#terrifier fan fiction

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

[horrorwhores-posts]

Halloween haze

Summary: you lose your boyfriend at a Halloween party and things get a little hazy.

word count: 2,605

warnings: SMUT (minors do not interact), plot before porn, gore, murder, infidelity.

Authors notes: first time ever writing smut so if it bad please let me know 🥹

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Dressing up, whether it be spooky or sexy, was always fun. This year my boyfriend decided to take me to one of his frat parties to celebrate with booze and music. I waded through the crowd of tightly packed bodies, balancing my drink above my head to keep it from spilling. When I was finally free from the mob of drunk party goers I smoothed down my skirt. Today I was dressed pretty simply, just a black tutu, a white crop top with a bow tie, and clown makeup adoring my face. It was the easiest thing I could muster at the last minute. I made my way back to where I left my boyfriend, before I went to get my drink. The spot where he was sitting on the couch was empty and I scanned the bodies around me to see if I could see him. Slightly tipsy and not minding my step I accidentally bumped into a hard, warm body. My hand gripped onto a white, satiny costume to try and balance myself despite my spinning vision. I craned my neck up the tall figure to see a fellow black and white clown. His costume is a lot more intricate than my own. I finally looked at his face and he smiled down at me with a big smile.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. But hey, at least we’re matching.” I giggle my last words as I let go of his costume. His smile seemed to widen as he gestured to himself and then back at me, giving me a thumbs up. I drunkenly giggle again before I ask my next question. “Hey have you um- seen my boyfriend? He’s brunette, dressed as the Grim reaper. He was just over there.” I gesture over to where he was sitting on the couch. “But now he’s gone.” I look back at my fellow clown companion with the best puppy eyes I could muster. The clown frowned at my face before shrugging his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. I huffed with annoyance. Not at my new friend of course, but at my boyfriend who was notorious for ditching me and showing up out of nowhere an hour later with a plausible excuse. “Well..” I sighed. “Thanks anyway, if you see him tell him to find me, alright?” I looked at the clown expectantly. He placed his palm to his forehead in a salute and marched away. I giggled as we parted ways.

Continuing my hunt for my boyfriend, I found myself on the second floor with the bedrooms, bodies pressed against the walls in feverious making out. My eyes landed on my boyfriend’s room, the door was shut and I could see his red light emanating from under the door. My stomach sank even in my drunken state. I was VERY familiar with that red light, with all the nights I spent under and on top of him. Everything started to spin as I got closer to the door, the cold metal of the knob nipped at my hot skin. With a shuddering breath, I twisted my wrist, cracking the door just a smidge. I could hear faint moaning and the sound of skin slapping skin. I closed my eyes as I leaned towards to crack, praying silently that I was overthinking. With one last shaking breath I willed myself to open my eyes. My world came crashing down as I confirmed it was him. I know that head full of brown mussed hair, those broad shoulders, and that big tattoo on his back. My eyes watered as I fought back the urge to sob, or to wretch, I’m not fully sure. As I backed away from the door my body collided with a familiar body. I craned up and saw the clown from before. He frowned at the crack in the door and finally back at my tear stained face. He gently caressed the side of my face, his thumb wiping my tears away. The surprising act of kindness caused the dam to break behind my eyes. A sob ripped from my chest as I roughly pushed past my new found friend, running to get as far away from the scene as possible.

Before I knew it I found myself in the backyard, on my hands and knees, gagging into the grass. The cry’s that came from me were almost animalistic, as a crowd gathered around me. A body gently kneeled next to my shivering body and wrapped a thick, heavy object around my shoulders. I looked up through wet lashes and saw Trevor. My boyfriend’s best friend. He gave me a look of pity and understanding as he gently rubbed my shoulders in a reassuring manner.

“Come on, leave the girl alone!…” he barked as he picked me up and made his way through the crowd. “Get out of my way!” He pushed us through the crowd and led me away from the wandering eyes. We ended up in a little gazebo surrounded by tall, dense bushes that provided us the isolation we needed. Gently placing me on the bench, he sat next to me and gently rubbed my back. My crying had died down to sniffles, gazing at the ground. Trevor moved his hand away from my back and I heard him shuffle around for a little bit until I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter click. Before I could fully register there was a cigarette in my line of sight. With quivering hands I grasped into the small stick and brought it to my chapped lips. Inhaling the smoke deeply, I felt the familiar burn at the back of my throat. “How long.” I felt my raw voice croak. I felt Trevor tense next to me and I slowly moved my head to look at him. He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t want to know.” I felt my heartbreak even more and something bubbled in me. Taking a drag, I tried to calm my nerves but I couldn't help the question that came out of my mouth. “Has it been the same bitch?” I asked him, a hint of anger lacing my words. He looked up from his fidgeting hands in surprise and when he made eye contact he knew I was playing. “At first, no. But he’s been consistently seeing this one girl lately.”

