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DAVID HOWARD THORNTON as ART THE CLOWN

I vote that Galaxy Con records more footage of him getting into costume for photo op sessions

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Feeding my boyfriend

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reblog if you’re a sick fuck

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New fic gamers 🖤 Art the clown/reader. Told from Art’s perspective and deals with Art’s childhood/ his human side coming out more. Tw for violence and abuse.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67102807

I will start cross posting from ao3 to tumblr if that’s ok, it’s just much easier to edit on ao3. Minors please dni.

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Art without his getup… my brain is rotting even more

Found this on Reddit, go nuts guys.

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Anyone else love Aron Beauregard? I’ve been finding a ton of inspiration in his work especially with how he handles the brutal vengeance of people who hurt kids (I do love me some creeps getting sliced and diced)

I’ve powered through both Slobs, handyman, the cuck (actual title), and playground.

Currently reading through the short story anthology New Candy

TLDR, would anyone be interested in a splatterpunk approach compared to my usual fluffy snuggly terrifier stories?

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Art x Reader

Art keeps you warm in a blizzard. Little drabble to get back in the swing of things before I get to all the wonderful prompts everyone has sent while I’ve been away!!

Fluff, cuddles, Art being Art. Sfw. Minors dni please.

Half Empty, But Happy

The snow was coming down in sheets. You’d never seen an actual downpour of snow before, and in your current circumstance you hoped you wouldn’t again. You pulled your thin jacket around your frame as tight as you could. Your breath was nearly tangible and the mucus running from your nose froze and chapped your face, leaving it painfully raw and irritated. You sniffled at the discomfort and put your hands over your face. You breathe in to try and warm your painful extremities and nose but even the air escaping your lips feels frigid. In a way, it seems menacing how even as simple as this you can’t catch a break.

With a barely audible hiss, you withdraw into yourself as much as you can before straining your eyes against the darkness that surrounded you. The only light was the dimly flickering bulb of the bus stop and it cast all within its vicinity in a terrible darkness. The bus was already an hour late. You’d called the station more than a few times to make sure the bus was actually running and the dispatcher told you each time, with growing impatience, that it certainly was.

You checked your phone again. Ten past eleven at night. The walk home was a good hour and in this blizzard you reasoned you may not even make it home if you strayed too far from the oasis that was the bus stop. At least you were alone.

Granted being totally at near midnight was not ideal for anyone, but it certainly beat having to make awkward conversation with a stranger who may want to follow you home from the bus. You shake the thought from your head as a gust of wind tore through you, leaving you a shivering huddled mess.

As if hearing your thoughts, you could hear the sound of faint footsteps. At first they were too far away to judge their location, but it soon became apparent when you realized they were coming from your left and approaching at a leisurely pace. How could anyone so calmly and idly meander along when they were in the middle of the storm of the century.

The figure slowly came into view, a towering man dressed in nothing but a black and white jumpsuit and a black trash bag. The wind ripped through his clothes with ease but he seemed unbothered by the ferocity of the blizzard. As he entered the small area of light you could see his eyes were, and had been, fixated entirely upon you. The glittering black orbs burned in the darkness. His expression was slack, worn down. He mirrored you in his defeat as he plopped down beside of you.

He opened his mouth in an exaggerated sigh as he stretched, kicking his legs out and letting his arm stretch well into your personal space. There was nothing you could do about it, even if you wanted to. You were firmly locked in place from the agonizing cold and frost that clung to your hair and eyelashes. You flick your eyes to the man beside you and find he is watching you, face still devoid of expression as he tilted his head in open study of you.

Who was this guy? Who would dress up as a clown in a glacier? The temperatures had dropped so rapidly over the day they issued a state of emergency. But who were you to judge? You were dressed no better, a pair of work pants, a tee shirt, and your well-loved windbreaker. Didn’t you two make quite the pair, freezing your asses off as feet of snow heaped around you and steadily grew. Both of you looked simply ridiculous to the passersby in their nice warm cars.

You envied them, but tried not to covet what you did not have. You stole another look at your silent, towering companion. Out of the corner of your eye you could see his expression had changed: he was smiling.

Smiling?? Who the hell could have a cheerful grin and a tune to whistle in negative twenty degree weather. You rolled your eyes internally, it felt mocking. It felt like “if I can be happy so can you” inspirational porn. It rubbed you the wrong way but you had no energy, nor courage, to speak up. Instead you huddled into yourself more, going as far as to tuck your knees into your jacket.

There was a gentle touch on your shoulder and you turned your head to look fully this time, not just out of the corner of your eye. The man was smiling at you still, his eyes and nose crinkled in what looked like a snarl or a sneer. But his bared teeth spoke of joy and jubilation, like he knew some juicy secret that was lost to you.

Suddenly he moved his arm upward, as if inviting you. What was he inviting you to? His smile grew and he nodded his head slightly as if to say ‘it’s okay’. You furrowed your brow questioningly.

