𝔽 𝔼 𝔸 ℝ @ithungered - Tumblr Blog

"FEAR, IT TAKES SO MANY F O R M S !"

ITHUNGERED: an independent and selective Pennywise derived from Stephen King's IT. moderate activity. A study of fear, existential dread, and all things terrible. will contain themes of: dismemberment, body horror, cosmic horror, grief, loss, CLOWNS!, and discussions of child death. Penned fearfully, woefully by SPOOKY! 20+, mdni, heavily influenced by lore from THE DARK TOWER.

RULES. VERSES. ABOUT. HEADCANONS ART THE CLOWN!

#pinned post

would anyone be interested if I came back

#i want my comfort character

nassieee

ᴘᴇɴɴʏᴡɪsᴇ ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏᴡɴ!

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀs sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴛsᴛʏʟᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜰɪɴɴɪsʜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʀᴜɪɴɪɴɢ ʜɪs ɪᴄᴏɴɪᴄ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴀᴍ!

#my baby girl love of my life #;self

gremlinade-juice

book accurate pennywise

#i am in love with him

iwassentodestroy

Her name was old-fashioned, just like the clothes that Josh had made her wear before. She had looked more like a woman from the 50s, and she was so happy that now she could wear whatever she liked.

" No?" she giggled, it wasn't often that she would hear someone deny the fact that they were sweet. But so far she had no reason to suspect that the person was evil and wanted to cause her harm.

" Oh, that's a pity, then" she couldn't drink nor eat, but she could still walk around the town though.

She was surprised to hear the question, but she didn't think about lying to Bob. " I am a robot made by Empathix. I was created with the purpose of being a robot companion, but I gained self-control and I am free to do anything that I want" perhaps Bob might have met other robots like her.

ithungered

"---companion?" IT repeats the word as if this were the first time IT had ever heard the term. In a way, IT hadn't, not the way she was using it. Here out in the sticks in Maine, such luxuries were few and far between. Rarities that were saved mostly for television adverts and the odd hot topic on the internet. Two aspects of human life that an ancient cosmic entity had no business caring about.

The term robot is enough indication, though, and ITs eyes roam over her as if IT expects some sort of trick.

"---no wonder you have no heartbeat, no whistling breath or ticking, ticking bones." The laugh IT gives out is like a jester's, clownish and exaggerated. IT places ITs hands behind ITs back, head tilting as the legs start a good pace in a circle around Iris. A pacing, a gesture of genuine curiosity. The concept of meeting a human IT can't actively harm is too insulting to pass up. "---you feel---no pain then?" IT asks finally, interest piqued. "---no sense of danger, no fear?"

#iwassentodestroy #;queue

alstanfordart

"Amidst the chaos, witnesses described what looked like a man-sized rabbit skipping along, obscured amongst the thick clouds of smoke."

#;visage

@ancientdeadlight wants to float 🎈 "Goddamnit Jr, how many times do i have to tell you to not spread those severed body parts all over the lair. We are civilized Deadlights, not cavemen" *throws an arm over to Jr* "Clean that up and then let's hunt, i am starting to feel hungry" (a little something for old times sakes lol)

Like the petulant, terrible child IT is, IT takes offense to the idea that it needs direction or even a good scolding. The clown stiffens in ITs leisurely posture, chin in two gloved hands as it pretends to think of a response. The arm is caught in between waiting and sharpened teeth with the snap of jaws wide and cavernous enough to eclipse stars. IT shakes the impendage twice like a rabid dog. Hates the taste and spits it out again.

"No." IT says simply, laughing as IT retreats backward on all fours like a feral animal in the night. Clearly, IT thinks this is some kind of game. IT smiles and laughs in a manner that echoes off the walls. Childish as always.

#I TAKE NO ORDERS #ancientdeadlight #;answered

minisculemars

pennywise could be doing the most heinous shit but if his costume bells jingle at any moment im like

#the jingles are ITS best quality

yuckdotcom

log 19 / the midnight circus - circus tent appeared overnight, locals don’t remember it arriving - clowns circle the perimeter at odd hours - do not approach the carousel

#;the circus calls

thewalkiingman

"Oh-oho, on the contrary, Crusty!

You're dead wrong!"

It could feel it, a familiar shifting and pulsating around him as the sewers of Derry started to fade away.

