, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as Joel’s hand slid down to your hips, fingers gripping you tightly.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been wanting this,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, sending waves of heat through your body. “Every time I save you, I think about what I could do to you. What I want to take from you.”

You swallowed hard, the way he spoke igniting something deep within you. “Joel, I—” but he silenced you with a fierce kiss, his mouth capturing yours with a possessiveness that made your head spin.

You melted against him, feeling the heat radiating off his body, the raw intensity of his desire overwhelming your senses.

“You feel my cock, baby?” he growled, pressing his hard bulge against you, his hands roaming over your skin, exploring every curve and contour.

“That’s what you do to me. You think I can just keep saving your ass without gettin’ something in return? I need something to stay motivated.”

His fingers found the waistband of your pants again, tugging them down your legs with a firm yank. You gasped, a rush of air escaping your lips as he tossed them aside, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before him.

“You owe me for every damn time,” he said, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you, bare and trembling. “And I’m gonna collect.”

He knelt before you, his gaze locked onto your slick folds - all spread open with your little clit twitching - and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks.

“Finally gettin’ to see this sweet little pussy up close,” he growled, his voice low and dripping with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

Before you could utter a word, his mouth was on you, devouring you with a fervor that made your body jerk in response.

His tongue slid over your folds with slow, deliberate strokes, dragging across your wetness, tasting you as if he had been starved for this moment. 

The pressure of his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently at first, before increasing his intensity, pulling a helpless gasp from your lips.

"Shh," he murmured against you, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "Just take it. This is what you’re here for. This is my payment."

His tongue began to circle your clit, his movements slow and purposeful, as if savoring every second. The wet heat of his mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and the rough texture of his tongue made your legs tremble uncontrollably.

His lips closed around your swollen bud again, sucking harder now, each pull dragging you deeper into the haze of pleasure he was building within you.

“Look at you,” he muttered darkly, his voice a growl vibrating against your core. “This little cunt… soaking for me. My good little girl - can’t think for herself, hm?”

His fingers joined the rhythm, sliding through your wet folds, teasing your entrance but never giving you exactly what you craved.

He kept you on edge, his fingers barely entering, only to pull back, his tongue working in perfect sync as he sucked harder on your clit, then flicked it mercilessly. You could feel the pressure building inside you, every nerve alight with need, but he was in no rush. He wanted to enjoy this, to savor the control he had over you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice filled with satisfaction as he pulled back just enough to speak. “This is my pussy. Look at how wet you are for me. I’m the only one who gets to do this to you, the only one who’s gonna make you fall apart like this.”

Without warning, he sucked your clit hard, his teeth grazing over it ever so slightly, biting your sweet pulsing clit - making your body jolt with a mix of pleasure and pain that left you gasping.

The bite was just enough to send a shock through you, but before you could fully react, his tongue was back, flicking fast over your sensitive bud, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and full of dark possessiveness. “This little pussy is mine to use whenever I want. You’re gonna take it and keep quiet.”

His fingers slid inside you then, filling you with a firm, confident thrust. He moved them in and out slowly, deliberately, matching the rhythm of his tongue as it continued its assault on your clit. The combined sensation of his fingers stretching you and his mouth working your swollen bud had your body trembling, the tension building impossibly high.

He sucked hard again, his lips sealing around your clit, tongue swirling over it as he thrust his fingers deeper. His possessive growls vibrated against your skin, adding to the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. He bit down gently once more, his teeth grazing your sensitive clit, and the shock of it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Take it,” he commanded, his voice rough, his breath hot against your core. “I’m not letting up until I’ve gotten everything.”

Your body was on fire, the relentless teasing and flicking of his tongue pushing you higher, the pressure in your core coiling tighter with every thrust of his fingers.

You were close—so close—but he wasn’t going to let you have it easily. He pulled back for a moment, admiring the way you writhed, utterly helpless against the pleasure he was giving you.

“You’re not gonna forget this,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours with a dark intensity. “Every time you take a step, you’re gonna remember who this fuckin’ pussy belongs to.”

