You know why you're here

if you're underage or intolerant to LGBT gtfo I write shit. Requests are CLOSED my kinks range from playing with Frieza's tail to eating cotton candy outta Pennywise's ass. That pretty art up there were drawn for me by @whereyougoin-eds my main is @bloodfart666

[theotherbloodfart]

Are you the person that goes by a nickname on Archiveofourown : artispain ? :D (Sorry if your not, just asking)

I absolutely am!! And sorry it took so long to answer. I'm on my dbz blog a bit more these days

[bloodfart666]

I'm not dead y'all. Just focusing on my dbz blog. PM for blog name if you're wanting to follow.

[theotherbloodfart]

Reblogging from main

[theotherbloodfart]

@grievanight requested some sleep paralysis Pennywise. Wrote this to Ritual Spirit by Massive Attack

WARNING: DUBIOUS CONSENT

Pain rips thru your chest. You cannot breathe. Your nails burn across your chest as the nails upon them dig thru the flesh there. Something is squeezing, a weight. Too heavy. Your ribs feel as if they are being crushed.

Your head rocks forward. Are you dreaming…… or drowning……. All is groggy nothingness. You open your eyes.

It is indeed drowning. Your glassy eyes watch the weight of countless tons of murky blue water press upon you. The ocean perhaps. And above you, floating in alien grace, an aquatic nightmare. All fins and fangs and opalescent eyes.

Bubbles foam from It’s mouth as It descends. Bony unnatural joints prickling It’s skin as It tips It’s jaws towards you. Perhaps to rend your ribs from their fleshy entombment.

It cannot be. You squeeze your eyes closed. Taste blood as your teeth pierce your inner cheek. No. The thrumming terror raises the fever in your blood to fever pitch.

But you cannot resist. The instinctive need to see the threat before you overpowers even your own natural fear. Your eyes sting from the sweat dribbling into them as they open again.

Fire. All is fire. You can smell flesh burning. Like some hellish barbecue. You scream in your mind that it isn’t human. It isn’t human.

You can hear screams of agony. So many and so strong that it blends into one concerted voice of pain.

And there It is. The same creature descending upon you. The same bony odd joints in places there should not logically be joints. No fins this time. Just a bony monster of ash and flame. A tongue, dripping melted flesh and acid blood, runs along It’s rows of razor teeth. It looks so hungry.

The heated flesh of your forearm presses into your orbital bones as you press it in. No. NO.

But you are a hapless puppet to this farce. This macabre dance of horror. You open your eyes yet again, knowing full well that you do not wish to see. But helpless to your own dreaming whim.

Darkness now. Damp. The dank stink of the grave. You can feel the worms wriggling upon your skin. But what is worse…… it is so dark that you cannot see the thing you KNOW is descending upon you. You KNOW It is there. You just cant SEE It.

Tears scald your temples as they flow from your stinging eyes. You can feel the dribble of soil upon your cheeks and the burn from it entering your vision.

And fear. Rancid bitter fear. Loneliness too. There is nothing and no one here. Save that thing. That beast which descends both in your mind and here in this darkness. No one to help you.

“Sssshhhhhh"

The sound is oddly gentle. Yet still frightening. It is inhuman, raspy, as the sound of paper being rolled across gravel.

“Such beautiful fear. Tasty. Look at you…… doing all the work.” The following laughter is dry and brittle as ancient bones.

More tears flow, yet you reach upward. Afterall…… if this monster is to kill you……. It is still HERE. Still the most solid thing you can grasp. And somehow……. All the pain you feel now…… does not compare to the veritable agony of being alone in this cacophony of noise and illusion.

You can feel the confusion of the beast as It sinks into your embrace. You wait….. oddly patient….. for It’s death blow. You throw your head back. Bare your neck. Arch your back. Expose your vitals. You want this OVER. Your emotional cortex is simply too weary to continue.

Something sticky and wet dribbles upon your chest. Saliva. You don’t know how you know what it is. But you do.

You can feel It’s snout press against your jugular vein. Like the lipless jaw of a canine skull. And the reek of old death assails your nostrils. Not the pungent gag of bloat, but the dusty cough of mummified remains. And……. Popcorn?

Reality shifts as hints of this pour thru. Circus noises. Elephants. Cheering. Whistles. Circus scents. Cotton candy. Candied apples. And yes, buttery popcorn. Even the dry feel of summer air. All a reverberating echo inside this damp cold tomb you are within. A mockery of childhood awe and joy.

It is all dark. You cant SEE.

But….. there is no longer fear. And the thing is puzzled as it shuffles into your neck.

“What is this? Where has it gone?” A long tongue slithers out to run along your jaw line.

You feel several things at once. Your hair follicles prickle at the dampness of the underground. A silken chest presses against your defensive palms. Weight settles upon your body. The thing is with you now. And….. shame. Shame as your body ignites to this stimulus. Heat coils in your abdomen at this presence.

It inhales deeply, It’s breath chill upon your neck, before freezing. And now you are pinned beneath a silk lined statue of marble.

But you know……. You are aroused…… even if against your will…….. and It can clearly smell this.

Some insipid spirit of rebellion grabs you then. Boldly, you reach up. The silk upon It’s chest feels cool underneath of your fingertips. But you do not stop. Your hands venture upward. You wish to feel the face of your killer.

You gasped as your hands make contact. Its face isn’t the skeletal maw you had felt upon your neck. It’s…….. It feels…….. HUMAN.

It is still motionless, almost in shock, as you trace It’s features, before a low and very much inhuman growl begins to bubble from It’s chest. It’s entire body vibrates from this.

You can see It’s face then. You don’t know what the light source is, or even where it is coming from. But you can see It now.

It’s a clown! But not like any you’ve seen before.

Clowns are supposed to be silly. To tickle a child’s learning mind. But this one sure isnt silly. In fact…….. It’s …….. scary and…….. oddly beautiful. Predatory. The lines cutting thru his eyes wrinkle before they touch his full lips. He looks very angry. His vermilion irises bore into yours. You aren’t behaving in the way he’s expected. And he’s very obviously NOT pleased about this.

You don’t have much time to fully register this before his angry expression melts into a leering one.

“Oh? Not fear? Silly thing. Silly girl.” It laughs almost merrily, Its bells tinkling. You can feel one of those bells bite coldly into your belly as he presses his weight into you. “Oh, but I can fix that.”

You know this statement should receive just that sentiment. Fear. But it doesn’t. Your thighs relax to allow It even closer.

A dark chuckle rumbles from It’s chest.

“So THAT is what you’re thinking of? Well……. You pathetic bags of meat are all the same, aren’t you?” It pushes It’s hips forward into yours. You can feel something beneath the silk of his trousers. It’s stiff and…… wriggling. Not human. Not at all. But your body doesn’t give a single fig. Your throat wheezes as you let out a strangled groan.

“Be still……” This is clearly a warning. “It’d be a shame to break the toy before it’s been played with.” A snorting giggle erupts from It’s lips as you feel one of It’s massive hands snake into the hair on the back of your head to grasp almost painfully. Your scalp burns at the tension.

You feel something pressing against your slit. It’s cool and wet. You want this tho…. Whatever this is. It could end you right here and now and you wouldn’t even care. Your body relaxes and your hips angle for better access.

“Please…….” Your whimper breaks into the noise of It’s silken costume.

Your helpless plea seems to have more of an effect than It would have liked. It snarls as Its hips buck forward, driving It’s inhuman cock into you.

It’s next words shear thru the haze of pleasure surrounding your body.

“Oh….. I’m afraid I’m going to break you after all, my sweet little girl.”

[theotherbloodfart]

Dubious Tiffany valentine f/f

Sorry it took me so long to answer! Wrote this to Amour by Ramstein.

The Junkyard

You have no idea how you ended up here. Your wrists burn from the rope that ties them to this wire fence. You’re standing with your back to it, your hands tied firmly behind you. Your joints ache from your weight being supported this way before you push your feet into the ground to stand upright. Your head pounds. You appear to be strung up to a fence around some sort of lonely junk yard.

And she’s looking at you. Tiffany Valentine. Your friend. Fun loving. Good natured. A little crazy maybe. But otherwise a good soul. But she doesn’t look so now. Her eyes, normally a warm chocolate, peer at you thru the darkness. The weak light of the gibbeous moon above you makes them look black and soulless. Hungry. 

She’s walking toward you. Slinking. Feline and feminine. Tapping the tip of a blade upon her fingertips. The corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a knowing half smile. Her eyes bore into yours. 

“Tiff…..” your voice wavers. Your breath hitches. “Tiff, what’s going on?”

“Oh….. Just some fun.” Her voice is it’s typical childlike, high pitched croon, as she saunters towards you. “You like to have fun don’t you?” 

Your response is cut off as the blade is rested on your lips. That smile has never left her face. Your own face flushes as her smile deepens. Both corners of her mouth are curling now. It’s flattering on her pouty lips. She leans forward to brush her lips upon yours. 

The response your body gives is instant. Every hair upon your body stands on end as she’s already pressing those lips down your jaw line. Your breathing hitches. Your nipples tighten painfully against your shirt. Her free hand reaches up to touch your cheek, finger tips barely pressing into the flesh. 

“Tiff, I don’t understand.” Your speech is muffled on the blade.

“Sshhhhh” the warm breath caresses the shell of your ear directly before the cool blunt tips of her teeth nibble upon your ear lobe. 

You try to turn your face away, but she slips the knife around to the opposite side of your face, the chill steel and pressure forcing your head right back to where she wants it. 

Her lips leave your skin as she draws her face away. Those eyes, black as a mid winter’s night, never leave yours, as she kneels before you, the knife trailing down your side as she does so. 

Her grip upon the hem of your pants is sure and calm. Your gaze is drawn to the weak gleam upon the blade, now pointed away from you, gripped in her fist as she uses the fingers of this same hand as well as her other hand to pull your pants over you hips and down to the ground. You’d worn looser, more comfortable pants. This seems like a mistake now. 

Your shoes are removed. The pants as well. And still her eyes never leave yours. Predatory, they bore into you with merciless intent. She COULD pull your panties down the same way, but apparently this isn’t good enough for her. Your flesh quivers and shies away from the cold steel as she slides the blade between your panties and the skin of your pubic bone. Your gaze finally breaks from hers, glued to this blade as she twists it and it slices thru your underwear. 

WIth a careless little laugh, she tosses the blade away and lifts one of your legs to set it upon her shoulder. 

Your sex quivers at the chill night air. But as she looks shamelessly upon you, it doesn’t feel so cold. 

“Mmmmmmm look at your pretty pussy.” Your face burns as you feel her warm breath.

“Tiff, please don’t do this. Please.” Even as you say this your body betrays your words. Your hips thrust helplessly forward to meet her. 

Her chin bumps your pelvic bone at first and she chuckles. Then her lips brush your slit. And your bones go molten. Your mind simply doesn’t register reality any more. You can only feel.