He straightened himself out, crossing his legs casually and let his arm rest behind you. It didn’t feel invasive, predatory, or creepy. It didn’t make you feel the way it did when other strange men got close to you. Something about him was strangely inviting. Though in the back of your mind you were screaming to run, the warmth radiating off him as too much to be ignored. It pulled you in and fulfilled a primal need, a craving and urge that was to its boiling point. You were so cold you were starting to get warm, and that scared you. False warmth spread through your fingers and toes, up to your arms and resting in your shoulders. The sensation was a relief, but you knew not to trust it.

It was what it was, you were in the beginning stages of frostbite. You look again to your companion and his invitation to cuddle. For a moment you were at a crossroads. There’s no way you’d make it the whole duration without some kind of damage and you’d prefer to keep your fingers and nose intact. Was this okay though? What if he swallowed you up and smashed you down into his mysterious trash bag? What if he gutted you right then and there and left your disemboweled corpse on the bench for others to find?

Perhaps listening to truecrime podcasts during most of your waking hours clouded your judgement, as so far the man had done nothing of concern. Exhausted, frozen, and in agony, you lean into him carefully and feel his hand rest on your back. He drew you into him more, his arm shielding the rest of you from the onslaught of wind.

You remained frozen in place, resisting the urge to nuzzle deep in the heat that radiated off him so much you could swear you saw steam sneaking out from under his collar. How was he so warm despite being in the same situation as you? In fact, he was wearing even less than you. Before you could question further, something else hit you- hard.

You did not recoil but held your breath as you realized you had sucked in a noseful of something wretched. It wasn’t even the body odor, it was earthier than that. He smelled like a childhood memory, an old forgotten doe urine-soaked hunting jacket left to marinate in the trunk with the discarded oil bottles. Though putrid, something about it did not necessarily offend you. In a way, it was comforting. To you, he didn’t smell bad exactly, but he smelled strong. Overpowering was an understatement.

Carefully, you allow him to pull you in closer and your head is resting against his chest. You feel covered by him, sheltered, protected. These are feelings that have long escaped you. Though it was only with a stranger for a brief moment, you welcomed the security that blossomed in your chest.

From the inside out you were glowing, a warm ember in your stomach that slowly illuminated its surroundings and drenched them. Warmth, true warmth, was slowly enveloping you. You wanted to close your eyes but resisted. As you stared at a loose thread on his suit, you wondered what choices in your life had led to this moment. Being snuggled by a potent stranger hadn’t even crossed your mind today, or ever.

You don’t understand why he’s doing this, but so far he hasn’t made a move. He’s remained stoic and still, his hand planted firmly on your shoulder with his arm encircled around your form to block out the cold.

In that moment, it dawns on you that you can feel something- air. There are small puffs of air rhythmically puffing against your scalp. Without thinking, you pull away a bit and look up at him. He greets you with a smile, still sniffing the air around you. Your cheeks flush. He was smelling you?

The clown leans in to close the gap, coming within centimeters of your hair as he takes a long drawn-out smell, savoring the aroma of your shampoo it seems. Anxiety was welling up in you as the odd situation turned simply strange. He lifted his arm again, inviting you back. When you remained motionless, he folded his arms over his chest and frantically rubbed his biceps, a theatrical display of how you looked when he showed up.

You check your phone. You still had at least twenty minutes before your ride showed up. You look back to the clown who patiently sat beside you, eyes burning with something as you could still see his nostrils flaring as he smelled the air. Strange as it was, it was mutually beneficial. He was warm, and he liked that you smelled nice. You decided not to think of it any deeper than that and shifted closer to him.

“Here, I have an idea.” You say as you hastily remove your jacket. You snuggle close to him and drape the jacket around you, then put the other half over his shoulders. Effectively, a small barrier had been created that not only would blunt the wind for the both of you, but also allow you to share heat.

His expression changed at this, something momentarily unreadable. It appeared as though he were confused but simply accepted the situation for what it was. His smile had faded and instead he stared at your hair, transfixed by the new flakes of snow and tiny icicles that had formed. Again you rest your head against his chest, but this time feel his cheek press against you. He allowed his head to lay atop yours as he not so discreetly took long drawn inhales that he seemed to savor.

You couldn’t help but awkwardly smile just a little at his actions, but knew inwardly you were no better. Both of you were fascinated by the other. Both of you were in your primal stages right now- survive. Survive this blizzard and share body heat. Finally, you allow your eyes to flutter shut, your phone still clenched tightly in your hand just in case.

No grand gestures follow, no sounds, not a whisper. The two of you remained in place, interlocked in an embrace of survival, two people as a unit to survive as one. Though you knew nothing of him, your heart ached in appreciation for his presence. Within the confines of his arms, you felt safe and protected. Though it would soon be over, you nestled in closer and allowed time to stop and simply relish in the moment.

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[crawls out of my grave] who else has Vicky double agent falls in love w Sienna and finds salvation and betrays Art brain rot.

