#miles county clown

[milescounty]

I’m not too active on here, follow my Instagram @ miles.county for more updated stuff 🖤🩸

Here is a dump of things I’ve worked on lately

[graveyardvideo]

Brain Rotting…

[bonesmarinated]

Oh, ladies and gentlemen The moment you've all been waiting for In this corner, weighing 135 pounds With a record of 17 vehicular manslaughter, 400 assaults, and 16 murders The undisputed, most diabolical villain in Miles County Art the Clown!

[calmcoldevening]

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

[bebx]

For a guy who doesn’t speak, he sure makes a lot of noise. All the way from Miles County,

Please welcome Art the Clown!

[brokehorrorfan]

The official novelization of Terrifier 2 will be published in paperback and e-book on October 8 via Titan Books. It's authored by Tim Waggoner (Halloween Kills, Resident Evil: The Final Chapter).

The 400-page adaptation of Damien Leone's 2022 slasher opus features cover art by Creepy Duck Design. Art the Clown returns to the big screen in Terrifier 3 on October 11 from Cineverse.

It has been one year since the sleepy town of Miles County survived the murderous spree of demented killer Art the Clown, but little do they know the nightmare is about to begin anew. Resurrected by a sinister entity, Art is back with an appetite for murder and mayhem—setting his sights on the recently bereaved teenager Sienna and her younger brother Jonathan. The streets are about to run with blood, and Sienna must somehow survive this gruesome Halloween night and discover how to defeat a brutal and unforgiving killing machine from beyond her nightmares. There’s no stopping Art once his sights are set on you…

Pre-order Terrifier 2 by Tim Waggoner.

[ghostfaceprincess]

How They Act On Halloween:

-

Michael Myers:

• Oh, it’s Halloween and he’s very focused.

• He did promise you he would stay in with you and celebrate.

• If he’s fully comfortable around you, the mask will come off to eat the candy you got for the trick or treaters. If he isn’t fully comfortable yet, he’ll slip the candy under his mask.

• Wants to watch all the classic black and white horror movies that are playing on TV.

-

Freddy Krueger:

• He wants to go into just a few people’s dreams tonight.

• He lets you pick all the movies to watch.

• Wants to be the one to hand out candy.

• Ends up eating most of the candy.

-

Jason Voorhees:

• Asked you to paint on his mask so he can dress up.

• Happily tries to hand out candy but frowns under his mask any time someone is deathly afraid of him.

• Wants to watch all the comedy-horror movies.

• Patting little kids heads after he gives them candy.

-

Billy Loomis:

• FUCK YEAH ITS HALLOWEEN! PARTY TIME!

• Brings out the ole Ghostface mask.

• Beer, beer, and more beer.

• “Just leave the bucket of candy outside and let the rugrats fend for themselves.”

-

Stu Macher:

• “Billy is hosting the party this year, let’s go!”

• Beer… and… beer.

• “I’ll be right back!”

• Trips over the bucket of candy outside and then promptly takes it inside for himself and you to enjoy.

-

Charles Lee Ray:

• “It would not be funny to paint my face as that doll.”

• Lets you do it anyway.

• Only wants to hand out chocolate, nothing fruity.

• Did let you go all out with decorations.

-

Tiffany Valentine:

• She haaaaad to dress up as either Catwoman or Elvira. 🥵

• Being so sweet and nice to all the little kids who come knocking for candy.

• She’s being so sweet, it makes you smile so much.

• She has to have Bride of Frankenstein on as background noise through out the night.

-

Bubba Sawyer:

• Has to hide you guys candy from Chop Top because if not, he’ll take it all.

• Happy to be watching movies with you.

• Also enjoying the pumpkin cookies you two made together.

• Yes, of course he wants to have a little dance party to Halloween music!

-

Thomas Hewitt:

• Letting you show him how to make the best pumpkin cookies ever!

• Chuckling as he wiped a bit of the batter onto your nose.

• He also carved a few pumpkins with you.

• He… got a little frustrated with his first one.

-

Art the Clown:

• Dragging you to Halloween store so he can get you the best costume ever!

• Wants to be the one to hand out candy (and you know why)!

• Went all out with the decor!

• Gives a big thumbs up any time he sees someone dressed as, the, Miles County Clown.

-

The Creeper:

• Playing the song very loudly!

• Gets the full size candy bars to hand out because he’s awesome.

• Decorated with mostly cob webs!

• Helped you make all sorts of Halloween treats!

-

Thanks for reading! My jaw hurts bc I popped it the other day so I might rest for a few hours. 🦇

[running-tweezers]

🎭Theater Kid Guy Headcanons🎭

As a former theater kid and current lover of all things musical theater, I can sniff out a fellow theater kid from a mile away, and Guy Redacted made my alarms go crazy. So here’s some roles I think he’s played

His first time on stage was in a 3rd grade play where they acted out various fairy tales. Being a talkative class clown kid of kid, his teacher gave him the role of Rumpelstiltskin and encouraged him to ham it up. As soon as he heard the audience laughing along with his antics, he was hooked.

His first time in a real official show was when he played Jojo in a community theater production of Seussical while in junior high. He still has a big soft spot for the show today, the themes of creativity and imagination really stuck with him.

He was in a musical all 4 years of high school

Freshman year he played Leaf Coneybear in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. He wasn’t expecting to be cast as a Freshman, but he was just So Perfect in the role they had to.

Sophomore year he played Lefou in Beauty and the Beast. His “Gaston” was legendary.

Junior year he had his first big leading role as The Leading Player in Pippin. The role requires a TON of stage presence, and he enjoyed delving into a more serious role while still getting to have fun with it. He didn’t love how much dancing he had to do, (he’s always been what’s we call “a mover” rather than “a dancer”.), but he did his best. It remains one of his favorite musicals.

Senior year he returned to his earliest theater experiences with fairy tales and played Cinderella’s Prince in Into The Woods. It wasn’t as big of a role as the previous year, but he had a BLAST with it. Guy absolutely SLAYED Agony, he had amazing chemistry with Rapunzel’s Prince, and their duet was as over the top and hilarious as a good performance of Agony should be. Occasionally when Honey is giving him shit he will still respond with “Am I not sensitive, clever, well-mannered, considerate, passionate, charming, as kind as I’m handsome, and heir to a throne?? Honey, I’m everything maidens could wish for!!”

