Artsyclxwn - Gage

omg I just watched terrifier 3 it was so good 😩!

I was wondering if you could do something on the reader being jealous of Vicky? I found that whole dynamic in the movie interesting, wanted to see your take on it 🤭

You Jealous?

Art the clown x reader

summary: you’re jealous of all the attention vicky is getting.

warning: this does have a little bit of T3 spoilers, some cussing, and demons.

when he left you, you died. spiritually tho but to you it still counts. those 5 years have been a hell of a ride for you, since your clown man was no where to be seen. i mean sure, he would still contact you through dreams and what not, but you miss seeing him eye to eye.

after those 5 years of pain, you finally saw him again. even tho he was decapitated, you were still so glad to see him again after all this time. but your mood shifted as soon as you saw his ‘work parter’ vicky. you knew she was another demon, but the way she acted around him made you so fucking mad. you help art with his plans, i mean what can you say? you loved him. but you’d rather it be just you that helped him.

you were glad she gave birth to him so you could see him again, but that’s was all she was good for. your clown man doesn’t deserve a demon like her, or whatever the fuck you wanna call her. you didn’t like her, because she always had his attention. you knew you couldn’t kill her, so why even try.

one day you couldn’t take it anymore, and that day was the time she was dressed like him. as soon as you saw her, your blood boiled as your vision got blurry, not with tears, but with anger and jealousy. why was he letting her get close to him? why her and not you? does he like her now? will he leave you? you had no answers to any of those questions that flooded your head.

as soon as art left the room for a moment, you knew it was your chance.

“what the fuck is you problem, huh? dressing like him, always sitting next to him, taking pictures with him, are you fucking okay??” you couldn’t control yourself, letting your anger run loose.

she turns her head and looks and you, before cracking that ugly smile on her face and laughing.

“aww is someone jealous??” she fakes pouts at you before slapping her knee with laughter. before you could attack her, art came back in the room and grabbed you. you yelled at him to let you go but it was no use. he was dragging you to a different room with him.

“the hell do you want art?!” you couldn’t help but yell at him. you took a second before realizing he heard the whole conversation you just had. you knew he was nosy little thing. he just looks at you before he starts gesturing something with his hands. he points to him and throwds the place vicky is at and shakes his head no. as if he’s saying don’t be jealous, me and her aren’t a thing. you could only look at him with and empty face.

he leans in and gives you a hug, the hug you’ve missed all these years. your head rests on his shoulder breathing in the scent of blood…and piss.

“art you’re taking a shower tonight.”

if you’d like a part 2 let me know!!

Late Night Visit

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x reader

Warnings: None at all really! Mostly just fluff

Summary: Thomas comes late in the evening to see you.

Now, it’s no secret around these parts, the house that is, that you always struggled with rolling out of bed in the mornings.

It easily took you at least an hour to fully rise to your feet and finally go about your day, it was simply how your body chose to function.

Especially in such… Unique circumstances.

While Hoyt always used it as an excuse to kick your bucket and peel the meat from your bones for dinner, thankfully Miss Luda Mae was much more considerate and just sent her boy Thomas every ten or so minutes to shake the sleep out of your bones.

Quite literally.

You remembered the first time poor Thomas made the trip up the old creaky stairs to the room you were tied up in. The large man didn’t realize you were a sensitive riser at the time, and Luda Mae hadn’t bothered to warn him, which caused the whole ordeal to end with a sprained wrist on your end and a juicy black eye for Thomas. The whimper that came out of him surprised you for certain, he downright sounded like a wounded puppy, not at all in character with the man’s hulking appearance.

Then again, you also hadn’t been expecting an officer of the law to pistol-whip you and drag you to his house for dinner. To BE dinner, mind you.

Granted while it hadn’t ended up going Hoyt’s way, the sentiment was a little hard to shake.

But here you were anyway.

After that little scuffle though, they started tying your legs again, and a certain upset mama bear banned the man from the chore. But of course, after Luda Mae got tired of always making the trip up the stairs, she finally caved and sent her sweet boy on the missions his younger legs could handle once again.

Not before a stern warning not to be difficult to her baby boy, of course.

Thomas only lasted three days before noticing the bright rope burns glowing on your ankles, and the pair of big brown eyes hidden behind wild hair swirled with guilt at the sight.

Your wriggly feet had been free since and you both kept the little secret just between you and him.

It was an easy one to keep too, considering he always made extra sure to tuck the blanket under your feet before bed. You remembered the indistinguishable look in his eyes when you offered a feeble smile at the minor, yet thoughtful action the first time he did it.

Since then, the air in the room had started to shift over time. Whenever he ducked his towering frame through the door every morning and night, you could see his large shoulders droop, the tension seeping out from the core of his bones. At first, you thought it was because there was a wall between him and the noisy bickering that always seemed to be floating through the halls. A good portion of the subjects bein’ about the butcher himself.

Always in a not so kind light, too.

But, eventually, you came to realize it was just your presence that drew out such a thing from him.

You never did really prove that the sentiment was real, the introverted butcher made that sure, but lord be damned if you didn’t hope it was true.