The night air, cool and laced with the moisture of early morning dew. The bite and sting of your wrists crushed against the metal of the fence behind you. The smooth silky feel of her shirt upon the skin of your leg. And her lips, hot as molten copper, brushing your pussy, her tongue snaking in to experimentally nudge your clit. 

Brushing along either side of it, the fingers of one of her delicate hands coming up to part your folds, her tongue is fluid. She’s being oddly gentle, lapping around the body of your clit rather than attacking the sensitive bud directly. 

A strange sound registers itself to you and you realize that you’re panting. Loud, Practically wheezing. Your mind fuzzily grasps how hilarious you must look right now. Your head thrown back, your gaze hazy and unfocused upon the shallow scallop of a moon. Here you are, strung to a fence, your shirt askew, your shorn panties fluttering around your waist like some freakish floral printed belt, your socks,still upon your feet, like white beacons in the night. Your stance shameless and bowed as you blindly thrust into her touch. 

And the very idea of this, combined with her merciless tongue, is your undoing. The noises of the wildlife die away as you cry out in orgasm. 

Your knees quiver, weaken, and fail, as she releases your leg. Only the biting pain in your wrists from your full weight on the rope compel you to stand again. 

She’s gazing up at you, smug, and oh so dangerous, her eyes still black as deep space, her cheeks and chin glazed with your cum. You blush in an odd combination of renewed arousal and shame and turn your face away. 

“Look at me, Y/N. Don’t you dare look away from me.” Her voice is cold and compelling. Your eyes return to her face.

“We’re NOT done, Y/N. Not by a LONG shot.”

[clone-piss-deactivated20200509]

The Storm

NUMBER 17: CONGRATS! YOU WON! 

@cherrys-self-ship

Written by @bloodfart666 <3 love you, sweetie 

Cloud’s silhouette is unmoving and dark. The wind is icy, brushing his clothing around his form. Stray wisps of his hair are only slightly visible in the fading sunlight. His back is to you. But you already know what expression is upon his face.

It’s a beautiful scene. The sharp contrast of the lemon yellow sun and the deep darkness of the shapes it highlights is ethereal and otherworldly.

You feel the kiss of this infant blizzard upon your cheeks. Its cold and pure. Clean. The dried brown grass crunches under your feet as you approach him. You know he must hear you, yet he does not move. You can see his shoulders shift as he inhales deeply. As if he’s taking solace from the cold. And you realize, he’s very much like this storm. Unmoving. Unyielding. Appearing changeless or heartless. But, just like this storm, he is full of action and life. And…. You love him just as much as you love the storm. This storm. Here. And the storm inside HIM. 

As you come to stand next to him, the only indication he gives of your presence is to slightly incline his face in your direction. He looks seraphic with one side of his face illumined, pale and smooth, while the other is enveloped in shadow. But both of his eyes are visible. Appearing as cold and frigid as the winter itself. But you know there is life in here. You know there is vitality and love. 

A small strand of hair flutters across the clear pools of these deep and soulful orbs as he blinks slowly. His delicate nose flairs and his lips purse, almost as if he’s trying to hold back a smile at seeing you. It never blooms, but the slight wrinkling at the corners of his eyes belies this stillness. 

You do not have such qualms, and smile up at him widely. You are rewarded with the tiniest sideways grin.; It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Like the fragile tendrils of crocuses breaking the old snow of spring. 

He turns his face again, returning his gaze to the setting sun over the valley below you both. You follow suit. The view is indeed breathtaking. The valley is mottled with dead winter grass speckled across frozen earth. The snowflakes are only just beginning to stick to the ground. Slight peppering’s of gathered flakes are visible as the slender blades begin to bend under their weight. 

A cool brush of skin upon your hand startles you slightly. The reassuring grasp of his palm upon yours soothes you just as quickly. You squeeze gently. He’s warm after all. 

And you stand there. With him. Watching the snow fall. 

[phoenixyfriend]

Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

AL-FUCKING-WAYS

[the-winter-witcher]

Yes please do I love it!

[theotherbloodfart]

Been hooked on the Predator films lately. Here's a part 1

Moon Fire Part One

The cool kiss of night mist caresses your body as you wander thru the meadow. The wane moonlight touches your eyelids before they open to gaze upon the eerie light of this place. Shadows, long and dark stretch over the grass, elongated and strangled by the light above. Fireflies dance around like tiny forgotten fairies. You can smell water and pear flowers as well as moist soil. The air tastes like innocence. You can hear crickets and frogs and an owl screeching it’s cry in the distance.

You feel your fists clench involuntarily as you approach the strand of trees near one side of this meadow. An uncanny shyness seeps thru your bones. Animal like. Impulsive and shameless. It is the instinctive knowledge that you are being watched. It makes the muscles between your shoulder blades twitch. It makes your stance curl inward in a nervous crouch. Your breath catches on spittle gathered near the back of your throat, setting your uvula trembling. As if you are afraid that to give in to the natural impulse to swallow……. You will be heard.

And maybe you already are. The myriad animal sounds that had been caressing your senses a few moments ago now suddenly seem to have fallen silent. The trees seem alive. Watchful. Watching you. The pricking kiss of the dew studded blades of wild grass pepper your thighs, the motion of each hesitant step resounding with the crunching knowledge of approaching prey.

As the reaching shadow of an errant tree branch shrouds your face, you hear a noise you’ve never heard before. A violent clicking. Unnatural. Like the bubbling growl of a drowning lion. You can hear the intonation of things clipping together to make this sound. Whatever it is, it’s very large. And very close.

Your spine cracks with the suddenness of your movement as you drop to kneel within the grass. Your eyes, just clearing the topmost layer, scan the treeline. Looking for the source of this clicking. The flesh in your limbs spasms. As if your body cannot decide if it wants to freeze or flee. It decides on the latter. You blood feels sluggish and frozen. The whites of your eyes begin to itch. You are simply too alert to blink in the moisture they desire.

The trees begin to sway. The breeze dances thru the branches. The vision of this is haunting and beautiful to your intensely alert brain. But the sound of it masks that other sound. The one that doesn’t belong. You feel hot fluid run down your cheek. You’re not crying. Not even close. But the dry breeze irritates your hyperfocused eyes.

It is now that a vibrant flash catches your sight. Claws it tightly and arrests your unbroken attention. Twin flashes actually. Mechanical in nature. Star bright eyes. Coming from the upper parts of the large tree about 20 yards from where you crouch.

You KNOW it’s toying with you, whatever it is. You KNOW it’s just deliberately shown its location to spur you to movement. To see what you shall do.

Your body wants to run. Your very blood SCREAMS for you to flee. But instead this blatant show seems to have frozen you implacably in place. You are as a statue in this meadow. Your eyes strain to the spot where those eyes had flashed. You simply cannot comprehend. You can see individual branches, framed by moonlight and bony as hungry hands reaching for a throat. There just isn’t anything there. But you know what you saw.

Your entire body is taught and quivering as your legs stretch to bring you upright again. Your throat systematically dries and your tongue undulates as you struggle to swallow both fear and saliva. Whatever it is, you will not show fear. You cannot know that the scent of this, as well as the scent of a fatal curiosity, is flowing from you, dancing and thrilling in the breeze, tickling the air with your palpable essence. The air is alight with the smell of YOU.

You approach the tree in question. Your heart thunders within your chest, the sound of it so deafening that you can no longer hear anything else. Your flesh prickles with a nervous sweat, the moisture of this building and trickling down your chest, slicking your thin cotton shirt to your skin.

Your pupils are inky pin pricks in the darkness, the whites seeming to glow in the flecks of moonlight which spark thru the branches, framing your irises like the settings of pearly jewels. Your palms ache from the intensity in which you are digging your nails in. Your nostrils flair like those of a frightened animal.

But your face shows none of this. Your mouth is set in a grim slash. Your jaw is hard as you tilt your chin upwards in a haughty manner. Your eyes, tho wide, scan the tree with a false bravado. You set your shoulders back and stride tall. After all……. You are only prey if you show fear…….. Right?

And then that sound again. The clicking. But now so close that you can hear an underlying growl. Savage. Yet gentle. Quiet. Yet loud, if only for the unearthly quality. Your eyes strain painfully. It sounds as if a massive beast is clicking and purring directly above you. But you see NOTHING.

You squint your eyes. And that’s when it moves. You can’t quite see IT. Almost as if the light is shifting AROUND it. As if the light itself does not wish to SEE.

It’s big. And humanoid. The pale moonlight shifts around its shape. It’s crouching. As if to drop upon you. The edges of your vision dip and sway as you feel your own sense of what is real go faint. This is not possible. A ghost? Some fae spirit come to take your soul away? Unrealistic. Not true. Your mind is screaming a senseless babble. Trying to reason out what cannot be reasoned.

Still, your control cracks a bit. Your jaw drops. Your shoulders hunch in as your arms instinctively wrap themselves around your chest protectively.

The air around your body whirs as the thing drops. It’s so FAST. You feel the vibrations in your feet as it lands behind you. Every tiny hair on your back stands on end as its very nearness, it’s massiveness, it’s presence, is quite tangible upon your wavering flesh.

The only sounds now are your hoarse breathing mingled with the night breeze shifting thru the woodland around you. And the rolling grass in the meadow which lies behind you, entirely and utterly forgotten.

You don’t want to turn. But you know that you must. You cannot stand here looking at the patterns of the bark on this tree forever. Yet still, your eyes squeeze shut as your body rotates. You know it is still there. You can feel the heat of it, that presence, gliding along your clothing as you turn.

Your mind blinks to an ancient childhood memory. Swimming in a pool. Your eyes tightly closed. And secretly in awe as you could FEEL the harsh concrete walls before you swam into them. No hands. Only instinct. That is what you are feeling now. A massive wall of living flesh before you.

You open your eyes.

[theotherbloodfart]

👀 happy to see you back! ❤️

Yup. Had a tough holiday season but I'm back in the saddle and READY TO POUND THE LUST LIST 😂

Also EYE LOVE YOOOUUU

[theotherbloodfart]

Yeah this is gonna be a dripping mushy ball of fluff. I picked Jason Voorhees for this. Wrote it to Soul One by Blind Melon. I haven't had the best of holiday seasons myself. Sorry for the inactivity. This was actually very therapeutic for me so thank you for this ask 💜💜💜 hope you like it and I hope your days get better @craftygoateeprincess 💜💜💜💜

Missing Him

The shadow is very large as it cuts across the pale moonlight filtering thru the large open window. Yet the only sounds It makes are the swishing of the gossamer curtains trailing along the body of its caster as they billow in the heavy breeze of the intruding wind.

You are not asleep. You’d been laying still and with your eyes closed for awhile now. Listening to the chirping of the crickets and groaning frogs around the lake. Listening to the wind as it made the trees crack and rustle and sway. Missing him.

You can’t explain the feeling of sadness which envelopes your heart. It makes you quiet and sullen. It makes you sleep so many of your days away. Or lay in your bed restless at night while your thoughts spin so fast it seems as if your mind is completely blank, as you are doing this very moment. It feels hollow, yet it hurts. Depression is a bitch.