“Lately.” I chuckled in disbelief, taking a puff of my cigarette.

“Yeah. A freshman, Cassidy smith. He’s been fucking her for three months now.” He murmured. Something about that sentence stoked the fire in my chest. I took a final hit of my nicotine stick before throwing it down the ground. I stood and pretty much marched back to the house, completely ignoring Trevor’s pleas to come back and not to go in. My chest heaved as I walked through the back door, my rage spiked as I looked around the crowd. I must have looked feral because all the eyes I met had fear laced through them. I stomped towards and up the stairs with a passion. Once again I was face to face with my boyfriend’s bedroom. The same red light was glowing around the border of the door. I debated on pounding and screaming on the wood, or just barging in. Deciding on the latter I gripped the handle and pushed the door open. “You stupid son of a-“ My eyes finally focused on the scene in front of me, and all the rage drained from me. The only emotion I was left with was terror as I slowly backed away from the horrid sight in front of me. My boyfriend, or what was left of him, was laying on the ground. His head resembled ground beef and his body was mutilated, his arms were broken at the elbows and one of his legs was crushed. His stomach was gutted open and his insides were spread out everywhere. Even some of his intestines hug from the ceiling fan. Still backing up, I heard the door shut behind me. I jumped and turned to see my new friend. His black and white Silhouette was covered in blood and his face was emotionless. He stepped towards me and I took an unconscious step back.

“Did you do this?” I asked cautiously. He smiled and opened his hands out in a tada motion. My head was reeling with a lot of different emotions as the clown stood in front of me, his smile faltering as I stayed silent. His eyes lit up and he stuck a finger out towards me, telling me to wait. He turned and fumbled around until he finally turned to me, his hands clasped around something. He knelt down on one knee and opened his hands to reveal his gift. In his large palm sat a severed female finger, with a beautiful pearl ring adoring it. “For me?” I asked in shock, my hand flying to my chest, feeling my heart beat rapidly. He nodded enthusiastically and then finally looked at the gift himself. Scrunching his eyebrows together he tried removing the ring from the finger, but it seemed to be stuck. Anger flashed on his face as he stuck the digit into his mouth and yanked back. That seemed to cause the ring to dislodge and he spit the phalange onto the floor. The pearl band sat in his large hand, sticking my left hand out, he slid it onto my ring finger. Before standing back to his full height he gave my hand a gentle kiss. I felt a blush creep over my face as I shyly hung my head, looking at the ring on my finger.

I felt a large hand softly stroke my cheek, slowly dipping down to my chin, pulling it up to look at the man in front of me. My breath caught in my throat as he bent over to my height. His dark eyes were swirling with emotion, and his long nose lightly tapped against mine. I let out a breathy chuckle and his shoulders shook with a silent laugh. I finally closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his. They were surprisingly soft as our lips melded together. I felt the man let go of my face and slowly let his hands travel down my sides.

His hands halted on my hips, deeply kneading the skin there. The kiss deepened as I softly whined into his mouth. Our tongues danced as his hands slipped from my hips down to the swell of my ass, roughly grasping it, lifting me to his height. I wrapped my arms around his neck as my legs went around his waist, moaning as he lifted me like I was weightless. He broke the kiss with a smirk as he quickly turned and pressed my body against the cold wall. A shiver wracked up my spine as he pinned me there, his arms braced on either side of my head with his thigh bracing me up, and meeting with my thinly covered core. I needily ground my hips down as I whined. The friction caused my sensitive clit to throb. The clown in front of me watched me with his full attention. His mouth hung open as his hand slowly moved from the wall, sneaking up underneath my top and grabbing onto my bare breast. His thumb swiped over my nipple right as my clit rubbed perfectly against his leg, and my orgasm came to me in waves. The clown muffled the loud moan that escaped me by crashing his lips against mine, continuing to tweak my nipple to help me ride out my high as my hips slowly stopped jerking against him. Breathing heavily, I slumped against the wall as he grabbed my ass, lifting me up yet again. My arms limply supported myself as he turned back around and started walking. After a few steps he came to a halt, and I suddenly felt the sensation of falling.

I landed on something soft and wet. Realizing the clown dropped me on to my boyfriend's blood soaked bed, I felt another wave of want flow straight to my core. I perched myself on my arms as I looked at the black and white clad man in front of me. His smirk grew as he watched my eyes follow his hand down to the very noticeable tent in his outfit. His head was thrown back as he palmed himself over the satin material of his costume. My legs slowly widened for him as my cunt clenched around nothing. He looked back at me with hooded eyes and watched as I slowly slid my panties to the side. I dipped my fingers into a puddle of blood that was next to me; the thick slime coating them. I watched the man in front of me, his eyes locking onto my hand as I slowly led my fingers back to my aching cunt. The cold liquid caused me to close my eyes and hiss in pleasure as I dragged my fingers around my still tender bud. The sound of ripping fabric caught my attention, suddenly looking back at the clown. There was a new hole on his costume and his hard dick poked through. It was red, hard (almost pulsing), long and curved. My mouth watered and he gripped the base and slowly stroked his length. Precum dripped from the tip as he leant over me, slowly dragging his tip through my slit. I fell onto my back as his head nudged my clit, moaning embarrassingly loud. Slowly trailing back down, his tip sat at my entrance. I locked eyes with him and whispered out a breathy “please”, he slowly slipped into me. My eyes rolled back with my mouth hung open, he stilled as he was fully seated inside me. His hand gripped the back of my neck and yanked it up a bit. My eyes fluttered open and he looked back at me, almost as if waiting for the go ahead.