No one asked for it but I’ve been working on a slow burn drama w them. If anyone is interested in that idea I’ll post something tonight after my job interview (wish me luck!)

Also to be clear I’m going on canonical age after Terrifier 3 so Sienna is 23 and Vicky is 26.

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Send some lightning from the clouds

Get me off this deadend road

I will do just as I’m told

Burn me to a cinder

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Hiya! Your fics are great, please keep them coming!

I was curious, though. I noticed that your version of Art is different from canon. What is he in your universe? Is he a demon? Did the reader summon him somehow? Or is he a man possessed by a demon?

Thank you so much!! I’m so happy you like them. I have a lot planned for them!

Sorry in advance for the infodump and thank you for your interest!!!

To me Art was once a well meaning kid who was possessed by a demon at an early age. Demons are attracted to suffering, trauma, and lingering illness (kind of how we can have a compromised immune system to pathogens, the same can apply to someone who is in poor mental and/or physical health when dealing with parasitic entities, they are just an ideal target for infestation). I won’t go into detail so as to not spoil some fics I’m working on, but I don’t think the possession was involuntary.

Spiritual parasites and possession used to be a special interest. I actually did a two year study in college because my English professor had an interest in the paranormal. There is something called partial possession where the entity is parasitic and present but doesn’t necessarily control the host, rather it feeds off the host’s body as it gains strength. The two are able to communicate and the entity slowly gains control over the host’s mind with false promises and offering a sense of understanding (ie they isolate the host until they are alone and most vulnerable). The host withdraws from family and friends and soon becomes enmeshed in the entity. At this stage it may appear the person is totally disconnected and displaying signs of fragmented personalities. Seizures can also be present.

Over time, like any other parasite, it eventually consumes the host to where they may not notice what’s actually happened, or realize a change has occurred unless during lucid state (for example I consider the scene between Art and the cat lady a lucid state).

Art displays some classic symptoms of demonic possession (supernatural powers aside- he displays tendencies towards catatonia and prolonged states of suspended animation, strange, peculiar, and disturbing new interests, erratic and violent behavior, poor hygiene, extreme physical, mental, and emotional changes, etc).

To expand on that I think Art is specifically inhabited by something similar to a manticore demon, a demon that seeks to hunt humanity and cause chaos, strife, and misery on the mortal plane for sheer pleasure.

Manticore are companions/servants of higher power demons as well (which may explain some of the scenes in All Hallows Eve) because of their aptitude for hunting, beguiling humans, and insatiable appetite for human flesh. Art killing for fun too is what brings entities like manticore to mind because they are simply cruel and unreasonable while being simultaneously strangely charismatic to lure their prey. I think this demon specifically has an interest in creative personalities because of Art’s lingering interests (and perhaps dissatisfaction) from when he was human.

I know realistically that likely isn’t his origin story but it is what fits for him in my head! I will go into a lot more detail in my fic that explores Arts childhood and early life!

On the flip side I do like exploring Art being a demon summoned from a video tape as well, and have considered he was sealed there to end his killing spree. Watching the tape is an infohazard and contaminates/curses the viewer (kind of like an SCP entity!)

But in summary, in my universe Art is a human who has become consumed by a summoned demon and the two are now inseparable, but positive triggers have Art enter a lucid state where he is docile. I don’t think he feels remorse in this state, I just think he feels disoriented and small when lucid because he was possessed in childhood.

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I just saw someone pushing an umbrella stroller with an urn in it

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Hand to god someone just ordered an 8oz tea with 12 Splenda.

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Art x Reader where the reader mows Art down by accident and tries to hide his body, but Art is simply giddy seeing the saw, plastic buckets, and hydrofluoric acid in your kitchen.

When he realizes what you were planning to do with this. his eyes light up and he swoons as he’s smitten at your depravity. Maybe this old pro has some tips and tricks up his sleeve he’s willing to share with you.

May fiddle around and write from Art’s perspective, I want to explore that noggin of his…

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Watched the human centipede 3 and there was a scene where a guy kept killing and resuscitating a guy so he could keep killing him and honestly that’s so Art and Vickycore.

That movie was… a wild fucking ride

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To expand on this please consider how genuinely weird it would be to witness 16+ year old hanging out with a literal gradeschooler. If they ain’t your relative and you don’t work w kids, you have no reason to be conversing with 2nd graders.

Shipping yourself with a kindergartener from Bluey is not valid and should not be normalized or validated. This goes for you too teens you’re not exempt from p*dophilic behavior just bc you are minors. Full stop.

Stop it, get some help.

Bruh why am I seeing adults who self ship w kids on my dash and worst yet why do I see people supporting it and reacting with heart emojis and happy faces.

If you are an older teen or adult and ship yourself with a little kid you need to do a long, long reflection on ur interests. Why do adults want to be in a relationship with a fictional 8 year old?

Ppl can argue it’s platonic but it’s a really, really, really creepy dynamic…