At first, Jason had refused to leave your side. He knows what sadness is. Loneliness too. But he simply could not understand how you could feel these things while he himself was so happy to have you here.

But you had watched his behavior slowly change. He had begun to refuse to look at you. To meet your eyes with his own. He stayed away from this little cabin more and for longer periods of time. He stopped touching you as much. It was gradual, yes. But you’d still noticed as the ‘accidental' hand brushing or even purposeful reassuring hugs and caresses slowly ceased over the past few weeks. He would raise his massive, strong hand only to drop it uncertainly. And then his shoulders would slump.

He felt guilty. Even now the sting in your heart is just as painful as you remember the very moment you realized that he was pulling away…… for you. Jason Voorhees is a smart man. Quiet. But so intelligent and gods how much you love him! He felt this darkness in you, the slowness of your smile to form, the way it hasn’t seemed to reach your eyes lately…… his keen mind had come to, what seemed to him, the only logical explanation. It must be him. His fault. Your own sadness had made Jason sad. Depression. Is. A. Bitch.

And the giant man had no idea how to cope with this other than to try to make you endure him less. Anything to keep you from leaving! He simply couldn’t bear to lose you so soon after finding you. And yet……. Maybe leaving is what you want. And the idea breaks his heart.

You couldn’t possibly know his intentions as he’d crept into your room. Your eyes had been open only slightly. That glimmer of sight thru lashes that, although your eyes appear closed to anyone looking upon them, still allows you to see. And you are nearly as attuned to this cabin and this undead giant of a man as he is to this cabin and to you. So you had seen him as he’d crossed your window, watching you.

You’re heart had leaped with joy, but you instinctively remained motionless, relaxing your eyes and allowing them to close. You could not possibly know……… Jason intends to tell you that you can leave if you want. He loves you so much that it makes his cold heart feel alive again, but he simply cannot bear to force you to stay where you are unhappy.

But he just HAS to see you one more time. Relaxed and calm in the repose of sleep. Just one last time.

You feel the mattress dip and the springs creak under his immense weight as he sits down. You had never heard him cross the room to you. The man moves like a sleek big cat. Silent and deadly. But not to you. And you have never felt less afraid in your entire life. You are laying on your side, facing him. You struggle to calm your fluttering heart and remain entirely motionless.

Every nerve is alight, straining for him, needing him, in this visionless little pretend sleep. Funny how, just him being near you, he makes you feel just a little better. As always, his calm demeanor seeps into your spirit and your heart calms to a slower beat. Your body trembles as you struggle to hold back tears. You know you had missed him but apparently you hadn’t realized just how much.

As you feel the unnaturally cool flesh of his index finger brush across your cheek, your heart flutters anew. Your restrain yourself from turning your face into his touch. And then you nearly laugh. Why? Why deny him? Why deny yourself? Stupid anxiety. You open your eyes.

The moonlight glints off the worn mask on his face, reflecting on the pupil of his good eye. His head is tilted and he looks…… sad. Funny how such an emotion can project so powerfully from only an eye. Or maybe you just know him that well.

Slowly, you slide your hand out of the sheet covering your body, and press his palm onto your cheek. He normally wears sturdy gloves but right now the cool skin here is bare. His finger inches up and you instinctively close your eye as he runs the pad over the globe of your eye. You feel the hot smudge of liquid as he brushes it from your lashes. So you HAD been crying after all.

“Jason.” His mask shifts. “Sweet fuck I’ve missed you so much.” His eye widens as you speak.

You rise and throw your arms around his broad shoulders, reveling in the taught play of muscle underneath his coat, emotionally bathing in the earthy wild scent which is unique to your undead man. And finally letting the pent up tears flow.

He stiffens momentarily in surprise, before relaxing into you. You thrill at the embrace of his arms as he wraps them around you. His mask is cool and soothing on your temple as he presses his face into yours. You feel his chest heave as he too takes in your smell.

He remains motionless like this as you cry and blubber out apologies. As you try to explain that none of this is, in any way, his fault. That you love him. That you wouldn’t ever want to be anywhere but right here with him. You will never know of his relief and joy at your words.

He pulls you away from him and stifles your words with a finger over your lips. He then brushes that finger over your cheek and cups your face, now running his thumb over your lips. Just watching you.

Impulsively you lift your hands to his mask, hooking your fingers into the straps which secure it. Now he trembles. The sight of this massive guy trembling might have been hilarious to anyone else. But not to you.

He rarely removes his mask. And you have never tried. You know how self conscious he is about his face. It took months for him to be comfortable with you even touching his mask. And you have never touched his face. But you feel an overwhelming need to now. To show him that you love every part of him. Just as he does for you.

You expect him to jerk away or to pull your hands away. But he doesn’t. Instead he stiffens and presses his face forward in a very visual display of trust and acceptance.

You are swift, not giving him time to change his mind. Swiping the mask from his face, you pounce upon him again and kiss him deeply. You feel the muscles on his back ripple thru fabric as he brings his hands up to cradle your head. One of your hands grasps a fistful of fabric upon his back, while the other grips his mask white knuckle tight.

You break the kiss to lean your forehead on his. Your eyes gaze into his own.

“I love you, Jason.”

[theotherbloodfart]

Playing With Bob Gray Pt 2 NSFW

Part 2 to @leahtheclownofdistruction123 Christmas gift 💜💜💜 it's nastY 💜💜💜

WARNING: NSFW

Thank you @alllosersdownhere for your help with the dialogue. We make a great team 😍

"Oh but you're a pretty one, Leah. Let me introduce myself properly. Name's Robert Gray. Friends call me Bobby." At this his hand leaves her face to trail finger tips down her neck and along the neck line of her blouse, those eyes never leaving hers. "You liked watching ole Bob, didn't you?"

Leah's throat feels so dry that all she can do is shake her head vehemently. Yet, even as she does so she knows very well how her gaze had lingered upon his naked back. And she can feel quite plainly, how her nipples harden at the contact with him, even if it is thru clothing. 

"HA! You lying little girl! I saw you watching me. I saw how your eyes widened and your mouth open.  I could smell your little cunt getting all ripe for me." Bob's voice drops to a dark growl. "Just like I can smell it now."

"N-no!" That is all her voice can manage to squeak out before Bob's once gentle fingers close around her throat, his steep brows narrowing into a menacing glare. Spittle drips from his bared teeth, and his rough voice is a snarl steeped in fury. 

“Stop lying to me, you filthy whore." His other heavy palm, without warning or preamble, lets her go and cups Leah roughly over her skirt. The fabric gives in easily. Leah gasps, cut off as Bob's hand tightens around her throat for a brief, horrifying moment before he releases her. And yet her body betrays her, her hips canting to seek more of his touch. Bob’s lips curl up, his grin more like a lion baring its fangs than an actual smile. “Like a bitch in heat. Don’t have to feel your pretty cunt to know you’re dripping for my cock.”

She is sure, when he leans in, that he is about to force his mouth upon hers. Instead, he grips her chin and drags his tongue over Leah’s cheek. Tasting the fear and revulsion of her trembling form. Tasting the salty tears that cling to her lashes. She whimpers. Hints of rough stubble scratch against her skin, leaving behind patches of white from his makeup. 

“Dry those tears, girlie,” he rasps. Bob pulls back enough to see Leah's face. Still grasping her chin, he tilts her head to bore those piercing blue eyes into her. And rakes them lasciviously over the rest of her figure as he licks his lips. ”Your body knows what it wants. Girls like you, lookin' so prim and proper?" His large hands shoot out to grasp her hips, yank her flush against his pelvis. "They always crave the same fuckin’ thing."

Leah's chin drops to her chest, her forehead resting against his own iron hard chest, not wanting to look at him anymore. 

"D'aaaww." Bob pats her head. His voice is laced with sarcasm and malice. "Do you wanna leave? Too scared to play?"

Leah does indeed wish to to leave. But she cannot bring herself to affirm this. His skin is quite cool against her forehead. She cannot feel a heartbeat but she supposes this is because her own heart is drowning out the noise. The flesh under her own begins to thrum with a male growl as Bob slips his hands down her body to massage the globes of her ass thru her skirt. The movement is not gentle. He's digging his nails in and squeezing harshly, spreading them far apart and then crushing them together slowly only to repeat these actions once more. The movement this causes on the tender folds of her sex causes a foreign friction which increases her breathing and begins a slow simmering heat in her core.

"Oh you like this." Bob's voice is now dripping with malicious glee as he spreads her ass cheeks so wide she can feel cool air upon the wet inner folds of her pussy. "So ready for me, I don't even have to touch your hot little cunt to prime it."

He brings one large palm down upon her ass in a sudden whip-like crack. Leah yelps, more from surprise than pain, while Bob growls wickedly. His nails dig into her posterior and suddenly she’s lifted bodily, her legs flying instinctively around his slim hips. He carries her with ease to his desk and sweeps away the clutter before he drops her unceremoniously onto it, arranging her so she is lying across the surface.

“Enough toying,” he tells her. He fumbles with the buckle on his belt, and Leah cannot tear her eyes away. Cannot even swallow around the lump in her throat while Bob slips the band through. “Ol’ Bob is feeling generous.”

A soft squeak falls from Leah’s lips once he frees himself. She instinctively tries to turn her face away and feels his fingers like iron bands clamp around her jaw bone. He uses a thumb on one of her cheeks, and his forefinger on the other to press the tender flesh between her teeth, forcing her mouth open. He rubs the tip of his cock around her lips, smearing it in the white paint on her cheeks before running it along her teeth. 

"I'm gonna fuck your pretty little mouth, Leah. And if you are a naughty little biting bitch……. I'll make you pray and scream and BEG me for death. Do you understand?" 

Leah cannot move her face in his iron grip, but tries to nod anyway. He feels the movement and, without further preamble, slides his considerable length into her mouth. He shows absolutely no mercy, and Leah gags around the head as he sets a steady pace. She finds it difficult to breathe and her face flushes with the effort of trying to find that breath between his thrusts. 

He grunts with every motion. Leah’s eyes water, but Bob pays her no mind, dragging his cock along her tongue before pushing back deep into her throat. She writhes, but it is not at the need to escape or the need for air. Obscene, slick sounds fill the room, bouncing around the four walls of the wagon. Leah would blush had she the presence of mind.

“Yeah. Good girl. Massaging my cock like that.” His voice almost sounds inhuman; beastly and guttural. He pulls out just enough to allow her to breathe, leaving the head resting on her tongue. She can taste the salty tang of pre-cum on her taste buds. He slides back in with a groan, all the way to the hilt. “Fuck, you look so fuckin’ good like this. This is how a lady like you should look. Mouth open and ready to take whatever Bobby iis willing to give her.” She squirms, and he lowers his pitch further into a deep growl. “Nasty, filthy whore.”

Leah's body jerks as she feels his fingers, almost icy, slide under her skirt, his nails leaving red welts upon her thighs. His fingers brush her slit as they hook into the material of her panties, yanking them roughly to the side. 