“Fuck me.” I almost commanded the man as a sinister smile broke out across his face. His hands immediately gripped my hips with a bruising strength, and snapped his hips out of me. With the tip barely still inside me, his dick snapped back into me. I yelped as he continued the fast and brutal pounding, the tip of his dick dragging right against that special spot, causing me to see stars. The knot in my stomach continued to tighten as the sound of my wet pussy taking him filled the room. Tears fell out of the corner of my eyes as my mind melted into pleasure. I could feel my knuckles turning white with how hard I was gripping the sticky sheets below me, almost at the brink or my climax. I suddenly felt a tight grip on my throat as my oxygen and blood supply was cut off. The room started spinning as I felt my pussy clench him with a vice grip. My orgasm crashed through my body as my vision blurred and my pulse pumped in my temples. I clawed at his arm as his hips stuttered and I felt him cum inside me. Finally his hand released its grip from my neck and I heaved a breath into my burning lungs. His large figure laid limp over my body and I felt sleep overtake me. As I curled up under his warm body like a blanket, I finally felt protected and at peace.

[funtimeisparty]

🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿

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

🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿🤡🎪🍿

[batcavescolony]

I need a 911 time travel fic (I don't care about the logistics we had coma dream and ghosts I want time travel) just so s1 Buck and Chimney can be told that they're now family, that Chimney marries Bucks sister and they have kid(s) together. I think that would break them, also over all s1 118 seeing the family that they're gonna have, Imagine it.

[twyrrinren]

while in other fandoms mpreg is mainly written as angst or fluff, in laios' case it would be HORROR. like he's terrified of having children? and also a baby is nurtured by his parent's body???

[gowonzu2]

The Glory Girlfriends Art by Mikezzzzz

[ndostairlyrium]

ah

I love the smell of fics about the mundanification of mafia in the morning <3

[enthblaze]

bye tell me why im watching a horror gameplay at 5am when i have debilitating paranoia and fear of the dark

[daisyrayne]

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

Title: Not Scared

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mantraamo]

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝟸 ? 🪚🩸

𝙳𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜-𝚘𝚗-𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚞 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝚂𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢!

'𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍'𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚏é!

[elliotts-personal-property]

Hey y’all how would we feel about getting a Joe one shot??

I have an idea in mind because I was listening to this song I love and like that… BAM inspiration hit me.

I’ve never posted any of my writing on here so that’s a bit scary but… if y’all are interested I will.

[strangererotica]

PART ONE

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*THWACK!*

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

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

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

[silencingspellsongs]

would it be crazy to say that i think playing a ttrpg type game based in the redactedverse would be like so much fun actually 🫣

don't ask me what system or how to adapt it to work because i don't have the technical brain for that, i just know that the worldbuilding and the magic system and everything is so interesting and well thought out and the idea of making and roleplaying ocs in this universe with other fans seems like it would be sooo much fun can you tell i'm having withdrawals from my dnd group not playing for months and so i'm projecting it onto my other interests 🫠

[funtimeisparty]

💉🤡🩸⛓🤡🩸🔪🤡🪓🩸💉🤡🩸⛓🤡🩸🔪🤡🪓🩸💉🤡🩸⛓🤡

Art the clown(SONG)

💉🤡🩸⛓🤡🩸🔪🤡🪓🩸💉🤡🩸⛓🤡🩸🔪🤡🪓🩸💉🤡🩸⛓🤡

[blueiight]

Coming slowly to know his evil, or being catapulted into it ... was all the same. I wanted none of it finally. And, deserving nothing better, I closed up like a spider in the flame of a match. And even Armand who was my constant companion, and my only companion, existed at a great distance from me, beyond that veil which separated me from all living things, a veil which was a form of shroud. (IWTV, 1976)

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

It's dead af at work. We got through our four reservations and have had no walk ins, and my manager won't cut me because he hates doing my job (and we're friends and he knows I need the money) and tbh I don't want to be cut (can't really afford to be) but I'm actually going insane from sitting on my stool, going through Tumblr, Insta, Kindle, then standing up and going through those apps again, then sitting down and going through those apps again, etc. it's nice to get paid to do nothing, because tbh if I was cut then I'd just be doing this but in my bed, but I'm getting so fucking restless.