Then, without warning, his mouth was back on you, sucking hard, his fingers moving faster, more demanding.

He thrust them deeper inside you, curling them just right as his tongue flicked over your clit again and again, the relentless pressure pushing you right to the edge.

Your body tensed, every muscle tight as the wave built inside you, ready to break. “Cum for me, little girl,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with dominance. “Cum for me, and don’t you dare hold back.”

And with one last powerful flick of his tongue, you shattered, the wave crashing over you as your body convulsed under the intensity of your orgasm.

The pleasure hit you in crashing waves, your body trembling uncontrollably as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last bit of your release. His fingers didn’t stop, thrusting slowly as your walls clenched around him, your cries filling the room as he took everything from you.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with your wetness as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with dark satisfaction. “That’s it,” he said softly, his voice still rough. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine.”

As you were there, breathless, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, he leaned down again, his lips grazing over your inner thigh - his voice low and possessive. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He loomed over you, every inch of him radiating raw, unrestrained control. His hands slid over your thighs, spreading you wide beneath him as his gaze locked on your slick folds, his eyes filled with possessive hunger. 

He moved up - his cock pressed against you, thick and hard, teasing your entrance but not giving you what you so desperately craved.

His control over you was absolute, and he loved every second of it.

“My sweet little girl,” he growled, his voice low and full of dark intent. His fingers traced along your wetness, teasing your sensitive skin, the heat of him pressing harder against your entrance, but still not pushing inside. 

“You don’t even know how much you need me, do you? You think you can take care of yourself? No, baby. I do that for you. I keep you safe, I protect you, and you’ll give me what I deserve in return.”

He thrust forward suddenly, filling you with one hard stroke, making you gasp as he stretched you to the limit.

His cock pulsed inside you, thick and unrelenting, and your body tightened around him instinctively. “That’s it,” he growled, his hips grinding against yours. “You feel that? That’s me taking what’s mine.”

His pace was slow at first, each thrust deliberate, as if he was savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you harder against him as he began to move faster, driving into you with more force. “This pussy belongs to me, and I’ll keep you safe, baby. You’ll never have to worry about anything… as long as you let me take care of you like this. As long as you give me this tight cunt to fuck.”

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as his hips moved against yours, his voice low and rough. His cock now pushing deeper into your gripping cunt.

“You don’t have to think, baby. I’ve got you. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I make the decisions now, you just let me take what I need from you. Yeah?”

Each word sent a shiver through you, the possessiveness in his tone making the heat between you burn even hotter. His cock drove into you harder now, each thrust hitting deeper, as if he was determined to claim every part of you. 

His hand slid up to your throat, gripping lightly, just enough to remind you who was in control. “You don’t need to think. You don’t need to decide. I do that for you. I keep you safe, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

His pace quickened, each thrust harder and more demanding, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.

His grip tightened on your throat, his thumb pressing gently on your pulse as his hips slammed into yours with relentless force. “You like that?” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Me taking care of you? You’ll never feel pain, never be unsafe, as long as you’re mine.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath hot and ragged as he whispered against your skin.

“You couldn’t survive without me. You need me to protect you… and this is what you give me in return. This sweet fuckin’ pussy, all mine. I can feel how much she needs me, how tight she’s squeezing me.”

His thrusts became erratic, more desperate as the pleasure built between you. His cock filled you perfectly, his hands gripping you tightly as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “The only one who makes you come. You don’t need to think, baby. I do that for you.”

The pressure inside you built higher, your body tightening around him as he drove you toward the breaking point. His hands moved down your body, gripping your hips harder, pulling you against him with each powerful thrust. “You’re mine to protect, mine to fuck, mine to keep safe. And I’ll keep doing it as long as you keep giving me this pussy.”

His words were pushing you closer and closer, the raw intensity of his voice mixing with the physical sensation of him inside you.

His hips moved faster, harder, as he took you completely, the rhythm of his thrusts relentless and commanding.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with dominance.