"I know you can't see how fucking soaked you are. Let me help you help yourself." His thumb begins to press into her clit as his free hand grasps her wrist and forces her hand down between her legs. 

Leah's core pulsates with a flaming heat and she obeys, sliding her index and middle fingers around his thumb, massaging the sides of her clit as his thumb kneads the middle. It is not long before she is mewling around the cock in her throat. Her hips thrust shamelessly to match the rhythm of Bob's thrusts. 

"Oh you filthy girl." His voice is a hiss. "Such a hungry cunt." He curls his fingers, flexing his palm as he slides 2 inside her. "Look at you! Taking Bobby's pipe like a champ!" The hand around her wrist relaxes and pulls away to cup and squeeze her breasts thru her blouse. 

Leah's thighs quiver as she feels pressure building inside her abdomen. Her hips thrust more erratically and her mind begins to empty of all thoughts save the sensations flaming within her body. Bob's thumb slides up, spreading slick upon her wrist as he thrusts his curled fingers rapidly and presses his palm into her own working fingers, deepening that pressure. Her nipples harden almost painfully as he twists and pinches them, the fabric of her blouse causing almost too much friction. Even the sore burn in her throat from the intrusion of his cock begins to feel strangely pleasing.

Leah cries out as everything leaves her. Bob has pulled away. And….. She is nearly indignant. Doesn’t WANT it to stop. Her aching pussy is hypersensitive and her hips still thrust blindly.

"Please….." Her voice is cracked and her throat is sore. She reaches for Bob blindly.

He wraps his arms around his chest and howls laughter. 

"You are already begging for this dirty cock! Well….. Since you're asking so nicely……" Grasping her forearms, he picks her up as if she weighs nothing, then stands her up. She wobbles helplessly as he spins her then bends her over his table. Her chin smacks painfully upon the wood and the jolt of this upsets a stray bottle which has somehow not previously rolled off. Tipping over, it's contents spill out, coating her fingers with blood red paint. Her forehead presses against the surface of the mirror, leaving smears of white paint and sweat. 

She feels his large hands upon her hips, gasps as his nails dig in and yank her entire body back. Using the brute force of his arms alone, he impales her on his cock, hard, fast, and deep. 

Now it is Leah that emits animal noises. Grunts. Moans. And even mewls as he fucks into her at a pace so ferocious that his entire body is hunched over her. The frame of the mirror smacks into the wall of the wagon in a sharp staccato accompaniment to the rhythm of Bob's hips. 

Leah instinctively closes her eyes as her face begins to be pushed into the mirror. Her hand reaches up to clutch blindly and red paint is smeared across the dull glassy surface.

"OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!" Bob's fingers fist into her hair and he pulls her face up. He leans even further, never breaking his brutal pace, his sweaty cool chest pressing into her back. His free hand wraps around her waist to send probing fingers to pull and press at her clit. She can feel his balls flick against her slit. He presses his lips into the sweaty hair near her ear.

"Don't you fucking close your eyes, Leah. OPEN THEM." 

She obeys. And the sight which greets her eyes is surreal. There she is. Her face glistening with sweat. Her eyes so wide she can see the whites of them. Her mouth in a very unladylike pleasure laden snarl. The flesh around her hairline is stretched taut from Bob's merciless grip on her hair. 

And Robert Gray himself. His face is fiendish and inhuman. His teeth are bare and set in a fuck ridden grin. The smear of white paint on his face offsets the blue in his eyes. They almost do not look blue. They almost seem to change color. 

"Don't look at me, you little insolent fuck toy. I WANT YOU TO WATCH YOUR WHORE FACE WHILE YOU CUM."

Her irises roll back to her own reflection. It is twisted and obscene looking with the sweat and paint on the glass. The red paint from her splayed fingers drips down across her reflection, looking almost like blood. And yet still her eyes are drawn back to him.

His eyes are gold. She is SURE of it now. Even with all the dirt and paint on the mirror, she is still SURE. But this man, this BEAST of a man, and his lopsided gold irises, and his crooked glistening buck teeth……. As her body begins to quiver and shake……. She feels no fear. For a few moments, it is not a balding middle aged perverted clown fucking her into his makeup table. For a few moments, it is as if there is a monster just underneath that skin. As if she is being bred, dominated, mated into submission by some dark and vicious god. 

The last coherent vision is her eyes slowly crossing as her body tightens into the most intense orgasm shes ever felt. So intense it is also painful. It is several moments before she realizes the guttural animal screams she's hearing are her own. 

And Bob's roar of carnal pleasure blends with this scream as Leah feels his hip bones jar one final time into the flesh of her bottom. Her walls contract around the liquid heat of his cum as it spurts into her. 

Leah suddenly feels so exhausted that her knees wobble and collapse. She mildly registers her body coming to rest upon twin arms, which wrap around her form and cradle her like a child. Her body is jostled and pressed into Bob's as he sits on his little stool and looks upon her.

"Look at how pretty you are. All tired and dripping my cum outta your little fuck hole." The words are a soft growl as his palms tighten upon her body possessively. 

"I wanna go home, Mr Gray. Please….." Leah's voice is slurred and slow.

"Oh…… but you ARE home now. You're not going anywhere." A very dark chuckle rumbles against her cheek. She's simply too worn out to struggle. He continues, "You're gonna stay right here with ole Bobby." 

Leah winces as his nails drag into her, crushing her even closer into his chest. His next words are a bone chilling whisper into her ear.

"You're MINE. You were mine the moment you CHOSE to enter MY wagon. MINE."

Leah shivers, from fear or excitement she does not know. Her mind dully registers the soft music floating from the gramophone. She had utterly forgotten about it.

She flinches as Bob begins to rock her slowly back and forth, resuming that raspy humming.

[theotherbloodfart]

A Christmas Present for @leahtheclownofdistruction123 💜💜💜 hope you like 💜💜💜💜💜 part 2 will be nastY

Playing With Bob Gray Pt 1

Leah runs her finger tips down the front of her pleated skirt, smoothing the material here as she watches the scene before her. A strong man. A massive mountain of sweating flesh, straining and groaning as he hoists the massive circular atlas stone over his shoulder. Crumbled white powder dusts from his hands as they slide along the surface. He is a little frightening with the intensity of his facial expressions as he projects this supreme effort. 

Leah turns from the scene to take in the rest of the circus. At least what she can see from where she stands. There is so much to see. So many things to take in. 

It is July in 1912, a bustling productive year in Derry history. Ripe with historical importance. The nation has only just begun to get over the reeling blow of the sinking of the Titanic. Wireless communication has begun to open the farthest reaches of the globe to the rest of the world. Thru the power of steel and steam and the bustle of industry it seems as if humanity has reached the peak of its existence. 

But none of this enters Leah's mind. She is solely focused on the cacophony of noise and color which seems to explode and twist before her very eyes. Everything she could have ever imagined, as well as some things she's sure she could never imagine, are simply strolling by her.

There are dwarves! She's never seen one before! Dressed in bright colors and tossing flowers and sweets, they skip by her. And there! Not 20 feet from her, a weazened man leading a trundling kangaroo on a leash. The creature appears careworn and bored. And upon its front paws are tied a pair of boxing gloves. Leah's eyes are saucers as she watches them walk into a small tent with a painting of a man boxing a kangaroo on the side. At first, she feels tempted to follow, but yet even more noise and movement catches her attention and she turns.

This fresh sight is a little more horrifying than the last. It is a man. Giggling and dancing. His sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Leah watches as he pulls an 18 inch long sharp pin from an oversized pin cushion suspended from a stick that an assistant is carrying. His eyes meet hers and he slows, an intense and maniacal smile splitting his features. He takes the pin and runs its sleek cylindrical form thru the flame of a nearby torch. Then curls his tongue around it and slides the pin along the appendage, the heat from the metal causing steam to rise as well as causing hissing crackling noises. His eyes never leave hers as he then takes this pin and inserts it into one of his naked forearms. All the way thru, bringing his arm across his face so that he might gaze at her from around the protruding point of the pin on the opposite side of his arm. Gasping she turns and flees as fast as propriety will allow her.

She feels herself growing a bit disoriented and overstimulated as she walks quickly, head low, just trying to get away from the human pin cushion. Losing track of time, she doesn't notice that the stands and tents and throngs of people are growing thinner. She's nearing the edge of the entire affair. 

Stopping to lean against the side of a wagon, she gasps at the tightness of her shirt The heat of a mid July sinking sun causes the garment to feel even more constricting as well as causing little beads of perspiration to form on her skin. The air is hot and stagnant. The scents of exotic animal feces and circus foods are stifling within her flaring nostrils. 

A motion in her peripheral vision makes her lift her head. It is a clown. A clown! She has never seen a clown either! At least not in any other way aside from drawings and circus posters. This one is just as brilliant as any artwork. Bright red hair circles his bald head. His costume flares triumphantly around him in a yellow cascade of pluming silk. The silk around his arms is lined with purple and green stripes. And he's smoking a fat cigar, the great purplish puffs of smoke curling up his white cheeks and red circular nose. The garish black lines over his eyes are relaxed. He looks so very bored. 

Leah is still a little disturbed from the human pin cushion so the vision of this human that does not look human brings that discomfort back full force. She freezes, hoping the clown will not notice her. 

And he doesn't. Taking one last suck off the brown cylinder, he crushes the burning end against the side of a wagon, effectively stubbing it out, and stalks off out of Leah's vision. 

It is now that Leah notices all the wagons. Parked discreetly at the periphery of the circus, they go unnoticed by most of the patrons. Holding things like beds and supplies, they are the spine and bones of this place. 

Leah reads the painted side of the wagon that the clown had been leaning against. 

MILDRED THE ONE TON WOMAN

And below that a painted caricature of a morbidly obese woman laying in repose and suggestively licking her fingers. Leah feels a blush creep up her neck to paint her cheeks a delicate pink which mingles with the flush from the heat. She chooses not to think of what that clown must have been doing near that wagon.

She finds that each wagon has a painting of its inhabitants on the side. One for the dwarves. One for the wolf girl. One for the jugglers. She even sees the wagon for that awful human pin cushion.

But it is the wagon set furthest back that truly catches her eye and holds its attention. Upon it is the ghostly face of a clown. But the face paint is even more disturbing than the clown she'd seen earlier. Twin lines cut up over his cheeks and thru his eyes. The clown wears a large buck toothed smile. And the ornate words are very commanding in sparkling gold paint.

PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN

The afternoon light is now beginning to fade into evening. And in the lower light, Leah can see the soft glow of lantern light coming from the open door of this wagon.. As she approaches she passes a sign nailed onto the side of another wagon.

No visitors beyond this point. 

Feeling curious and naughty, Leah turns her head in all directions. Slowly looking to see if anyone is watching. The lateness of the hour means that a lot of the guests are leaving. Or at least this is what she assumes as, although she can hear the sounds of people beyond the wagons, not a living soul greets her vision here. She leans over and slowly removes each of her leather shoes, careful to be as quiet as possible. Then she tip toes over the dry brown grass towards the beacon of light which is that open doorway. 