[cornerstoreclown]

Sweet Dreams

Summary: This is a short one-shot (1924 words) where the reader (Gender Neutral) is in an established relationship with Art and they’re laying in bed thinking about him. As they try to sleep, they get an unexpected visitor. 

Warnings/Contents: Um. Fluff? Domesticity? That’s more on the contents side of things. There’s nothing really worth mentioning being a warning, I think. 

Author’s notes:  I feel like this isn’t my best work, but in the advice artists give one another, I’ll post it anyway. I’m very, very, tired, but I wanted to spit out content before next week. I got some great news--I’m moving up the career ladder (new job in my career path that’s basically a huge promotion) on top of me going back to school next week for certifications. 

------------------------------------------------------      

Last you checked the time, it read 2:00 AM. 

You have work in the morning. Early in the morning. 

Dread fills you as you already know that you’re going to feel like dogshit. It’s like the terrible beginning to your day that technically started at 12am. 

Sleep just isn’t coming to you tonight. She’s been elusive. She’s been tricky. Avoiding you on purpose, you dare think. She seems to come to everyone else so easily, but not you. Never you, it feels like. Some nights she gives you reprieve, but this wasn’t one of those nights. Maybe it’s all those thoughts swirling around in your head–you noticed it happens a lot more around October that you’re tossing and turning until you hurt, which makes it even more uncomfortable to try and sleep. You’re on your stomach, staring off in the darkness at nothing in particular, stuck in a momentary trance. 

It was hard to sleep knowing that he’s around. October is his month, after all. And it’s getting close to the 31st of the month. It was hard to not think about him. He’s all you could think about during this time of the year. It’s so stupid how he’s consumed your life, how he’s become so entangled in your life, and how you just let him. He’s near impossible to escape in the fall. You see warnings posted for him, you see him on news broadcasts, you listen to the radio warnings. Sometimes you’d think that you’d see him in the corner of your eye on the streets at night when you were walking alone.

You miss him.

You’re tempted to reach for your phone nearby on your nightstand, maybe scroll through social media a bit, see if there’s any new chatter about the Miles County Clown. But you dread the thought of seeing what time it is and seeing how long you’ve been laying around in a sleepless fit. A few minutes of debating, and you finally reach for the phone and click the button on the side where it lights up and reveals the time to you in white font.

3:04 AM. 

You feel yourself gain an extra level of fatigue reading that and opt to click on the side of the phone to turn the light off. Doing any reading about him will just make you all the more anxious. Taking a deep sigh, you roll on your back, put one of your pillows over the top half of your face and again, inhale deeply, trying to not think about the fact that you have to be up in a few hours, but it only seems to impede any progress you have hope in making. 

At least your bed smells nice. Smells fresh. You cleaned the sheets and pillows yesterday on your day off. You focus on the scent, and it fills you with comfort. You feel yourself start to relax. 

Some time between now and whenever but obviously before the time the alarms you set on your phone went off, you’re at the threshold–the land between dreams and reality, and you hear it. 

A set of rhythmic knocks at your front door, before the sound of the door handle being jiggled. 

You recognize those knocks. It’s why you’re not getting out of bed. You instead just opt to go a little further under the covers, and when you hear the door swing open and close, you cough purposefully. Your way of letting your location known. 

You register the THUNK of what you assume is a bag hitting the floor, and the sounds of various heavy items inside of it clattering along with it. You then hear footsteps make their way in your direction, and you’re relaxed. You recognize the weight of those steps and the pace. Then, you hear your own bedroom door open, and your eyes sharply turn towards the creaking door. It’s dark, but there’s just enough light emitted by the moon tonight that’s shining through the blinds on your windows that you recognize who is staring back at you. A lithe man, with a distinct nose and sharp chin, with a wicked smile, though this time, the wickedness looks more on the muted side, to what you can interpret as contentment. 

“Hey, Art.” 

You gave Art a spare key to your apartment last week. You don’t know if that was a good idea or not, but you did it anyway. Better than him trying to bust his way in, because you know he’s capable of doing such things. He has an air of the supernatural to him, though you don’t know how far his limits go, and if he’s hiding anything from you that you haven’t seen from him already. He’s cheeky like that. 

As he comes closer and steps further into the moonlight shining into your bedroom, you see it, but you only see it because it’s on the white parts of his costume. Dried blood. You know that if it was wet, you’d be able to smell it. Fresh blood often reminds you of rust, and you’ve become quite accustomed to the scent of it thanks to Art and by no choice of your own. 

He makes his steps closer towards the bed, and you feel yourself stir as you realize that, even though his clothes look dry, that doesn’t mean that your freshly cleaned bed wouldn’t be desecrated. He’s still dirty, dry or not. 

You can’t make out what he’s doing as he’s standing right at the end of your bed and leaning forward with one hand on the mattress for support, but you hear the familiar clunk of his clown shoes and you realize that he’s taking them off before preparing to get in.

“Oh, Art, no–” You start to prop yourself up on your elbows, fatigue still heavy in your voice, but it’s too late. He’s already dived under the duvet, and you’re just too exhausted to fight it. 

Seconds later, right at your side, Art pops out from under the covers, darkened eyes meeting your tired ones. Even though you’re not happy that he’s ruining your bed, you do find yourself trying to hold back a smile. His hat’s slanted slightly differently from the blanket pulling at it, and you extend your hand out from under your blanket and fix it until it’s at its proper angle on his head again. 

You sigh at him, your smile faint. You feel your head pounding. Exhaustion is overtaking you, and the thought that you’re going to have to clean your bed again later puts weight on your shoulders that you wish you didn’t have right now. You muse that maybe the murder clown will kill you in your sleep tonight, and for a flicker of a second, your sardonic sense of humor finds that great, actually. What a relief, to not exist anymore. He’d be doing you a favor. Humans weren’t meant for the intense level of grind that this society puts upon them, and the stress kills. 

“Staying the night, are we?” You ask him. You can still see him through the faint light in your room. 

He watches you, fluffing the set of pillows next to your own before laying his head down on them. Judging by the way that he’s settling down, you take that as his way of saying ‘yes’. 