“I want to feel this cunt squeeze my cock. I want to feel you give me everything. That’s what you’re here for, hm? To make me feel good. To keep me happy.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body tightening around him as the wave of pleasure crashed through you. You cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm tore through you, your body trembling beneath him as he kept thrusting, driving you through every wave of release.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. “You’re perfect for me. I’m the only one who gets this, the only one who makes you feel like this.”

His body trembled as he came, his groans mixing with your gasps, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you completely.

The weight of him stayed pressed against you, his breath heavy and ragged, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed right there, still buried deep inside you, his cock warm and hard within you, as though he couldn’t bear to lose the connection between your bodies.

For a long, quiet moment, the world seemed to stop. His chest rose and fell against yours, your heartbeats gradually slowing, but his cock remained where it was, still throbbing slightly, refusing to let go. His hands moved down your sides, gentle but possessive, his touch tracing over your skin as though reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

“Imma stay inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in your ear. His lips brushed against your neck, planting soft, possessive kisses along your skin. “You feel too good, baby. I’m not ready to leave yet.”

He shifted slightly, his body still pressed firmly against yours, his cock still resting deep within you, a steady warmth radiating between your bodies.

His fingers moved slowly, lazily, slipping between your legs to where you were still slick with your combined release. His fingertips grazed your swollen clit, making your body jolt, even in the soft afterglow of what had just happened. 

“You’re still so sensitive,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers continued their slow, teasing exploration. 

He barely touched you, just enough to keep the sensation alive, his cock twitching slightly inside you as he shifted his hips ever so gently. “But you can handle it, can’t you, baby? Just let me stay right here, let me keep feeling you.”

The slow circling of his fingers, combined with the fullness of him still inside you, kept your senses buzzing, every nerve in your body still on edge. His hand moved with the lightest touch, but it was enough to keep the heat simmering just beneath the surface.

You felt the weight of his possessiveness in his every movement, his control over you still present, even in the gentleness of his touch.

He lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing your cheek, his voice softer but still filled with that dark promise.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ve got you. You just stay right here… under me, with my cock still inside you. This is where you belong. Can’t do nothin’ wrong here.”

His words made your body shiver, even as his fingers continued their lazy circling, barely touching but enough to keep you sensitive, aware of him.

Your breath hitched, your mind spinning with the intensity of the connection you shared. The control he had over you, even in this moment of softness, was undeniable, and a question formed on your lips—tentative, but needing to be asked.

“So you’ll keep me safe?” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of need and vulnerability. “You won’t leave me now… and ever?”

For the first time, you spoke, and the words seemed to hang in the air between you. His gaze softened slightly as he looked down at you, but the possessiveness in his eyes remained.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, slow kiss, his hand still resting on your thigh, fingers still gently teasing you.

“I’ll never leave you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice warm but full of that same commanding promise. “You’re mine, baby. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you from everything. You’ll never have to think for yourself again… not when I’m here to take care of you.”

His fingers slowed, his touch even lighter now, more like a reminder of the control he held over your body.

His cock was still inside you, the warmth of him filling you completely as he spoke, each word laced with dark satisfaction. “This is where you belong, with me inside you. I’m the only one who can keep you safe… the only one who gets to touch you like this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his lips soft but possessive. His hand moved up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as if to reassure you of the promise he was making.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always protect you… as long as you keep giving me everything.”

He stayed there, his body still pressed against yours, his cock still warm inside you, the closeness between you tangible and intense. His kisses grew softer, lingering, his fingers still gently teasing at your oversensitive skin, keeping you connected, keeping you grounded in the possessive warmth of his embrace.