Her first sight, as she gazes into the door, is disappointing at first. There appears to be no one here. It is a good sized wagon. And she can see a large bed over in the far corner. And there is a rack of clothing in the middle of the wagon that impedes her vision of the rest of that side. Soft music floats up from a gramophone next to the very door she is peeking thru. 

She is nearly ready to turn and scamper back to the throngs of people when she hears a sound coming from the other side of the clothing rack. Like a hard object clicking against a table top. And….. Humming! There is someone humming back there! The voice is raspy and out of tune, but soft enough to explain why she'd not heard it at first over the music. 

She should leave. She needs to leave. She knows she should not be here. And as she places her sock clad toes upon the first step leading into the wagon, her heart thunders with the adrenaline only a precocious person, who knows they are being mischievous, can produce. Excitement bubbles thru her very finger tips as she enters the wagon. The air is strangely much cooler in here than it is outside. She had expected it to be stifling and enclosed and hot.

She pads as quietly as she can, around the clothing rack and, dropping into a very unladylike crouch, peeks her head stealthily around the last piece of clothing between herself and her quarry. What she sees makes her mouth go dry. 

It's a very broad set of shoulders. Naked and tapering into a slender waist. A thin sheen of sweat makes the skin on the man's back glisten. A few stray droplets accumulate to trail down into the hem of his trousers. His suspenders crease the flesh bilaterally down his back. He's hunched over, concentrating on whatever is on the table before him. 

As he sits up, rocking back slightly on the stool he is sitting upon, his face becomes visible in the mirror before him. Leah's blood turns to nervous ice in her veins. If he looks. If he merely stops focusing solely on what he's doing. If she so much as flinches. He will see her, crouching there, peeping with a blush upon his flesh like some wanton wild animal. What had she been THINKING sneaking in here like this??? This is the very most improper behavior she can possibly think of! Still, she must not move. Must hold perfectly still and watch this scene unfold.

She focuses on the slightly blurred reflection of the man's face. And heat returns to her blood. And not ONLY her blood. He has the most piercing blue eyes she has ever seen. His brow is very prominent, lending a severity to his features that she's never seen before.  Buck teeth rest on a lush lower lip underneath his nose. His jaw line is angled and sharp. He looks dangerous and devilish. And he's a very large man. And strong based off the lean muscle roping and bunching upon his back as his arms move. He appears to be mixing something that she cannot see.

This doesn't remain a mystery for long, as the man brings a short thick brush to his face and spreads a thick white line of paint from his wide forehead, around his temple, and then down his cheek to his chin. His mouth widens, stretching his lips over his teeth, distorting his humming even more, as he uses the brush to begin working the paint over that side of his face.

It is at this point that, her shoes, hanging forgotten till this moment from her hooked forefinger and middle finger, begin to slip from her grasp. Instinctively, her palm curls and she yanks her hand to her chest, wrapping her other arm around both shoes. She looks back up to the man, fully expecting to have been caught. But he's still working face paint under his eye. That was close! Too close! Leah takes in those broad shoulders one last time, shivering underneath her dress from something other than cold. Then slowly backs away around the clothes rack. She feels relief wash over her as she realizes she's no longer in his vision. All she's gotta do is just tip toe back over to that door and then she's a free bird.

Time seems to slow to a horrifying crawl, as she watches the door begin to swing closed. The thing opens towards the interior of the wagon so Leah can clearly see that no mortal hand is closing it. Throwing caution to the wind, she stands and full on sprints towards the shrinking line of twilight sky visible around the edges of the closing door. She knows the very moment that she will not make it. Electric bolts of numbing terror shoot thru her limbs. Her mouth widens, teeth bared, in a silent scream of sheer horror. Her lungs wheeze from an extra jolt of adrenaline laced energy. But it is to no avail. And she knows this. Even before the click of the handle into the door frame announces that she's closed in, she instinctively knows that It will be locked. 

And as her hands fumble with the knob and feel no turning nor give, she feels the first fearful tears leave her eyes.

And then a raspy voice rings out behind her.

"Hello Leah. Come to play with ole Bob Gray?" 

Leah turns, her hands flailing behind her. One still struggling uselessly to turn the doorknob. The other raking nails against the solid wood grains of the door, her shoes clattering to the floor and very much forgotten. Her body stands upon tip toes, leaning back, as if instinctively trying to use her weight to somehow break thru the door. 

And there before her, so tall that even at this distance of several feet she must crane her head, stands the man who had been sitting in front of a mirror applying paint to his face mere moments ago. His back is hunched slightly as if his very being is being restrained from pouncing on her. He's rubbing his long thin hands together as if he's preparing to experience some sort of victory. His lower lip droops obscenely as he grins at her. A thin line of spittle runs from this lip, as if he is slavering at the scent of a sumptuous feast. His brows are creased even further over those haunting eagle like eyes. In this moment, he does not look entirely HUMAN.

"I'm so sorry!" Leah stammers. "I….. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just curious. I'll leave right away. I promise!" 

With each quivering word, the man's….. Bob's…….. Drooling too wide smile grows ever more wide. Baring more and more crooked teeth. He's now rubbing his hands so tightly that Leah can hear popping sounds arising from his knuckles. 

"Oh. You're not going anywhere Leah. Not yet. We haven't even begun to play." His voice is something between a hiss and a growl, and spittle flies upon the 'play'. Leah openly gasps as he jerks a large foot forward, taking a step towards her. He's hunching even more now, and it's quite obvious that he's preparing to spring if she tries to get around him. But why even try? Without a way out of the door behind her, there's really nowhere to go. 

Still, Leah simply cannot stand by. Her skin is alight with electric adrenaline. She takes a small step to the right, testing him. Bob responds by tilting his head at her and advancing another step. His grin is so wide now that it shall surely split his face in 2. She feigns another step to the right before attempting to actually go left. Her very blood is screaming although her lips emit only desperate panting. 

She doesn't get far. She feels his hand around her wrist, cold and vice like. So large that her own hand is engulfed. The door knob strikes her back as Bob shoves her into the door, making her cry out. Keeping his hand around her wrist, he pulls it above her head, bringing his large body flush with hers. She can feel the lean iron like musculature of him thru her clothes. Can feel her clothes sticking to the sweat upon him. She reaches up, pressing her free palm against his chest to try to push him away. A cracking hyena like laugh erupts from him as he snatches up this free hand and pulls it effortlessly up to its twin. He uses only one hand to trap her smaller hands there. Using his free hand, he cups her face and pushes it upward so that her eyes meet his own. 

"Oh but you're a pretty one, Leah. Let me introduce myself properly. Name's Robert Gray. Friends call me Bobby." 

[theotherbloodfart]

Energy (NSFW)

I had a really shitty day and writing is my therapy. Have a feral vicious smutty af Penny. I wrote this to The Chain by Evanescence.

WARNING: VIOLENCE, BLOOD PLAY, AND CLOWN COCK

Wet sloshing sounds reverberate in the sewer. The sounds of your desperate panting fill your head in a twisting rhythm that intertwines with the pounding of your heart and fuels your muscles to power onward.

Over all of this, you can still hear the laughter ringing out behind you. It breeds fear in your chest. Fear. And other things. Excitement. Adrenaline. Sheer energy which burns in flames inside your belly. Inside your core. Tears flow down your face as breathless laughter flits from your lips.

Your sodden shoes feel like bricks upon your feet in the grey water. So you kick them off. This action causes you to stumble and your arms flail helplessly as they instinctively seek something to hold. To right yourself.

It is the slimy wall of the sewer passage which they land upon. You feel sludge accumulate under your nails as they scrape across the cold clammy surface, seeking purchase. Your body pauses precariously, your abdominal muscles straining to maintain your balance, as you reach down and, one by one, claw the sopping socks from your feet. You could step on a rock. You could step on glass shards. You could step directly into the jaws of the darkest monster. And you do not care.

You spread your arms as you run now. Letting your panicked laughter fly back to your pursuer. Perhaps you’ll get die. Perhaps you’ll go insane. Maybe……… you are already insane. You are lost in so many ways. Lost to your purpose. Lost to humanity. Lost in this sewer. Lost to the cacophony of emotion that just being here evokes within you. And, in the darkest recesses of your heart….. In the most feral and primitive part of your soul……. You LOVE this.

You have never felt so ALIVE in your life. So free.

The memory of just under an hour ago feels as if it is an eternity ago. As you’d woken up on top of a decayed wooden platform in the middle of a pool of water. As you’d first laid eyes on your captor. As your ears had prickled when he’d told you that you belong to him now.

Every fiber of your willful nature had reared itself in indignant laughter, which had poured fourth from your chest to assault the clown…… Pennywise…….. Right in his wicked and beautiful face.

You had not paused. You had not listened. You had not cowered. You had run. As you are running now. And if he catches up? You will stop then yes. You will stop. You will turn. And you will FIGHT. Because fighting is what you are best at. Because fighting is all you know. Never, in all of your life, have you ever given up. And you refuse to give up now. To give in.

Yet your mind knows he will catch up. Knows that he will win. Knows that he will make you submit. And you WANT him to. You WANT this submission. And yet your body continues to pump your legs mercilessly forward. Your basic survival instincts have always served you well and they simply will not be ignored now.

Laughter sounds out again behind you, blending with your own laughter. He’s enjoying this chase just as much as you are. You can feel your own energy throb and weaken as he feeds off of your animal fear. And you feel that energy being simultaneously replenished from your molten core. Your body is wired tighter than the hammer of a new revolver. Your sex is alight with the most intense and throbbing arousal you have ever felt.

You are being hunted. Yet the prey seems to be willing fodder for the carnivore. You are as a marionette, joyously dancing for your puppeteer, swaying and running and performing to his wishes, never realizing that your strings have already been cut. That you are dancing of your own accord. For this feeling. This energy. For him.

Your lungs burn from exertion as you turn a corner and slam bodily into a dead end. There seems to be very little light, yet your adrenaline filled eyes can still discern shapes in the darkness. The sparkling reflects on the grimy walls from the water, very muted in the darkness. The force of the impact dazes you as your body turns in jerking motions to lean back against the wall.

There will be no more running.

And he’s not making you wait. Even as your chest heaves with the sheer effort, a pumping billows to help you regain your breath, he’s stepping slowly out of the gloom. His brows are furrowed, his eyes flash vermilion, his slavering fangs are laid bare on either side of his buck teeth, and he appears like a painted Victorian demon, come to claim his prize.

Your fierce and stubborn heart makes you respond in kind. You bare your blunt human teeth and roar as you raise your balled fists. Your quivering thighs ripple as you widen your stance. Swiping wet hair out of your eyes, as they narrow upon him.

He pauses then, tilting his head at you, his upper lip curling as saliva dribbles out and drips into the sewer water. You can’t tell if he’s disgusted or impressed by your impish bravery.

“Ssshhhhhhh. Hush that heart. You are mine. Now come to me.” He spreads his arms wide. “Or I shall take you.”