“Okay, fine. But tomorrow, you’re helping me clean the sheets.” 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs quietly, looking as if you asked a major chore of him. ‘Ugh, fine,’ is what you read from his bodily response. You know he’ll help though. He’s surprisingly helpful around the place with cleaning. That’s why you don’t take offense to him acting the way he is right now. You purse your lips, swallowing any tired, delirious type of laugh you felt bubbling at the back of your throat. 

You lower your body back down into the mattress, putting your head on your pillows. You turn your head so that your face is inches from his. It was weird, this level of domesticity between you two. He’s a monster, but not to you. Not ever to you. You wonder if he has the same needs that humans do, if he needs love too. Love was on the hierarchy of needs for humans, as was a sense of belonging. Is it stupid to think that? He’s not human. He’s not like you.

Yet, absentmindedly, you reach out for his hand under the shared covers between the both of you, and when you grasp a hold of it, you interlace your fingers with his, and he lets you. 

Art’s hands are rough and calloused, but that’s what happens when you work with your hands as much as he does. The tips of his fingers are a little cold, but the rest of him is surprisingly warm. His body temperature was always a little higher than the average person’s body temperature. Simply another reminder that he’s not human. 

You feel the way that he lightly squeezes your hand. Hands capable of being so rough and tearing open ribcages. 

“I have work in a few hours.” 

Art makes a face of disgust. He looks appalled. 

You finally laugh, and he laughs silently with you, eyes shut tight as he does so, wrinkles showing on his face as his teeth show. Those jaws of his are weapons just as much as his hands.  

“Been a hard night.” You tell him. And it has. Being awake in the middle of the night with your thoughts is tortuous. Maybe more tortuous than anything Art could do to you, you think. You’ve been trying to be less of your own worst enemy, but it’s been a constant uphill battle. 

Art’s other bloodied hand extends out and reaches for the side of your face. His hands are stained with someone else, and yet in the end, he comes here to you. There’s no changing him. You watch him through half lidded eyes, focusing on the way that his thumb strokes your cheek. He’s so tender, yet you know that he’s so cruel. You don’t know what he sees in you, but you pray it never ends. You pray that when you drift off into sleep tonight, if that’s even possible, that he’s there, and that he lets you wake up and this isn’t your last night on this planet that floats aimlessly through the infinite sea of stars. 

You’re so frustrated by the lack of sleep you feel like you almost want to cry, but you don’t. Instead, you scoot closer under the covers, right next to the Miles County Clown, resting your head under his chin. You both adjust accordingly so that you’re pressed up against him, and he’s got his arm around you now. Your hands are pressed up against your own chest. You’ll be irritated about the fact that he came to you after killing someone later. For now, you seek comfort. 

You seek sleep. 

And in his arms, he rubs your back gently, and you can’t see his face, but you’re sure he’s rather indifferent in his expression. 

You feel yourself begin to drift off, your muscles relax, and you lose consciousness. The last thoughts you remember having is that you hope that he’s still there in the morning. 

When the sun finally rises, you'll be delighted to find out when you open your eyes, that he was, because he wakes you up for the proper time, not your phone's alarms.

[multch]

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+] CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.

Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.

On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there. Maybe you should’ve...

Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so. 

It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you. But why?

The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…

Honk! Honk!

Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.

He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.

His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest. 

His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.

Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated.  How couldn't you be intrigued?

It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.

You felt special.

Protected, even.

You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.

*

Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!

These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess. 

Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.

(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.

You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.

Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.

God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.

Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.

Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.

You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.

To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.

Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…

You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth. 

Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.

You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.

The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..

You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.

Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.

You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor. 

You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.

*

It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.

You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight. 

You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.

Oh god no…

[malibu-barbie-piece-of-shit]

Cookies

Pairing:Art the Clown x male!reader

Summary:Art knows you are baking so he comes to visit

Word Count:563

Author's note:I just cannot remember where I found the HC that Art loves eating sweets. Please if anyone knows, let me know so I can credit them lol

Ding.

The sound of the oven timer traveled from the kitchen to the living room. Y/n set the remote down, ending his trance of channel surfing on a news channel, and got off of the couch. As he walked through his house, he couldn't help but feel like something was watching him. But it was probably nothing, right?

The kitchen was filled with the pleasant scent of sugar cookies ad Y/n pulled the tray out of the oven and sat it on the counter. In doing so, he accidentally pushed a dish towel off of the counter.

"Dammit,"Y/n sighed as he bent over to pick up the towel. He just barely grabbed it before he felt something brush up against him. His body quickly shot up almost as soon as the feeling was gone.

Y/n's eyes darted around the room as his breaths shortened and became heavy. It had to be his imagination, there was no way any body could be with him, he lived alone and all of his doors were locked—

All of Y/n's rationalizations were quickly thrown out with the sight of two cookies missing from the tray. The empty circles on the parchment proved to him that he wasn't going crazy. Alas, he had no time to process this as he watched a gloved hand reach over to grab a cookie.

Y/n spun around and there it stood. A tall clown dressed in a black and white suit with face paint to match. Art. He gave Y/n a big, toothy smile as he framed his face with his outstretched hands.

Y/n gave a sign of relief as he realized the source of his paranoia was just Art and not something worse. He still wasn't fully used to a supernatural killer finding shelter in his house, but he couldn't help but love him.

"You know you could've just asked?"

Art gave an exaggerated, full-arm shrug and flashed an expression reminiscent of a guilty but playful child. He was a clown after all, it was in his nature to have fun, and what's the fun in asking?

"You're lucky I'm making another batch,"Y/n smiled,"go sit on the couch and I'll bring you more."

Art excitedly nodded his head and skipped off to the living room. Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

With the second batch of cookies now in the oven, Y/n stacked three of the already baked ones on a small plate. He made his way to the living room where he was greeted with the sight of Art, his eyes locked onto the TV and his face blank.

"Are you alright,"Y/n set the plate down on the coffee table and sat next to him.

Art put a slender finger up to his lips and pointed at the TV. A news report was on, details of a gruesome murder scrolled by on the screen. The reporter mentioned a "Miles County Clown" as the main suspect. This caused Art to throw his hands in the air and clap with glee along with a huge smile growing  on his face.

"Proud of yourself, huh,"Y/n smirked.

