#tw killers

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

Spooky season is almost there...who you gonna call?

[rhys-ravenfeather]

I had a vision.

[attyrocious]

like hiring a horse to dogsit

[mothisbad]

random creepypasta doodles ive posted everywhere except for here lol

[mcnotok]

[one-time-i-dreamt]

There was a serial killer on the loose, and everyone called them The Clapping Ass Man because he would slowly clap as he approached victims to scare them. And then the internet stepped and added the ass part. The killer did not like this and tried to change it, but the name was set. The name also lead to many people looking for The Clapping Ass Man to “get some of that juicy booty” (dream quote). This disturbed the killer so much that he just stopped killing.

[incorrectbatfam]

Rating mental breakdown spots in Gotham

Gotham subways: 5/10. Can blast emo music through your headphones. Train occasionally stalls. Other passengers too burned out to notice you. 

Gotham U: 10/10. You're likely not the only one. School mascot hands out free tissues. 

Batburger: 8/10. Semi-public depending on seating. Tears make the fries soggy. Line cooks are wrestling in the background. 

Crime Alley: 0/10. People think you're drunk. You're a prime mugging target. Kids laugh at you.

Sewers: -2/10. Smells bad. 50% chance of Croc attack. 

Iceberg Lounge: 3/10. Judgy rich snobs. Bathroom full of people doing coke. Drinks too expensive to drown yourself in. 

Wayne Gala: 4/10. Also judgy rich people. Must dress formally. Can't stick your head in chocolate fountain. Dick Grayson will become your therapist whether you like it or not. 

[fantauno]

in 2024……

[dxrkl1ght]

CW: Panic attack, musophobia, and scratches!!

everything's okay...

Part 5/5

- Part 1/5

- Part 2/5

- Part 3/5

- Part 4/5

DCA! Serial Killer AU by @ayyy-imma-ninja & @moonlit-dreamers

This comic is not canon to the AU!! This is just made for fun :)

[bunrux]

who gave them these

[lutinsart]

Creepypasta fanart in 2024?!!

[moondirti]

working at a hardware store, you're too familiar with the odd customer. couples who come in with specifications so detailed, you can only imagine they're for kink purposes; women old enough to be knocked out by the fumes of the paint they purchase, looking to remodel after their husbands passing; men on the verge of a mid-life crises, more devoted to their lawns than they are their families. and though it takes a couple hours of dedicated customer service to get them out the door, satisfied with their purchase, that comes with the job that sees you paid. so it's not so bad. generally fine.

a one and done sort of thing.

(of course, that's because none of them hold a candle to this freak.)

cargo net, nylon cordage, duct tape, disinfectant. all that's missing is a shovel, and the police wouldn't fault you for calling this purchase in.

"moving?" you ask, tongue lashing against your best interests in face of the oppressive presence across the counter. a monster of a man, almost too big to fit through the store. thick arms and neck, a healthy serving of fat over every muscle, filling the space of his shirt beyond what it was sewn to handle. the camo balaclava is both ridiculous and an essential component to the intimidation he strikes in you, framing a set of eyes that squint at your remark.

(jesus, you didn't think people like him existed in real life.)

he looks like he's about to bite back, but decides against it.

"hunting." he says, then nudges the objects towards you like he has somewhere urgent to be at 10 pm. but okay, fine, you can take a hint. you scan the suspicious list of things and tally up his total.

"uh, 85 quid. thanks."

"bloody extortionate." the man mutters, stacking his purchases upon one, curled arm, before throwing a pink note your way.

nonplussed, you don't notice the offence immediately. the matter of payment is instead superseded by his offhand exit, his shoulder shoving open the door, head bowing to shrug out. and you watch as he walks across the parking lot, long strides taking him there in three steps, and watch as he slips around the brick perimeter. only then does your stomach settle.

but at that point, it's far too late.

50 pounds stare smugly up at you.

that asshole underpaid you.

by the grace of the gods (your manager), your shift ends soon after. it's a wonder you manage to get to your car at all, migraine splitting your skull in two. though it should be doing something to alleviate the pain, all your body wants to focus on is the lightened bulk of your wallet, now missing 35 quid after paying the difference out of pocket.

you take the time once you're seated to smash a fist repeatedly onto your steering wheel.

"fucking fuck! cock sucking bastard, son of a bitch!"

the screaming, though cathartic, drills your sorrows further into your head. you're temporarily blinded when your head slams back onto the headrest, phosphenes overwhelming your vision. little stars, ropes, knives and dots dancing over the windscreen.

it's a miracle you're able to discern the eyes in your rearview mirror as real.

"well, which is it?" the brute from earlier derides. his hand comes over your jaw, big enough to trap the whole lower half of your face in his grip. tucks his pinky under your chin, too, the makeshift muzzle keeping you from biting. it's all you can do to breath — long, filtered gulps of air, the space between his fingers smelling of salt. something sticky smears onto your nose. "am i a bastard, or the son of a bitch?"

not a one and done thing, then.

[st4ticc]

[signanothername]

That’s how friendship works right? To always be there?

[njere]

The bitter end

[evilvvithin]

KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE stephen chiodo, 1988