Your vision blurs with impudent rage as you do just as he says. Pushing off from the wall, you charge at him. His face, in the last milliseconds before your fist connects with it, radiates a shocked expression which tells you that he has not expected you to react in this way.

The right hook is solid and clean. Blood erupts from his nose and a satisfying crunch is heard as your knuckles break his nose. You do not stop to wonder why his blood floats away in spinning droplets as you rush past his flailing arms. You can see the open tunnel behind it and your body, your very being, races towards it.

Then you feel a gloved hand on your ankle. The grip is silky soft yet akin to a steel manacle. You are stopped so quickly that you are planted face first into shin deep grey water. This temporary underwater experience is ethereal as you feel the cold water flow up your body. You are being dragged backwards. Water rushes up your nostrils and your lungs burn as they instinctively inhale water, trying to sneeze.

You then feel a firm grip upon your shirt, at your side, as your body is wrenched around to face upward. Your face breaks the water and you cough and splutter on the fetid taste as your chest attempts to rid itself of the inhaled fluid.

Pennywise is crouched above you, his feet planted at either side of your body. You can feel his calves flex upon your sides as he reaches down to grip your shirt collar and pull your face up very close to his. His cheeks and brows are splattered with his alien buoyant blood, from his misshapen nose.

You feel hot air against your own face as his jaws open wide and he full on roars. The deafening sound doesn’t even phase you as you watch his nose heal, the blood seeping back up into it as it reshapes itself into it’s original button shape. The scent of his breath is like an instant jolt of childhood memory. Buttery popcorn. Spun sugar of cotton candy. The crisp waft of static electricity. Brimstone. Death. You can only watch in wide eyed awe.

He concludes this roar with a metallic clipping sound as his jaws close and his teeth snap together. He shakes his head sending cold droplets of water from his sodden hair to mix with his hot spittle to land upon your lips and cheeks. The merry sound of his bells is a strange contrast to this.

He then stills, his bunched fist in your shirt holding you suspended still, as he glares down at you. Perhaps this shall be the moment of your death. For attempting to usurp him. For hurting him. And yet you feel no fear now.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, as his cruel expression softens. He brings his other hand up to run a wet silk fingertip down your cheek. His lips purse in curiosity as a droplet of saliva gathers upon his lower lip. You watch it shimmer.

You hear small ripping sounds and suddenly the feeling of silk is replaced by the sharp tip of a claw being dragged across your panting lips.

Without warning, your shirt collar tightens dangerously, as he yanks your lips to his. You gasp as fangs draw blood from your mouth. He’s kissing you roughly and mercilessly. The metallic taste of your blood blends seamlessly with the candied apple alien taste of his saliva.

His body stiffens as you, once again, react in a way in which he does not expect. An airy snarl pours from your throat into his as you wrap your arms around his neck, your hands fisting into the sodden material of his neck ruff, pulling yourself into his kiss, pressing your soft flesh even further into the painful pricking of his fangs.

You snake a hand up into his dripping hair, attempting to rotate his head so that you can deepen the kiss even further. He allows this, a strangled rumbling growl vibrating within his chest. You brush your tongue against his bloody teeth and he obliges you, opening his jaws further to allow your tongue to swipe behind those bladed fangs. Your eyes remain open, fixed upon that crimson gaze.

You feel his claws scrape your scalp, as he grasps your hair and yanks your face from his. You both are motionless for a moment. You admire your blood, tipping his fangs, as you feel warm droplets of the stuff cascade down your chin. His grip, upon your hair, is iron tight.

Then, he drops you and the icy water closing over your face shocks your system, as you feel him grasping the hem of your pants, dragging your whole body from the bottom of the sewer. You feel your hair dragging thru the water, the coldness of it kissing your scalp, before he tosses your body up and out. Over several feet. The wind is knocked from you as your body collides with a raised surface you had not noticed before. It is not dry. But it is above the water level.

He gives no pause, pouncing upon your shivering body. You feel his fangs scrape your belly as he bites the hem of your pants, shaking his head like a dog worrying an old piece of leather. Your body is airborne again and flailing with the shaking motions of this. Until the seams of your pants give way and the fabric is torn from you. He does not bother with complete removal and the intact legs of your pants tangle around your naked ankles. Your panties are no challenge at all to the same ministrations, tearing away like paper. The cool air hitting your pussy makes you cry out.

He rocks back upon his knees to watch you scramble clumsily to remove your shirt and bra. You are successful but your tangled pants fetter your ankles and you lose balance, falling down again onto your belly.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch his eyes feast upon your form. He’s looking at you as if you are a well braised and finely seasoned piece of flesh. Hungry. Starving. He slowly uses a single claw to finish pulling your pants off of your ankles, one by one. Till you are naked and shivering before him.

You do not wait for his next move. You raise to your own knees, meeting his gaze almost haughtily. Shameless in a way you have never been. His mouth creases in a wicked smile.

“You nasty little thing. All hot and wet and covered in shit water for Pennywise. My little sewer baby. My fuck toy. I shall enjoy breaking you.”

You feel ire bubbling in your veins, heating your chilled blood.

“Break THIS!” And you tackle him.

You feel a feral and lusty rage fuel your tired muscles as you bite into the stiff flesh under his jaw bone. You claw and dig at his doublet, ripping an orange puff off in your frenzy. He is bowled over by your energetic movement. But the stiff and firm tightening of his muscles tells you he is merely ALLOWING you to push him over. This fuels your rage even more as you pin him to the damp ground.

His growling radiates pleasured sounds at the pressure of your teeth under his jaw. But your inferior human teeth cannot break his skin. You’re straddling him and your will is helpless to the wanton thrusting of your hips as you try to find friction by grinding your pussy into his silken crotch.

“So helpless. So ready to breed. Yes. Find your pleasure, my little human.” His chuckling growls flow from his throat to vibrate your lips.

And you can take no more. Here, in this chill sewer, underneath the streets of Derry, astride an eldritch God, your will breaks. His hands merely rest upon your hips as you buck helplessly, he is forcing you to do NOTHING. Yet, you SUBMIT.

“Please….” You feel hot tears of helpless rage filled lust leak out from your clenched eyelids to flow down your cheeks as your teeth release his flesh. “Fuck me, Pennywise.”

“Say it.” His voice is a deadly hiss. “Tell me whom you belong to, (Y/N).” His hips thrust experimentally, rubbing the silk of his pantaloons along your slit, scraping the sensitive bud of your clit.

You cry out as you reach your hands up to dig your nails into his cheeks. He chuckles, unfazed. “Say it.”

“Yours. I am yours. I belong to Pennywise. Please.” Your voice is a cracked humanoid snarl.

The world spins as the clown grasps your waist with one hand, and cradles your head with the other, flipping your body to lay upon the ground. He then gently wipes your wet hair from your face.

“Now….. (Y/N). I want you to beg me. Beg Pennywise to break you.”

The enraged rebuttal dies at your lips as you feel a thick appendage emerge from his pantaloons to slide and tease your clit thru the folds of your pussy. You groan as you feel the moisture of it mix with your juices to coat your thighs.

“Please, Pennywise. Break me. Kill me. I don’t even care anymore. I’m yours. I belong to you. Oh…… PLEASE!” You wriggle your hips helplessly, trying to open yourself further for him.

With your unabridged submission, he teases no longer, thrusting into you with a feral demonic gurgling growl. Setting a beastly pace, he does not even attempt to be gentle. Your core is filled with a burning pain and you scream even as your nails dig into his ass cheeks to try to press him deeper with each thrust.

His affect does not match his performance. As he brutally fucks you into the ground, he nuzzles into your neck, murmuring to you.

Some words you understand.

Beautiful. Strong. Brave. Special.

Some words you only recognize as foreign dialects.

And still others are so alien you know that no human could ever pronounce them.

He is crooning to you. Whispering of your body and of your soul. Gentle with his speech as his hips nearly break yours. Binding you to him with vocalizations of adoration as he destroys your aching body.

And you come undone. Screaming your submission into the cold dark of the sewer as your muscles clench around him in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

You are still in the throws of this when you feel his fangs sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The sweet burning agony only fuels your keening climax as you feel your pouring blood bubble around his monstrous roar as his cock wriggles and bursts hot cum into your hungry cunt.

As his teeth retract and slide out of your flesh, you feel your body go limp. You are absolutely exhausted and cannot even move. Free prey. He could kill you now and you would not be able to lift a finger.

But he does not do this. Instead, he gazes down at you, his face smooth, his eyes a glowing periwinkle blue. He pulls out of you and crouches over you, running pristine and dry gloved fingertips over the myriad bruises and wounds upon your body.

The bastard is clean and dry and as perfect as the first time you had laid eyes on him and you are simply too tired to question HOW.

Instead you reach for him with trembling arms which bloom different shades of blue and purple marks.

He leans down to allow you to drape your arms around his shoulders. Standing and lifting you effortlessly to cradle you very much like a sleepy child. He leans down to growl a single word.

“MINE.”

“Yours.” You pass out then, completely unaware as he walks slowly back into the darkness of the sewer.

[theotherbloodfart]

I've finally finished every request after how far I fell behind during inktober Lololol. Ima knock out a couple Christmas present fics then hopefully open up requests again soon.

[theotherbloodfart]

Token Pt 4

The final part of the request made by @craftygoateeprincess oml this is some shameless self indulgent fluff right here. Hope you like!

He sits placidly in the lotus pose. Even in the gloom of her darkening living room, every detail is as clear and bright and new to her as the first time she saw it. Her eyes start from his boots and travel upward.

The tips of his boots are scuffed and nestled in the silk of his pantaloons atop his knees, the orange puffs she knows are there are not visible with his feet in this position. Her gaze travels to his gloved hands, which are resting palm up just next to each boot. His fingers are curled gently, the pointer fingers just touching the silken tips of his thumbs.

His head is facing directly forward, tho his eyes are closed. His face is smooth and peaceful. His body isn’t moving at all. Quite noticeable in this quiet place. No human twitching. No breathing. Just a marble statue posing to look like a clown.

Ellie cannot believe he has consented to this. To sit still and calm and allow her to touch him like this. The clock ticking on her wall sounds like tiny explosions, each click reverberating around her living room, bouncing off of the silvery being before her.

She drops to her knees, directly before him. He is so tall that, even on her knees, she still has to crane her neck to gaze up at his face. She focuses on his long dark lashes, fanned out over the tops of his cheeks like 2 tiny palm leaves.

As she reaches towards him her breath catches. She feels like a worm daring to touch some keen and deadly predator. She supposes that’s just what she is. Oh! But what a beautiful predator! And such a foolish worm. Her hand falters and drops. Her head drops, her confidence wilting.

“Do not be afraid, Ellie.” The rumble of his voice makes every hair upon her body stand on end. “There is much to fear. But not me. Never me.”

She looks up to his face. Meeting his brilliant blue eyes. Basks in the bottomless glow before she watches the pale lids glide down once again to close them. Then reaches forward again. And falters again.