Filth and brackish water blossomed into thick blades of flaxen grass, daylight shone ahead as the sun blazed down on the clown from above as reality shifted before Pennywise.

A savanna, wide and endless as far as It's 's all-seeing eyes can see.

Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere. The voice of Randall spoke loud and clear, yet with a heavily exaggerated Australian accent.

"Lookie here fellas, what we have here is the most dangerous predator in the cosmos!

A vicious, violent, wild animal that has set entire worlds aflame just by it being there!

Or at least IT used to be--until one big bad, mean ol' turtle sent a gaggle of little shits to put the animal down."

The sound of creaking and snapping, the sunlight darkens as behind the clown, a fig tree sprouts to full height--iridescent leaves sprouting in mass.

Perched atop a branch was the man himself, arms resting atop on his knees as he continued, the accent ceased yet he was far from done-

"....And now you're nothing but a biiiig ol' fluffy scared puppy on a leash. You're teeth pulled, claws ripped from your paws. Well, at least--not yet anyway~"

He picks a fig from the branch, tossing it down to the clown. The fruits flesh, once a dark shade of violet now a stark, deep bloody red.

"You've felt it! You've seen it! Haven't you, Nickelsmart?"

Back when those fickle little toy soldiers broke you out of your cell?

Past, present, future--it's all the same for us beasties after all, Yes?~"

ithungered

"I'm wrong?" Pennywise laughs, but not with humor.

There are dealers in Vegas who have the wherewithal to recognize a good hand. A used car salesman can press the dings out of metal and refinish paint in layers. The liars of the universe can unite under one tarp, they can shake one hand while indefinitely carrying a dagger in the other. It is with this same malice that the creature of Derry regards IT's cousin.

Game recognizes game, after all.

Randall has life, Randall has vigor, Randall seems to have everything and anything with just a simple push in the right direction. How promising it must be to be a monster without a cage, a boundless and unrevocable sense of possibilty. There is jealousy somewhere in IT's cold cognition, amber eyes flicking out from their place in the shadows like the dying embers of a campfire.

Yes, sweet envy. To be free, to have purpose to be—-something else.

The display is catty if not trite. The clown ambles away from the festering fruit as if IT expects a coming infestation. The insults, however grandiose in their delivery, are hardly something new. In fact, Bill Denbrough had said something not entirely dissimilar not twenty years prior. Or was it forward? Maybe back? Time was no friend to Pennywise.

There is now a guttural hiss somewhere deep in the monster’s core, a distaste that rumbles and bounces from wall to wall like a clap of thunder through trees. It isn’t the sound of a viper striking, nor one of an alley cat brandishing its claws for a fight. It is the low guttural shift of annoyance the bloodied bull gives the needy matador, the rough and shallow sigh the beaten boxer lets out right when the match is being called for the show.

We have eternity, yet we do this.

We have all the time in the world, yet this is all he gives us.

Fine, I’ll play ball.

“You’re real mean.” The voice is idle, soft, the source hidden from the darkness as two hands reach outward. They are slender, rubbed pink from a bathtub full of blood. Carrie, or what looks like her, wears her mother's church communion dress with a sterling silver cross closed at the throat. She looks to have been bleeding from the hairline, her blonde hair coated in viscera, and eyes widened like polished china plates.

“I’m used to mean, though. Mean is how I live, after all.” Carrie drops ITs hands, a simple gesture that was accented by the roll of the neck. Soft amber eyes close, the thin, wiry body receding back into the comfort of darkness. Go away. Away with you.

“—you have an entire universe, don't you? A whole great big playground to make a mess of. Yet you still---darken the only place you aren't welcome.” The simplistic drawl is there, the common small-town accent that clung to the quiet voice like a prayer.

“That's what this is, yes? You've come to put the miserable mutt out of ITS MISERY.” The voice is calculated again, smile widening into a horrible scar up to the ears. "----go on then, do me a favor. Get it over with, or disappear and leave like you are so known to do."

#v; before the storm #thewalkiingman

Obsessed with the idea of Pennywise being in awe of human cruelty and malice outside ITs own influence. Very rarely will IT entertain the whims of humans, much less listen to them speak or allow them to operate on their own volition. Violence, murder, these are the languages in which IT is fluent. How strange to find another coneisur!

To see these things enacted by humans, seemingly for the fun of it, gives the creature joy! This is an oddity, a show, something to be celebrated. Now, IT finally understands why humans seemed so taken with the performance of a jester, the rough and tumble of a sideshow performance.