Art picked up the plate and held it to Y/n in celebration of his recognition. Y/n knew that the second batch would be needed soon...

-🐺

[milescounty]

Some art of Art. Thank you for checking it out! 🤍🖤

[horrorwhores-posts]

Arts pet.

Summary: Your family decided to reopen the miles county carnival. And you soon catch the eye of a certain black and white clown.

Word count- 6307 (it’s a doozy)

Warnings: blood, mentions of dead bodies, sexual themes (but no smut), torture, reader/ character was written as afab but you should be able to read it as gender neutral.

Authors notes: this is my first ever fan fiction I’ve written so please be gentle on me. Also not proofread so there might be some errors. And this is about Art the clown soo, yeah. This big ol’ dork has me wrapped around his horn.

Maybe reopening the rundown carnival in Miles county wasn’t a good idea. But no matter how many times anyone told my father not too, he’d just brush it off. Working with your family is hard, even harder when you’re a carny family. My family and I have been on the road ever since my parents got married back in 93’. Soon after they had my older brother, sister, me, and finally my little twin brothers. My father joined the Barnum and Bailey circus when he was a teenager after his grandmother and sole guardian died. Being 15 with no other options, the circus became his new home and they welcomed him with open arms. My mother was the complete opposite, coming from a prestigious, well off, loving family; well if they liked you that is. My mother never really fit into her family, she had always been the black sheep and problem child. And no matter how hard her parents tried, she was never suited for their perfect world. She actually met my father when she was on a date with a “proper'' young man, as her mother put it. After spending roughly an hour listening to the high collared sleaze belittle every performance and worker he came in contact with, they got to my father’s act. Over the years he had climbed the ranks from being a cage cleaner to the circus’s headlining daredevil, and he was really good at it. His stunt that night was riding his motorcycle around a metal cage that was lit ablaze. Even my mother’s date was dumbfounded. After the show was over my mother refused to spend another second with her dick headed date. She snuck away from him and with the help of a hopeless romantic bearded woman she was able to go back to my fathers trailer. He said the second he laid eyes on her he knew he was going to marry her. And that night my mom decided to run away with him. My parents have been inseparable ever since.

Growing up the way we did, my siblings and I have developed multiple talents and were able to pick our own personal acts. My oldest siblings are aerial artists. I was one myself for a while and will even join in on their performances, but my actual love is contortion and fire breathing. The twins are in their teens and still learning about themselves every day. My father had always wanted to own a circus/carnival for himself, and over the past few years his craving to get off the road grew. Through the grape vine he had heard of the Miles county carnival being sold for little to nothing, we later found out that there were multiple murders there, which explained why the value was so low. My mother, sister and I all had our reservations about buying the place, but yet we still found ourselves standing at the entrance of the carnival in all of its glory. It took us months to spruce the place up, fix broken rides, and rebrand the whole park. My father even built a circus tent in the park where my family and other performers could perform if they wanted. We had our handful of protesters over the past few days but we also had a lot of tickets sold for tonight, opening night. I stood in the circus tent, looking at the time on my phone. 8:30; 30 minutes till opening and an hour till the show starts. Deciding to practice some of my aerial work for tonight's show, I gripped the soft silk as the music blasted through my speaker in the corner of the stage. I started going through the routine one last time, not noticing the black and white figure watching intently from the shadows. I ended on my finishing pose and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard loud, sporadic clapping coming from the echoing seating area. I safely dismantled and shielded my eyes from the spotlight to see who was there. A black and white clown stood in the middle of the aisle between the seats still clapping with a large smile on his face. I felt my face heat up from embarrassment and anger.

“The show doesn’t start till 9:30, I’m sorry but you have to leave.” I said from atop the stage as I quickly gathered my items. The clapping ceased immediately and I glanced over my shoulder and saw the clown standing there, arms stiff at his sides, an emotionless face looking back at me. A shiver of dread prickled up my spine and I quickly exited backstage, still feeling his icy gaze on me. I briskly walked to my dressing room and locked the door behind me. I glanced at my phone screen and noticed it was only 8:50. ‘Wait, if we aren’t open yet how did he get into the tent?’ My thoughts were broken when three gentle raps came from my door, a common knock my sister used to let me know she was the one wanting in. I strode to the door and unlocked the handle, my sister stepped in and gently shut the door behind her.

“You okay? You rushed into this room like your ass was on fire.” she asked as I sat at my vanity, my head in my hands. With a deep sigh I rubbed my hands down my face and finally looked at her.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I weakly responded. She lowered her eyes at me, assessing if she believed me or not. Her eyes softened as I guess she decided it wasn’t worth pressing.

“Maybe you should take a nap before you go out on stage, I’m going on first so I can wake you up when it’s almost your time to go on.” My eyes light up at the thought of getting some sleep.

“You promise? Like really?” I ask with hopeful excitement. She nodded her head, opened the door, waved, and gently closed it behind her. I glanced back at the mirror and saw the dark bags under my eyes, deciding a power nap would be best. I got up, turning off my main light, leaving my vanity lights on, and crawled on to the small gray couch. I had some burgundy throw pillows and a black blanket, I used to get nice and comfortable. In the dim light I could barely make out the posters I had adorning my walls. Mostly old Barnum and Bailey posters my dad snagged before he left, but there were a few photos of me performing. After a few minutes my eyes felt heavy and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

‘The colorful lights were twinkling against the night that engulfed it. My nose was invaded with the sweet yet salty smell of popcorn and cotton candy. Energy buzzed around me like electricity, lightly shocking my senses. All around me were people playing games, eating food, and laughing with pure joy. In the distance you could hear the screams of ride goers as they raced into the air, some of them twisting and turning along the tracks. The environment was warm and inviting, glowing with delight. I soaked it all in. Embracing the happiness that flooded me, I pranced around the carnival, seeking out my next adventure. As I wandered through the fair I accidentally ran into a figure. He was tall, holding a bunch of red balloons, concealing his face from my view. A black sleeve emerged from the crowd of latex, holding a floating sphere out to me. I gently took it from his gloved hand, immediately hearing a loud, threatening crack from the sky above. Glancing up I noticed a fiery red glow erupt from behind the thick clouds rolling in the darkness of the sky. Suddenly the cheery demeanor of the festival dissipated and the screams of joy turned into ones of pure horror. I whipped around and saw multiple rides on fire, the patrons festering in their seats. Mutilated corpses laid strewn across the park, blood and guts splattered everywhere. My tears were singed on my cheeks from the heat of the flames. The scream that was bubbling in my throat was cut short as long, strong arms wrapped around me.’