But this time, a gloved hand snaps forward, the long fingers wrapping around her wrist, soft yet vice like. She doesn’t struggle, but pulls against him softly as he mercilessly places her open, trembling hand upon his chest, as if the silk here might burn her skin. They sit like this for some time. The clown holding her hand firm and the girl slowly calming, the quaking in her hands slowly subsiding.

After he has decided that she’ll not pull away, he releases her wrist and returns his hand to it’s original pose, his face still relaxed and his eyes still closed.

His flesh, under the suit, feels cool and iron like, the lean muscle and sinew contrasting with the smooth thick silk of his doublet. She runs her finger tips up and down, pressing in to feel the ribs, her thumb brushing one of the orange puffs. Her throat feels so dry that she coughs. He doesn’t react. Gingerly, she lifts the other hand, which had been sitting numbly in her lap, to join it’s sister in exploring his chest.

Her heart thunders so loudly that she can no longer hear the ticking of her clock. The air in her living room suddenly feels icy, and her skin prickles with gooseflesh. She doesn’t realize her lower lip is quivering. She doesn’t realize her eyes are tearing until a falsely warm drop slides down her cheek.

The clown's nostrils flare and she feels his chest expand rapidly. Once. Twice. He’s scenting her.

“Not fear. But so similar.” His words confirm her thoughts.

“I’m nervous, Penny.” Her voice cracks from dryness.

“Why?” His voice is a comfortable rumble.

“Because…… you’re REAL. All this time. All these years. I KNEW but I somehow still didn’t believe. But here you are. With me.” This confession spurs a flash of bravery as her hands leave his chest, her finger tips trailing down the soft silk of his arms. She feels the hot sting of more tears upon her cheeks as she continues.

“Don’t you understand? When I was a little girl, I believed in magic. I believed angels were real. I believed that my will alone could make things change. I even believed I could fly! But then life happened. Darkness and pain. Lies and deceit. Survival. And I lost that belief. I grew up. Oh, don’t you see?? If you’re REAL……… then that means that MAGIC is real.”

Her heart thunders on as Pennywise responds to her words, and her tailing finger tips, only by slowly raising his forearms, spreading his long fingers, his palms facing her. She gulps down anxious bile and places her palms against his. And they sit like this. Very still. The girl breathing shallowly. The eldritch clown not breathing at all. Touching palms. And Ellie’s knees press against his shins as she leans forward, sliding her fingers down between his. He responds in kind, entwining his fingers with her own.

Only the sore cramping in her cheeks tells Ellie that her face is creased in an enormous smile. She’s holding hands with her sewer angel. And she’s crying.

As her gaze settles upon his face, she feels her breath catch. His eyes are no longer closed. His expression is solemn and watchful. His periwinkle blue eyes are……. Almost soulful…….. As he watches her.

It is now that he moves, still very slowly, unwrapping the fingers of one hand from hers and reaching for her face. Time itself seems to freeze as Ellie feels his palm cup her chin. Every nerve ending in her skin seems to take on its own static life as she feels the silk of his glove brush along her jaw bone. As his finger tips stretch along one cheek and his thumb along the other.

“I can see your thoughts, Ellie. They are disjointed and strange. A dream. I, myself, enjoy dreams.” For a moment, his gaze is vacant. Looking thru her, into another time. Another reality. “You will stay, won’t you Ellie? You will stay in my Derry?” His gaze bores into her own.

She simply cannot speak as her emotions twirl and clench at her heart. His wide eyed gaze is childlike and lonely.

“Stay?” It is not a command, but a supplication. “I have existed longer than your mind could ever comprehend. I am not human. I kill and feast and dance. I am the Eater of Worlds little Ellie. I’ve giggled at sobbing mothers while slurping the marrow from the bones of their tender babies. I have watched races die and new races emerge from their dusty graves. I have watched, in idle boredom, as stars sputtered their death song.” The blue of his irises bursts into burning gold as he speaks. Saliva dribbles from his plump lips as the tiniest snippets of his memories are laid bare before her.

A tingling sensation flutters within the contact of his hand with her skin. Her vision disjoints. She gazes upon Pennywise before her. Yet, when her eyes close, she can see flashes of these things he speaks of. Only for these images to fade as she opens her eyes again.

It is as if she’s existing in 2 places at once. The reality of this beautiful being before her, in the fading light of her living room. And the shadowy realm of the eternal dreams of his long rests whenever her lids close. But she is not afraid. He continues.

“I have seen many things, Ellie. Felt many sensations. But I have never felt this. I have never felt this desire for my presence. And it is very pleasant. I do not wish for this sensation to cease. Stay? Stay with me?” He breaks the contact with her by removing his hand from her chin and folding it, with the other hand, in his lap. And watches her expectantly.

She realizes she is leaning forward so far that she’s nearly losing balance. As if her body has begun to gravitate towards his. She feels empty somehow without those visions of his dreams that she’d seen as he’d touched her. The dawning realization that he had CHOSEN to share those images with her leaves her breathless, the tears now flowing freely now.

“Pennywise,” her voice is unsteady as she speaks. “I’d rather die than leave this place. I have nothing left outside of this place. Outside of you. You’ve saved my life literally every time I’ve seen you. That’s more than any person has ever cared to do. I don’t care about what you’ve done. I don’t CARE. I LOVE you. I always have. I always will.” The desperate need to express this to him overrides her nervousness.

He tilts his head at her, the gold in his eyes returning to their gentle blue.

“I do not know that I can love, child. The emotion is a meaningless concept to me. Or at least, it always was….” His sentence is cut off as, with the most sudden impulse she’s ever had, she leans forward, extending as far up as she can on her knees, to kiss him.

He stiffens and she feels his large hands grip her waist as her arms snake around his neck. The material of his neck ruff pricks and tickles her skin. His lips do not respond as she presses her own to them, but they are soft and compliant. He allows this action although it is obvious that he’s unsure of what he should be doing in response. She feels the nervousness overwhelm her as she goes to pull away.

Then, she feels his palm on the back of her head now, as he applies gentle pressure to keep her in place. And slowly, with great care, as if she were made of the most delicate material, he returns her kiss. It is sloppy and wet and inexperienced and wonderful. And when he finally pulls away, she can feel her tears mixing with the saliva upon her own chin.

“Ellie……. Stay?” Again the question.

“Yes. I will stay.”

[bloodfart666]

I'M SCREAMING

MY COMMISSION BY @whereyougoin-eds IS DONE AND IM ACTUALLY CRYING. LOOK AT HOW BEAUTIFUL WE ARE 😭😭😭

[theotherbloodfart]

Token Pt 3

This is part 3 to the request made by @craftygoateeprincess. Part 4 gone be a fluffy just fyi

WARNING: VIOLENCE

“Now, how have you been, little Ellie?” Pennywise's grin is demonic, the words slopping out like the saliva, as he brings his hands forward in front of his chest, touching every finger tip to its opposite on the other hand. He walks forward and to the side of her, stalking her, forcing her to scramble to her feet in order to be able to face him and keep him in her line of sight.

Then, without warning, and faster than she can fathom, he is directly before her. He plops onto his bottom with a soft silky sound, his finger tips still touching. She’s looking down at the cracks on his forehead within his receding hairline as he slowly angles his face, now smooth and devoid of any malice, to bring his now periwinkle blue eyes to meet her own eyes. As if he’s openly trying to appear less threatening.

“I’ve…….. Been alright.” On impulse, she drops to her own bottom before him, mirroring his actions as she touches her fingertips together and rests her chin on the tips of her thumbs. He looks visibly taken aback by this action.

“Did you miss me, Ellie?” His brows are raised and his face tilts slightly with this question.

“More than you’ll ever know. And…. We gotta look pretty silly sitting like this, in the middle of the street.” Ellie stiffles a giggle. Pennywise merely gives her a dour look.

“No one shall come.” His tone isn’t threatening, but quite calm. “Why have you come back to Derry?”

She thinks about lying. She really does. Thinks about some socially acceptable and meaningless answer. Then dismissed the thought just as quickly. He’ll know she’s lying anyhow. “You, Pennywise. I came back to see you.”

“Foolish.” The answer is rapid fire and caustic, but Ellie feels no ire.

“Why?” she questions. “And what about you? Do you ever think about me? I think about you a lot. You saved my life. And I’ve never forgotten.”

His face is completely blank for several moments. “I was going to kill you, Ellie.”

She should probably feel afraid. Yet, she doesn’t.

“But you didn’t. You saved my life. And you saved me again this night. And I thank you, Pennywise.” Throwing caution to the wind, she lurches forward onto her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck, burrowing her face into his neck ruff. It is more stiff than she remembers. But his reaction is just the same. She feels the weight of his long arms as he drapes them over her shoulders, resting them on her back. He’s not returning her hug. But he’s not outright refusing it either.

Releasing him, she stands, brushing dirt off of her ruined pants. Turning her back to him in a blatant show of trust, she stands her bike up. It’s surprisingly unharmed. She mounts it, turning her head back to him, fully expecting him to be gone. But he’s still sitting, cross legged, his hands now folded in his lap.

“I’m gonna go home now. Will I see you again?” She can’t help the hopeful tone in her voice.

“Yes. Yes I think you will, Ellie.” His voice is raspy and dark.

…………………………………………………

It watches her pedal away, It’s mind clouded and thoughtful. What is wrong with this human? She is clearly defective. Not an ounce of fear. Not even discomfort. The girl had been FAR more afraid of that sniveling weak whelp It'd peeled off of her than she was of Itself.

It tilts It’s head curiously at an emanation of the girl’s scent still in this area. It wafts from an object in the gutter.

………………………………………………

As the weeks go by Ellie can’t seem to get RID of the clown.

He just appears out of nowhere. Sits and watches her. Not engaging in conversation more than answering her questions. And even these answers are caustic and clipped.

“Where did you come from?”

“You could never understand.”

“Do you have a true name?”

“My name is Pennywise.”

“This could not have POSSIBLY always have been your name.”

“You could not possibly pronounce my true name, child.”

Ellie never loses interest tho. He’s fascinating. And SO distracting. And eventually he begins to ask questions.

“Why do you do that?”

“Put on makeup? Because I like the way it makes me look.”

“It makes you look like one of those nocturnal mammals.”

Ellie stops and turns, raising a brow. “You BETTER not be talking about a racoon, Mister MoreMakeupThanADragQueen.”

“This is just my face, Ellie.”

The way her heart flutters at hearing her name coming from him makes her mess up her eyeliner wing.

Each day, the feeling of being with him never fades. Never goes stale. She’s always just as thrilled to see him as she was the first time.

This is how her mind is occupied when she goes to peddle her bike across the street one night, during a red light. And this is how her mind is occupied when a drunk driver ignores this red light…..

……………………………………………

It studies the soft object in It’s hands. Squeezing the thing softly and sniffing it and studying it. Reaching out It’s mind to comb her thoughts as It often does now. Her thoughts are on It. They nearly always are. It cannot understand her obsession. It cannot understand It’s own fascination with her. Squeezing the object again, thoughtfully, It examines this fascination.