“And remember,” he said softly, a hint of menace in his tone, “there’s no turning back now.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader smut | blood, cum play, choking, dubious consent, victim reader, vaginal fingering, rough oral (reader receiving) only read if comfortable consuming dark content

🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️

The last things you should have remembered were the feel of his fingernails digging into your throat, the hot wash of his breath across your face. Your consciousness began to fade, the details of the world around you melting into an inky well of nothingness, of peace. Of Death. But just as you’d grown comfortable in the palm of eternity’s hand, it released you. Hell wouldn’t have you so soon, and neither would Death. Because despite your body’s weary yearnings, the Devil wasn’t finished playing with you yet…

Lurching back to consciousness, your eyes snapped open onto the clown. His black gaze, framed in stark white, carved through your skull like a rusted dagger. His sick smile, painted black, spread wider over his blood-spattered face. You shivered in his grip, his hands still wrapped around your throat, effortlessly pinning you in place against the bathroom wall. Without freeing you in the slightest, the clown removed one hand from your throat and let it drop to his side. He stared at you, unmoving, watching in silent amusement as you writhed under his grip.

Slowly, methodically, the clown dragged his lowered hand along your hip. His fingers played with the plump flesh there, pressing into the softness covering your bones. His touch was curious, experimental; he was studying you. With your back still fixed against the wall, you couldn’t drop your eyes to see what he was doing; but you felt everything. The clown’s hand dipped between your legs, his blood-slicked fingers nestling around the curves of your cunt. In a twisted act of betrayal, your body responded to his touch, your clit pulsing against the clown’s filthy touch.

His smile never wavered, and you found yourself unable to meet his eyes, knowing you’d see your own aroused, shameful expression mirrored in their dark reflection. He teased his fingers between your lips, gently spreading you. The crusted fabric of his gloves scratched just right against your clit, and you found yourself lightly humping at the friction, chasing the stimulation and hating yourself for it all at once. Without warning, he sank two fingers inside you, his eyebrows twitching in delight as you moaned in response. He continued to fuck you, one hand around your throat and the other inside you, till your legs were trembling against the wall he had you pinned against. Warm liquid dripped down your inner thighs, and whether it was blood or cum, you couldn’t have cared less. Growling weakly under the clown’s control, you allowed the sick, forbidden pleasure of his touch to guide you to climax. Bucking on top of his hand, you came with a guttural sob as he continued to hold your throat (and life) in the palm of one hand, and your cunt in the other.

He tore his fingers from inside you, enjoying the way you winced at the sting. Pulling you down by your throat, the clown had you on your knees in front of him. The sound of fabric tearing was followed immediately by a dull pressure filling your ears as the clown shoved his member between your lips. Your vision was blurry, a mix of black and white lurching together in front of you as the clown brutally took your throat for his own pleasure. That feeling of fading returned, consciousness dimming in your peripheral as he once again denied you oxygen. Your eyelids fluttered, gaze drifting upward and meeting his, drops of sweat and blood trickling down his forehead as he fucked you within an inch of life.

Ripping himself suddenly from your throat, the clown threw you onto your stomach. The cold tiled floor stung as your bruised, bare skin made hard contact with it. He ripped at the already-torn fabric of your tank top, exposing your back completely as he crouched over you. Thick, warm drops of semen spattered your skin, the clown panting softly as he relieved himself onto you. Moments later, you felt his fingers gliding over your back, manipulating his release into what felt like curves and shapes on your skin.

The clown rose to his feet over you, admiring his work. You heard him take a step backward, and looked discreetly to see what he was doing. Reaching for a large black garbage bag, the clown slid the knife he’d used to pierce your skin earlier inside it. You felt a rush of hope suddenly, seeing that he chose not to retrieve any new weapons from the bag. He tucked his cock back inside his clothes, the tear he’d made to fuck you visible in the front of his costume. He slung the bag over his shoulder, the metallic clinking of knives and god-knows-what-other kinds of weaponry sending a shiver down your spine, along with his cum growing cold on your back. With a final flash of his sick, wide grin, the clown waved goodbye and left the room.

You waited a good ten minutes to make sure he was really gone before you dared to move. Clutching the sink for support, you shakily lifted yourself upright, your thighs trembling as you willed yourself to stand. You reached for a towel from the dispenser, running it under some warm water and bringing it behind you to clean yourself up. But before you wiped away the cold, jellied cum from your back, you were able to clearly read what the clown had used his fingers to write in it: “A-R-T.”