I was startled awake, my body jerking up and my brain still fuzzy. I looked around my dimly lit room, looking for what caused my sudden consciousness. There were alarm bells going off in my head, but I couldn’t place what was causing them. Scanning my room for a second time, I immediately froze when I noticed the figure in the dark corner, my breath catching in my throat. Panic coursed through my veins as I fumbled to come up with a single coherent thought. The figure slowly stalked out of its hiding spot and into the dim light. My eyes finally focused on the lanky black and white clown towering over me, the same blank expression on his features as before. With my heart racing, I choked back a scream as he slowly bent down to my eye level, getting uncomfortably close. His dark eyes were threatening as he looked me up and down, assessing me. For what? I’m not fully sure. My chest was heaving from my rapid breath and pounding heartbeat, something he picked up on. He reached forward and placed a gloved hand on my chest, rolling his eyes back and breathing in deeply through his nose. I sat frozen as he smirked, opening his eyes and making intense eye contact.

My mind immediately went blank as the panic dissipated from my body, being replaced with a strong need. As I gazed into his onyx eyes I felt a strange, intimate connection to the man in front of me. His hand climbed from my chest to caress the side of my face, gently gliding his thumb over my lips. I slowly opened my lips, inviting the digit into my mouth, and sucked lightly as it hit my tongue. His taste was bitter and salty, and he smelt of fire and sweat. Normally I would be repulsed but for some reason I was intoxicated. The clown’s mouth was hung open with lust, chest quivering from his deep breaths. If he had pupils, I knew they would be dilated. My eyes closed as I savored the flavor of him, moaning softly. He pulled his hand away, I released his thumb with a soft pop. My eyes shot open as I felt a rough yank on the ponytail atop my head. I fell back and the man followed me, climbing on top of me. His long lanky frame just barely fit on the small couch with me. His hands roaming my sides as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, sucking and biting with a hunger I’ve never experienced before. I moaned as his hand snaked under my shirt, roughly grabbing at my chest.

A sharp pain radiated from my neck and I shrieked. His hand quickly clamped over my mouth as he continued the assault on my neck, warm blood trickling down my shoulder. Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to get out of the grip that was holding me down. Finally the man sat up, blood adorning his mouth and filled his smile. Hand still over my mouth, he ripped my shirt exposing more of my chest. A muffled scream was ripped from me as the clown dug his finger into my fresh neck wound. He then took said digit and proceeded to write something on my flesh. Once he was done, he leant back over me with a sick, mocking sad face. Dragging his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear. Finally placing a finger over his mouth in a shushing manner, he leant down and kissed my temple with a surprising gentleness. The hand covering my mouth moved to wipe the tears off my face. I whimpered as he placed another tender kiss on my forehead. The mysterious man gave me one more smile and wave of his fingers before he was gone without a trace. I laid in silence, my mind completely blank try to make sense of the last 10 minutes.

A loud banging startled me out of my daze, as whoever knocked started to come in. Fearing it was the man from before, I sprang up and used my entire body weight to slam the door shut. I heard a muffled grunt and exclamation of “what the fuck” as the lock clicked back into place, preventing anyone from coming in.

“Hey, you missed the whole performance!” My older brother yelled at me from the other side of the door. Ice ran through my veins as I scrambled for my phone and noticed it was 10:45 pm.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” I exclaimed while throwing my phone back down on the couch. I caught a glimpse of myself in my vanity mirror and I looked horrible. Somehow the bags under my eyes were worse, my body was flushed, and my hair was completely disheveled. My neck was still dripping crimson, with obvious teeth marks. My shirt was jaggedly ripped with dried blood marking the visible skin. In messy, dripping lettering, ‘Art’s pet’ was written across my chest. A strange shiver ran back up my spine, and I stood there wondering if I’d ever see this man again. Most of me hoped I never would, but a tiny part of me begged to differ.

A few weeks have passed since the strange encounter with the black and white clown, I now know as “Art”. He’s also known as the miles county clown with a long list of victims. I thought for a second he was just a weird fever dream, but the tiny teeth shaped scars on my neck prove otherwise. I’ve constantly been thanking the powers above that it was getting colder out, with me having to wear turtle necks to obscure my markings. My dreams have also been haywire since that night, filled with decimated remains and burning fire. He’s always there too, welcoming me with his demented gifts and acts of passions. Whether it's a still beating heart, a crude mural of me in coagulated blood, or gory jewelry from his victims, he always has something to give me. Greeting me with his signature wide smile, accompanied by some flourish to produce the gift of the day. With his palms out stretched, eyes blinking innocently, he’ll traumatize me yet again with a morbid curiosity.

Luckily I’ve been able to push his invading presence out of my mind during performances and when I’m around my family. My sister has noticed I’ve become a bit more reclused and only asked me about it once. When I snapped at her with an anger she hadn’t seen before, she never pressed the issue after. Tonight I sat in my heavily decorated trailer, covered in old rock n roll posters, tapestries and sentimental trinkets. I had a small dark brown vanity sitting in the front of the small room, my burgundy red twin sized bed laid adjacent to the vanity. My clothes and costumes were strewn about and hung up on a small portable hanging rack, a small bookcase sat at the foot of my bed with a vintage, delicate, lamp sitting on it. Books lined the shelves, ranging from the classics like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and Bram Stokers’ Dracula. Tonight I was reading The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe, my head was laid at the foot of my bed, my tiny lamp dimly lit the pages. I lounged lazily in only my black satin robe, trying to turn my mind off for the night, preparing for sleep. A sudden loud knocking came from my front door. With a jump, I bookmarked my spot and slowly sat up. The pounding came again, even louder and more aggressive than last time. I stood up and wrapped the robe tighter around myself, slowly reaching for the curtain covering the small window on my door. The fervent banging picked up once more, and with a flourish of anger, I ripped the door open without looking first. There, in the misty night, stood the clown of my nightmares. The white and black mirage stood stone still, eyes wide, a bouquet of wild flowers outstretched towards me. ‘No , no, no’ raced through my mind as the door started to close. My ragged breath caught in my throat as a large gloved hand slammed on the door as I tried to shut it. He slowly climbed the feeble stairs and stepped into my tiny trailer, hunching to prevent from hitting his head on the ceiling. I stared up at him with pure shock and a hit of fear. He gleamed down at me and he stretched the bouquet back to me. With shaky hands I gently pulled it from his humongous mitt, ogling the beautiful flowers in my hand and gave them a gentle sniff. The scent of fresh florals and the musky scent of the impending rain wafted towards me and I hummed with satisfaction. He bowed down, gently grasped my other hand, and gingerly pressed a kiss to my knuckles. A blush creeped up my face as I shyly looked away, pulling my hand from his grasp. He smirked and stalked towards my vanity, taking a seat on my small chair.