It has never received such attention before. Has never felt this feeling of adoration from any being. Only fear and repugnance. It supposes It should end her. Free itself of her. Yet, the thought of NOT seeing this inquisitive creature anymore…… of NOT listening to her voice as she talks about her day, as she queries It of the silliest things……… of NEVER seeing another being's eyes widen and nostrils flare with inherent pleasure at It’s presence……… the empty idea is distasteful.

It is now that her thoughts spear into It’s mind of their own accord. FORCING their way in. As if she is CALLING for It. It drops the object It has been holding, closes It’s eyes, and focuses all of It’s will upon her mind.

FEAR. The first It has ever felt from her. And the images are so FAST. One moment she is humming, kpop she refers to this kind of tune, and watching the concrete of a street, now wet from a recent rain, glisten by to the glow of a street light. The next, she’s looking at 2 lights. Brighter than twin suns. Bouncing along like inferior deadlights. An engine snarling as terrifying as any sound It could make. And then pain. Searing awful pain. It is concentrating so hard on what she’s seeing that It’s own gloved hand reaches up to clutch the silk at It’s belly in response. Then her mind is dark. Not sleeping. Not dreaming. Not conscious.

When It’s eyes snap open, they flash the purest crystalline blue. It has never felt worry. Has never wanted to PREVENT any act of negative import upon another being. But this rapid and thoughtless end…… this will not do. Must not happen.

A brief glimmer of will transports It to her side. It ignores the screech of brakes applied to tires. Screams of shock and terror at It’s instant presence matter not one wit to It. The drunk driver stumbling out of the car is nearly invisible to It, his apologetic cries and mumbling the equivalent to the clicking of ant legs and just as insignificant. The only thing that holds It’s attention is her broken form slumped upon the concrete.

Striding over to her, It kneels, touching her shoulder. The fingers of his gloves come back glossy with blood. It places It’s hands upon her side and pulls her to her back. She’s slack jawed and very pale. It can hear her fluttering and weak heart. Can see a large bloody wound upon her stomach. Watches the life force pouring from her.

“Hey! I’m sorry! She came outta nowhere, I swear!” the drunkard touches the clown’s shoulder.

Placing both palms protectively upon Ellie, Pennywise whips his face around, his eyes blazing vermilion, his jaws flayed impossibly wide, and sinks innumerable fangs into the forearm of the man. The sickening snap of a dislocated elbow joint is heard as the clown jerks his face away again, a large chunk of the man’s flesh coming with it. Then only shrill screams are heard as the man stumbles away, clutching his injured arm to his chest. Pennywise spits the meat out as if it tastes of shit.

Ellie coughs and splutters beneath It. As It nuzzles her cheeks, the foreign blood on It’s cheeks mixing with hers, It does not realize that the pitiful mewling and keening sounds It is hearing are coming from It’s own chest. They flutter up to the heavens to mix with the wailing of approaching ambulance sirens.

Pulling It’s face back, It calms as It begins to assess her more clinically. She is bleeding. She is dying. This simply will. Not. Do. It can only destroy. So It must destroy the blood.

The screaming of the bystanders behind It annoys It and disturbs It’s concentration and with a careless flick of It’s bloody hand, the adults freeze and stare complacently. A quiet and solemn audience to a very dark miracle.

Placing It’s fingertips upon the gash in Ellie’s stomach, It focuses on her blood vessels. On each and every torn and flawed capillary. And WILLS the bleeding to die. WILLS the destruction of her injuries.

…………………………………………….......

Ellie is floating, adrift in a sea of pain. But even this is nothing compared to the eruption of FIRE within her belly. The exquisite agony of FLAME blooms here like a blazing flower perched upon the slopes of hell itself. She screams, yet her jaw does not move. She weeps, yet her eyes are dry. She is motionless in a torrent of blazing DEATH, yet she does not die.

And then, even her consciousness goes numb. Swirling into the stream of stars surrounding some unfathomable interdimensional world she cannot comprehend. Resting in a dream where she is laughing and tapping the noses of these stars. Sitting in the silken lap of a silent protector. She leans into him and forgets all.

When her eyes finally open, she sees the white ceiling above her hospital bed in muted light from her bedside table lamp.

She learns that her survival was impossible. That she should have bled out there in the street. But, for some reason, all of her major bleeding points had been…….. Cauterized. And for some reason, none of these logical minded surgeons are questioning this poignant information.

But none of these things are what she remembers the most. All she can focus on, even as they are telling her these things, is the dirty clown plush on her bedside table. It smells of sewer and looks as if it has been handled quite a bit. She thought she’d lost it during her conflict with Webby. Thought she’d lost it to the gutter. But here it is. Mottled and grimey and adorable as ever. She could not possibly know how often Pennywise has clutched at it while thinking of her.

When she gets out of the hospital, she rushes home, knowing she’ll find him there. And she’s right. As she bursts thru her front door, she sees him standing in her living room, hands behind his back. Standing stiffly, as if he’s done something wrong.

And she just doesn’t care. The joy inside her chest, wrapping around the burn scars upon her belly, is nearly painful in it’s intensity.

“Pennywise….” She feels tears prickling in her eyes.

“Ellie.” His periwinkle blue eyes meet hers.

“I love you.”

[bloodfart666]

Pennywise babysitting headcannons go!

Had @alllosersdownhere help me again. EYE DIED LAUGHING DOING THIS.

Pennywise? Babysitting?

NOM???

Okay let's examine WHY he'd NOT eat the tykes?

Maybe they're relatives of yours? Someone he KNOWS you care for?

Maybe (wishful thinking) it's his own children?

Humans can pet cattle without eating them so it stands to reason that Penny is capable of something like this. 

FEED THE CLOWN FIRST OML

Self denial is NOT something he's good at!

FEED HIM

Okay. Assuming he's well fed AND has the wherewithal to NOT see a walking cheeseburger…….. You prolly better prep the kiddos too. Penny isn't exactly your typical run of the mill, gentle looking clown. 

You could ask Penny to go Bob Gray.

He won't tho.

Expect clownly guffaws if you ask.

“I EAT children, I do not SIT them.”

"Or do I sit ON them? Yes! Maybe this is acceptable." "NO PENNY!"

The child screams? He… just screams back mockingly.

Older kid throws a tantrum? He will throw one BACK. Throw himself on the floor. “That’s what YOU sound like, idiot child.”

WHY WOULD YOU LET THIS CLOWN BABYSIT???

Time to feed the kiddo? Penny sniffs their food, makes a disgusted face. “You eat THIS? I could find you something better.”

FEED THE DAMN CLOWN

Better hope the kid doesn’t want a bedtime story. Penny has some interesting ones. That child is never sleeping again and it is your fault for trusting the child-murdering clown to babysit. 

Oldest, watching Beavis and Butthead when he's CLEARLY been told NOT to? Pennywise: "This is the most RIDICULOUS…… most ASININE……. turn it up will ya?"

Baby spits food in his face? Penny's GOING to either A) leper barf a lah chapter 2 or B) dump the baby food on their head.

Kid won’t sleep? Penny doesn’t understand this. This clown can sleep for 27 years, why won’t this kid sleep for more than 27 minutes?

He would entertain them by dancing. Unfortunately, he'll probably make the world dance around him instead or do something equally traumatising for the poor tyke. Or worse…… teaching the kid to do the wagon jig."NO you fool, it's like THIS." Kicks one of your knick knacks.

Kiddo brings a teddy to show him. He takes it, stares with distaste. Shreds it with his claws and drops the mauled bear to the floor. 

Reading a picture book? He will do something HORRIFIC. ESPECIALLY if the picture book has turtles oml. Make sure it does not.

One child draws on the wall. Another child says "you know you're not supposed to do that! (Y/N) said so!" Cue demonic clown grin. Expect a Divinci quality piece on your wall. In blood? Shit? Who knows…..

Penny is babysitting a little girl who invites him to her tea party? ...Actually. This is nice. He can’t fit at the little table and his knees are up to his chest comically but still.

Kid gets bored of the tea party so Penny flips over the table and tears up the guest dolls in a rage.

He shoves on some horror movies. Lets the kids skip bedtime to watch. 

Kiddo wants to play dress up. Penny's having NONE of it……. At first.

Is unsurprisingly tolerant of child putting makeup on his face.

"MAKE ME PRETTY PENNY!" Yup. You guessed it. Expect a house full of tiny demonic clowns and one tall clown drag queen.

Bathtime! Don’t worry, he won’t leave them unsupervised. He’ll just… probably turn the water to blood or pop out of the drain.

Unless they bring out the bubbles….. This clown is going to be ADDICTED. Will probably use the entire bottle.

HE TURNS BIG BOI. Lets the kids climb on him. It is adorable. A pity it would destroy the house.

If the kiddos want to go to the park, that’s fine! He’ll watch over them. Probably grab a snack while he’s out. Plenty to pick from.

As much as he likes to mock the popping sound, you'd think he knows how to microwave a bag of popcorn. SURPRISE! He doesn't. But never one to give up he'll keep trying. Just take a moment to imagine how your house is going to smell after 10 burnt bags of popcorn.

KIDS WANT BALLOON ANIMALS

Penny does not know how to do balloon animals

He DESTROYS those balloons. Bites them in a fury. Popped balloons EVERYWHERE.

Until the oldest shows him how to make a balloon penis. Then……. Lots of cackling and balloon penises. 

Oldest girl says "Ew, that's gross. What are you? Two?"

Penny pops a balloon penis in her face.

Blanket forts. Penny cannot grasp the logic behind these. Just tears them down to scare the shit outta the kids.

But plastic sword fights? Say hello to Obi Wan Penny. Jediwise. 

Child throws candy at the television. Penny thinks this is dandy. Child puts on TMNT. Penny throws entire bowl of candy. Including the bowl.

Penny TRIES the candy. Say bye to your candy. Wrappers and all.

Baby needs changed. Nope.

Baby cries. FINE.

Penny lives in a sewer so the smell is no bother to him. This clown can actually change a nappy like a PRO….. he just doesn't WANT to.

Bed time: "I'm scared of the dark Penny." 

"GOOD…… shit…….. Ugh….. FINE

Opens mouth towards the ceiling. PRESTO! Indirect deadlight night light.

Children start falling asleep. One is on his lap. They've FINALLY fallen asleep. He doesn't move. Not a single movement. 

Let's take a moment to SAVOR what you're going to find when you get home, shall we? 

Pieces of your ceiling are gone. There's a shit Mona Lisa on your living room wall. The bathroom is flooded with bubbles. It REEKS of burnt ass popcorn. Beavis and Butthead reruns on the tube, which is covered with pre chewed candy. Blankets and plastic swords EVERYWHERE. And there on the couch, amongst a sea of balloon penises, your sleeping demonic clown children. And a VERY disgruntled drag queen. 

The next morning, you find on your night stand….. A pristine brand new copy of "No Drama Discipline" by Daniel J Siegel.