The macabre is entertaining. The perversion of human nature is like the painted grins of the performers of old. How quaint it is to know that IT isn't entirely the only terrible thing in this universe, the only creature entertained by suffering and malcontent.

While the dastardly will never truly be kindred spirits with IT, they may be kept alive longer than the rest. Puppets on their gilded strings, brief passings of a show so much like the circus. Weary not ye Wicked, your fate might not be for food! For your entertainment, you might earn a few days left to breathe in Derry.

#just the idea of penny sitting down and looking at someone like “damn you are fucked up DO SOME TRICKS”#;headcanon

imprvdente

𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @ithungered

Fish could feel the yellow eyes studying the scene. But what emerged from the darkness was... her father? "Dad?" she croaked, rattled. It could not be, of course. Her father was in his office, not crouched behind bushes, watching her. "No- you're not him." Her voice faltered, then settled.

This was impossible. And yet, it was happening in front of her. Something, someone, had turned into her father. Mimicking him almost perfectly. Even the voice. "It's cheating," she pointed out. "You're still hiding." Wearing her father like a mask. It sent a cold sweat, dripping down her back. And yet, Fish decided to keep her end of the deal. Partly because her instincts told her it was for the best, and partly because she wanted to know what would happen (a very Lecter trait).

"Next, I need to finish harvesting the organs for dinner," she explained plainly. "I've taken the heart, but I still need the lungs." Fish returned to her work, using the knife with calm accuracy. She had mastered the art of cutting through flesh since she was no more than 6. And it helped to focus on what she was doing. Her mind, as sharp as the blade, was twirling with thoughts. How had this person turned into her father? Who has he, really?

"And then, I'll display the body." She tilted her head. "He's a disgusting pig, so I was going to make him look as such. I even brought an apple from home to stick it in his mouth. And rope, to tie him up like a roast." A little bit on the nose for a cannibal, maybe. But Fish's point was less about food and more about the nature of her victim.

ithungered

The monster pressed forward with ITs borrowed skin like a wolf in fleece. Ever present were the glow of ITs eyes, a shade past amber that looked like the fleeting cascade of a dying star. The movements of the body were tepid, practiced, casual in the way of familiarity, but not much else. Doctor Lecter had a reputation to uphold after all, no matter how bastardized the attempt. If Fish were in tune enough, she could just catch the faintest bit of insult at the sudden accusation.

No, you’re not him.

Such a simple phrase, a sentence strung together with all the effort it would take to form a thought. This was why the beast of Derry took such offense, why the air about the two of them went just a degree below a chill. Fish had made the first move, had called the monster’s bluff. There were few things in this mortal world Pennywise hated more than losing. But above this, IT held the most purest of loathing for that of the human child, the pinnacle of gaudiness and self-aggrandizement. Fish’s assertion, however frank, was pure in its execution. So much like a child.

Quick, swift, unwavering. Everything IT hated about the naivety of youth.

“—-to be presented as we were in life in death. A privilege so few are granted. Too often, we engrandize the dead with their best attributes, however false. Mortuary science must be a thankless craft. ”

IT began, threading the doctor’s voice like the strings of a fine instrument. Even the pause was the same, the lowering of eyes to mere slits as if listening for the right moment to burst upon revelation. Hands behind the back, pressed suit shirking down placcid shoulders, the face distorted if not for a moment. Photos taken where the subject moved to sneeze or look away have the same effect, a momentary lapse in focus and clarity.

The mistake was corrected soon enough.

“—-display.” The monster repeated as if learning a new word. Mostly because the idea was propsterous. IT had made similar statements with the deceased, mainly for the purpose of instilling fear in those who would happen upon the aftermath. Why then would Fish have to do the same? The monster’s curiosity would save her yet.

“You wish to humiliate him?” IT asked, finally close enough to properly study the girl’s work. The approach was done with intrigue, and for once, IT waited for a response. An explanation, one not brought upon by psychic link. The act of playing father, for now, has been retired.

“—-this is for justice? You kill for vindication?”

#impvrdente

tenevrae

#;visage

out of derry ; I have been super busy with work + my build for my new springtrap cosplay. However, I plan to be here again. Also, really trying not to get super hyperfixated with Vaas again. But I am working on things here.

#;out of Derry