He patted his lap and looked at me expectantly with a big smile. I gingerly placed the bouquet on my bed, wiping my sweaty palms on my robe and approached him sheepishly, finally standing in front of him. He reached out and wrapped his long arms around me, pulling me into his lap, causing me to yelp. He nuzzled into my neck, his warm breath tickling the sensitive scar tissue, sending shivers down my spine. Smirking at me through the mirror, he rubbed my sides, gently squeezing, almost threatening to tickle me. I made direct eye contact with him in the mirror, trying my best to give him the stoniest stare I could. He frowned, looking down, twiddling with the satin belt. I swiftly grabbed his hand before he could untie my robe and I just stared at his reflection as he continued to look down with his ‘sad’ face. Slowly his eyes connected to mine in the glass and we just sat there staring at each other for a long pause. My expression stayed cold, and his frown curled up into a scowl. With a silent huff he rolled his eyes and pushed me off his lap. I stood, stunned, as he walked over to my clothing rack and palmed the sequined outfits. His face broke out with a wide smile as he grabbed a shiny red one piece body suit from the hanger, rushing up to me and pushing it towards me. I jumped at his erratic actions, my arms limply holding the outfit. I looked up at him with confusion, as he started miming taking off his clothes sensually, almost in a cartoonish manner. I gulped and tightly gripped the belt of my robe till my knuckles were white. With another silent, irritated huff, he tapped his clown shoes impatiently on the ground and looked at his wrist as if there was a watch there. Not wanting to anger the man in front of me, I turned around and with trembling fingers I picked at the knot holding my robe together. It finally fell free and it gently slinked off my shoulder. I laid the one piece on my vanity and slipped the robe completely off, avoiding my gaze from the mirror entirely. I was never one to stare at myself naked, let alone in front of the miles county murderer. Somehow I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me, instead being scared by his hands snaking around my waist.

“Why?” I whisper, finally locking eyes with him in the chrome glass. His chin was buried into my neck and his breath fanned against my cheeks. His eyebrows quirk up in a question and his face falls to the side, feigning innocent curiosity. With an annoyed huff I yank my way out of his grasp and turn to face him. My hands cemented on my hips.

“What do you want?” I ask rather gruffly. The look of shock briefly took over his features before being taken over by a look of malice. I felt the spurt of confidence I had immediately disappeared as he reached forward. His hand gripped my throat and in a flash I was thrown onto my bed. He laid atop of me with a look of glee as he watched me struggle for breath. I knew my face was on the verge of turning purple when he finally let go. He leaned over me and stuck his long sharp nose into my neck. I could feel his hot breath against my skin and a shiver ran down my spine. Somehow I just knew he was breathing in the scent of my fear. That thought caused yet another shiver to rack through me, and the clown wasn't oblivious to it. I felt something warm and wet run up the side of my neck. His tongue left a prickly sensation in its wake as he faced me again. A smile adorned his face and his finger came up to boop me on the nose. Clumsily, he crawled off of me and I remembered that I was nude. I grabbed my blanket and covered myself as Art grabbed the one piece setting on the dresser. He brought it to his face and took a big sniff. Yanking it from his nose he made a silent gagging motion and threw the one piece at me. It hit me in my chest and with caution I took a small smell of the fabric. My eyebrows drew together as the scent of laundry detergent invaded my nostrils. The clown had his nose pinched between his fingers, sticking his tongue out in yet another gag and I rolled my eyes.

After dressing in my red leotard, Art led me to the performance tent. I felt uneasy as I stood on the pitch black stage. A loud crack emanated through the room as the lights sprang to life, eerie silence followed in suit. I was temporarily blinded, squinting my eyes until they adjusted. Almost immediately I recognized the 5 people sitting in the front row. My family was duck tapped and gagged, unconscious in their confines, blood coming out of differing cuts and scratches on their faces, proving they put up a fight. My family wasn't the only people in the crowd. Decapitated torsos, gutted stomachs, and carved up bodies surrounded my family. Staring at the mutilated and bloody corpses caused bile to rise in my throat. Panic wracked through me causing tears to cloud my vision, falling to my knees, wretching. Art started clapping in a way to get my attention. I turned my head towards him, a giant blanket covering something behind him. He gestured to my family, an evil smirk adorning his face as I slowly looked back at them. They were gently stirring as they slowly started becoming conscious again. That’s when it dawned on me. 5. The twins, mom, dad, and my older brother. I whipped my head back towards the black and white clown.

“Where is she?” While Looking straight at me, he reached up, grabbing the thick white tarp. Yanking down, the cloth fell from the giant round shape. It revealed my sister strapped to the wheel of death, the spinning circular board we used for our knife throwing acts. She was also coming to lucidity, fear flooding her features once she was able to comprehend a little of what was going on. Art slowly stalked towards my crumpled frame, bending down and dropping daggers in front of me. Immediately looking between my sister and the blades I was able to piece together what he wanted.

“No, fuck no!” I screamed, crawling backwards away from the sharp knives. Art grabbed my upper arm in a Vice grip, almost immediately bruising. Picking me up by said arm he pushed me towards the pile of metal. I violently shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself, staring at the ground. He pinched my chin between his fingers and jerked it towards him. I stared at him with glossy eyes. He frowned at me and gestured his hand towards my sister. My face morphed from fear to complete hard anger.

“No.” I glowered, refusing to break eye contact with him. His face became stony as he pushed my chin from him. Standing to his full height he glared at me and walked off stage. With him gone I rushed to my sister to untie her from the spinning board. As I got to one of her wrists she looked at me with tears streaming down her face. Muffled words escaped her taped lips.

“Hold still, I’ll get you down faster.” As I was distracted with the buckle my sister seemed to notice a familiar figure creeping up behind me. Her silence quickly turned into muffled screaming and thrashing. Finally focusing back on my sister, her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know. Looking over my shoulder I saw the clown raise his arm with something in it. With a quick strike down, I felt searing pain rip through me. I was lurked forward with the sheer force of the whip, screams being torn from me with every strike of the weapon. My sister's tears rained down on me as I clung onto her for support as the lashing continued. My back felt like it was being sliced open by a million little knives. The searing pain caused my consciousness to start to waiver. My sisters muffled screams faded from me as my ears started ringing, only hearing the crack of the cat o’ nine tail. My mind focused on nothing but the constant burn radiating from the wounds, refusing to let my legs buckle from the pain. Finally the lashing came to a halt as I heard a voice ring out.

“Okay! Okay. She’ll do it, just stop!” I looked up at my sister, noticing the tape dangling from the corner of her mouth. Her tears must have loosened the adhesive. “Do it. I trust you. Just get it over with.”

With heavy breath I slowly and painfully turned, looking at the demented man in front of me. Cautiously limping towards the pile of throwing blades, my knees wobbled slightly. I stopped to regain my balance, before bending down to grab the steel daggers. The cold metal bit at the warm skin of my palms, and the weight of them threatened to pull me down. Turning back to face my sister, I saw Art forcing her mouth shut with fresh tape. She struggled a bit, glaring with a hatred I’ve never seen. I stole a glance back at my tied up family, differing levels of horror adorning their faces. My mothers face was covered with tears and my fathers face was hard with a fire licking behind his eyes. Nothing but fear adorned the twins faces, and my older brother was looking around. Forming a way to get out, I assumed. Clapping for attention, I turned back to the black and white demon, watching him grab onto the wheel, to heave it down with his full body weight. My sister started spinning and I took a deep breath. Separating a knife from the bundle, I aimed it, cocking my arm back and tossing the blade directly at the board. It landed right between my sister's legs. Grabbing another blade, I wretched my arm back and threw it again. Thinking was never a good idea when it came to knife throwing. Just aim, breathe, and throw. The more you stall, the more you hit the target. Before I knew it I only had one dagger left. All the other throws were perfect misses and I readied myself for a final good throw. A loud piercing honk rang into my left ear. My throw was ruined. And I watched in horror as the sharp steel plunged itself into the soft flesh of my sister's thigh. Her muffled scream was drowned out by the intense ringing in my ears as I turned and looked at the clown. He was pointing at my sister and silently belly laughing, holding his stomach.

“I hate you! You stupid, annoying motherfucker!” I ran up to Art, hitting him on his sturdy chest. He barely reacted as he looked down his nose at me, watching me pound onto him with my full weight. He snatched my wrists and held my arms out, staring at my red face as I continued screaming profanities at him. Smiling sinisterly, he let go of my wrists and stalked towards the, now still, round board my sister was still attached to. I had no clue what his plan was but I tightly grabbed his arm, refusing to move. Realizing he was anchored, he slowly faced me again. “What will make you stop?” I basically whimpered. His grin widened even more than I thought it could. He stood back up to his full height, and I couldn't help but gawk at his towering stature. Gazing up, he tapped his chin in a ‘thinking’ manner until he snapped his fingers in a eureka moment. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned at me, leaning his face down. Becoming eye level with me he gently tapped his cheek, as an indication to give him a kiss.

A wave of nausea hit me, but I also got a fuzzy, warm feeling course through me at the same time. I hated it. I hated myself, for having some sort of affection for the man who’s done nothing but torture me and my family. I snapped back to reality when a loud clap erupted in front of my face. I blinked and refocused on the man in front of me. His face was almost child-like as he watched me with pure, I’m not sure, adoration? I took a deep, quivering breath, and stepped forward. Wrapping my arms around his neck, balancing on my tip toes, and I gave him what he wanted. Granted it wasn’t on his cheek, but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips still had that rich smokey flavor as last time. His hands immediately found my hips and pulled me in closer, almost desperate to get me closer. His tongue licked at my lips and I opened eagerly. I just let him have control, not feeling strong enough to put up a fight. I pulled back with a gasp as a sharp pain came from my lip. A small trickle of blood ran down Art's chin, causing me to reach up and gingerly touch my bottom lip. Pulling my hand back, there was warm blood covering my finger tips, and my lower lip throbbed.

“Let them go.” I croaked out. Art still had his grip on my waist, and squeezed almost threateningly. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes squinted together in distrust. “If you want me, let them go. I’ll be all yours, no questions asked. As long as they’re safe.” I gently cupped the side of his face and placed our foreheads together. Our breathing slowed and we shared a moment of peace. Running my thumb over his jagged cheek bone, I felt my eyes water.

“Please.” I whimpered. Tears ran down my face as I finally looked up at my tormentor. His eyes almost softened when he saw me. His hand moved from my waist to my cheek, brushing the tears off as they fell. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he stretched up to his full height and stepped back. He turned to the side and lifted his arm towards my sister. I slowly looked between the appendage and her. Making eye contact with the man again, I nodded and sped walked up to my sister. She was barely lucid. I lightly slapped her face and her eyes finally focused on me. Pulling a knife out of the board, I cut away at the leather straps holding her to the panel. When she finally tried to put weight on her leg she screamed. She grabbed the knife sticking out of her thigh and I supported her the best I could. I looked over my shoulder to see Art was gone. Not waiting a single moment I hobbled her across the stage, refusing to listen to her pleas to stop. We finally got to our trapped family. They sat there with nothing but pure terror and tears on their faces. With the dagger I cut my father loose first. Immediately he wrapped me in a bear hug, almost squeezing me a bit too hard. He held me for what felt like years but was no longer than a few seconds. My sister struggled to release my mother from her confines when we heard a loud boom. The heat came soon after as the back of the stage was lit ablaze. The fire grew to the top of the tent within seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” My father hollered as he, and the rest of us, scrambled to free our brothers. The smoke was thick and dark, making breathing almost impossible. Coughing, we were able to untie my brothers. We all were kneeling down toward the ground, trying to avoid the thick musk above us. “We’re not gonna be able to make it!” My mother screamed, as the loud crackle of the flames almost drowned her out. I could tell my sister was worse for wear, and I had no idea how to get her out. While my head was swimming with panicked thoughts, my eldest brother noticed the dagger I still had clutched in my hand. He grabbed the blade out of my hand, dashing towards the closest tent wall and carved into it.

“Come on!” He screamed as everyone rushed to the new opening. I grabbed my sister and supported/ dragged her out of the tent. Her consciousness was faltering when I laid her on her back. We hacked and gagged as we finally got some of our breath back. The tent was completely ablaze. I heard sirens wailing in the distance as my head started to spin. I started dry heaving while slowly crawling away from my family, not wanting them to see me like this. My vision blurred from the tears and the spinning when I suddenly saw I black shape in front of me.

“Get away from her!” A distorted familiar voice rang out as I looked up and saw a blur of white and black. For a split sec I was able to focus and I saw Art standing there. Blank faced and fists balled to his sides, he raised his foot. In a split second everything went black.

Waking up was almost like a nightmare to me. My head pounded and I was freezing. The room was still spinning and My eyes couldn’t focus on anything. I tried to move, but I was cramped in something small. With a groan I reached out and touched something cold and metal. But it wasn’t solid, it felt like it was made out of metal wiring. I adjusted myself and once again heard the ringing in my ears start up. The floor was solid underneath me, but I could see outside of my confines. My fingers once again grasped the walls around me and it all clicked. I was in a steel cage. Visions of what happened before I was knocked out bombarded my brain. Adrenaline mixed with panic and caused everything to come into sharp focus. There wasn’t much to see, it was dark and dingy, a single light swung above my cage. A smashed tv sat on the floor across from a table with a little stool. Blood and various sharp objects littered the table. I immediately scattered backwards until my back hit the chain wall. The reality of what I agreed to dug its way to the forefront of my brain. I agreed to be with this man. For whatever he shall need me for. My stomach flipped as all the possible scenarios ran through my mind. My leotard -covered body shivered in the corner of the cage. My erratic breathing caused me to notice that there was something around my neck. My throat felt constricted and panic wracked through me as I clawed at it until I got a decent grip, ripping it from my throat. In my hand sat a collar. A. Fucking. Collar. My ears weren’t ringing, it was the bell on the collar the entire time. I was drowning in my thoughts when The entire cage rattled, as someone else shook it. I snapped my head up and was greeted with Art's smiling face. He lifted up the top of the cage, revealing the door. His face slowly morphed into frown as he looked at my face, then my neck, and finally to the collar in my hand. He held out a finger initiating to give him a minute and closed the cage. Prancing over to the table I saw him pull a thin sparkling string up and hold it close to himself. After finagling with it for a moment, he walked back over, and completely flipped the top of the cage open. He held out his hand, dangling there was a necklace with a heart dog tag. It read “Arts pet”.

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: After being resurrected by a sinister entity, Art the Clown returns to the timid town of Miles County where he targets a teenage girl and her younger brother on Halloween night.

[birdybathory]

The Miles County Clown Shot & Edited by Hollow2.5 for HOLLOWeen 2023 Stream Terrifier 1 and 2 as we await Terrifier 3!

[afarcryfrommymain]

Far Cry OC Tournament Round 1B: Jason Spero v Jestiny Ellen Rook

Contestant info and voting under the cut!

Jason Spero (@levithestripper)

About: Jason is 28 years old and the newest Junior Deputy. He’s a Hope County native, growing up with Nick and Sharky. He’s known as a big prankster, filling out the trifecta of silly little guys from Bumbfuck Nowhere, Montana Jason’s favorite memory is when after school one day, Nick double dog dared him to microwave a fork. Jason’s hair didn’t lay flat for a week after that.

Does your OC have anything to share?: “Shark said if I win—or at least not lose immediately—he’ll buy me dinner! Which is perfect, ’cause I’m starving!” —Jason

Anything else we should know?: Jason has mostly fluff where his brain should be. He and Sharky share a quarter of a brain cell which they both lost track of a half-mile down the road. Neither he nor Sharky realizes they’re dating until one of them kisses the other good night. Himbo 4 Himbo relationship goals. Jason also likes to call Sharky “Shark”.

Jestiny Ellen Rook (@adelaidedrubman)

About: “the sorriest excuse for a soldier I ever seen.” - description from brother nathan, participant in jestiny’s trials and known gossip. jestiny is a hope county sheriff’s department junior deputy by vocation, clown by nature, fisherman by preferred pastime, dolly parton enthusiast by virtue of good taste, opossum surrogate mother by luck, and — above all else — a cringefail pathetic loser by the grace of god. credit to @starsandskies for the portrait!

Does your OC have anything to share?: jestiny’s presence in the ring is immediately intimidating. she boasts strong, brawny arms and powerful, calloused hands she knows how to use. she also boasts in the literal sense, hurling graphic threats and vicious mockery even before fists begin flying. between the brash attitude and the sturdy, sculpted jawline, it’s also clear she can and has taken a punch in her time. but most terrifying are those wild, fiery eyes with an obvious violent temperament and quick wit behind them. she thinks as fast as she moves. and she moves FAST. she lunges, swift and unyielding. she corners. she squares up. she goes in for the kill. she winds her arm back. she swings towards her opponent with a deadly speed — she misses by a foot, the force causing her to fall face-first onto the floor. it’s thirty seconds in. jestiny is knocked out with a fractured skull. her opponent has not thrown a punch. jessie instantly progresses to the loser’s bracket.

Anything else we should know?: HIIIIIII in case it wasn’t clear i want jestiny to lose all her matches and go to the losers bracket and then lose there first. she is a failure and constantly fumbles the bag when it matters most and my goal and dream is to have her voted Most Pathetic Biggest Flop around. PLEASE PLEASE vote for whoever jestiny is up against to win so she can officially be crowned the ultimate failure.