Months passed, and you’d finally come to terms with the fact that you’d never get to leave the Hewitt house. Upon that realization, you found yourself more comfortable with the notion than you’d expected. You had cracked a smile when a certain resident of the home came to mind. Granted they were still a cautious bunch and made certain to chain you to your bed every night. Plus you were damn near positive you’d get early arthritis from all the sewing they were having you do. But, they let you skip out on the more meaty meals they served in favor of the veggies from the garden.

Can’t get any worse you supposed.

If anything, it got just that little bit better when a few cold nights later. You turned your attention from the book nestled in your hands to your door, the familiar sound of heavy footfalls closing in on your room per routine. Though that said routine had been finished over half an hour ago, your toasty tucked-in toes and chained wrist were a testament to that. The oddity caused you to smooth down the corner of your page, saving your spot before reaching over to set it on your nightstand. Hands now resting in front of you with calloused fingers picking at the threads of the blanket, you waited for the telltale whine the door always gave when it opened and gave a curious albeit worried tilt of your head.

Once there was a sizeable crack, that telltale shaggy head of hair slipped it's way in, a pair of big chocolate eyes peering at you in the dim-lit room. The hesitant look in Thomas’ eyes paired with how they struggled to stay locked onto yours drew an amused yet soft chuckle from your lips, the heat of nerves seeping out from your chest.

You can’t remember a time after settling into the home when Thomas didn’t show his southern charm, those polite little manners Luda Mae made sure her boy had. Which, considering his occupation, never lost its charm.

“You can come in, Thomas.”

The gentle murmur encouraged him to gently swing open the door, ducking his head as always while shuffling his way into the room. Your eyebrows furrowed as he hovered around the entrance, though a smile was still present on your lips.

He was so tense, nervous. Noticing this pulled down at the corners of your mouth a tad. Why was he so stiff? One of his hands was picking at the string tying his apron to his body, while his other hovered almost stock-still at his side, clenched into a tight fist. You hadn’t seen him like this since a person Hoyt brought for him to butcher had slipped through his fingers and escaped the basement. Kudos to him though, as he’d chased the woman down with ease and had brought her back in record time, but the verbal and physical lashing he received had him dangling on the edge of a panic attack for a solid two days.

While before, you would’ve mourned for the person who failed to escape what you’d thought was hell, now the memory of how distraught Thomas was the only nasty taste left in your mouth.

When your lips parted to ask the poor man what was wrong, his head was quick to bow down with his jittery gaze following. He looked at his mucked and worn boots for a few beats of his stuttery heart, before they finally flickered up to meet your own. You took the chance to scoot over in your bed, the old mattress creaking before you patted the now free spot next to you with your free hand, the other chained to the metal baseboard.

His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably as he tried to swallow his nerves, before taking the short steps his longer legs needed to reach the now open seat next to you.

The bed groaned even louder as he sat down, his back facing you. The new, larger body caused a dip in the mattress and had you sliding over, your shoulders bumping against his spine. Your hand reached up to press against him out of reflex to catch yourself, and your struggling smile finally fell once you felt the small tremors coming off him.

You pulled up the edge of your nightgown and shuffled towards his side, only barely managing to peek around his wide shoulders before the chain connecting you to the bed grew taught, cutting into the bandages Thomas swaddled around your wrists to protect them.

Another shiver vibrated up his spine as you slid your hand from his back and over to the front of his shoulder, chin barely pressing into him as you gave out a low, thoughtful hum. You’ve learned over time through experience that patience was the way to go with the man. Demands and pressure will only bring his anxiety to a boiling point before it pours out of the soup pot that was Thomas Hewitt.

His tremors slowly eased over the next few minutes, the heavy breathing puffing from behind his muzzle-like mask soothing down into a more relaxed rhythm.

By that point it was your cheek resting against his shoulder, the hand that was there moving onto his shoulder, gliding over the muscle in the usual way you would when wanting to help bring him back down.

It was like there was magic in your fingertips, he could swear.

If you were hoping he’d nudge you awake when you fell asleep on his shoulder, you’d be mistaken. He just couldn’t help it, honest. With you leaning on him so willingly he was scared his heart would burst out of his chest and wake you all on its own anyway. He just couldn’t help letting you drift off leaning on him. You were so small in comparison.

Mesmerizing, to see at times.

And this was one of those times.

Eventually, though, he could feel the object in his fist shift, giving him a reason to finally bring you back to the land of the living.

You’d felt as though you’d dozed off and been sleeping for hours, though you knew it not true as you felt Thomas’ back straighten, his large body shifting slowly to face you.

Sometimes you felt that man could stomp his foot and split the earth in two, he was so large.

The feeling of fingers ever so gently grazing your cheek shook you from your sleep-ridden thoughts and had your eyes struggling to open, blinking away the sleepiness that had started to creep up on your body.

Seeing those eyes easily drug out the last bit of drowsiness that weighed you down.

They were filled with so many different things, all swirling around in his head at once. It was one of the things that had your opinion of him turning what seemed like months ago. The thing that was changing him from being the cold-hearted cannibal to the broken and lonely man, stuck in a twisted house. It was still hard, and you still got scared when you heard the screaming from down in the basement, but you were trying.

And after getting to know the family, you felt Thomas deserved to have someone try for him, for once.

A heavy sigh puffed from behind your lips when his fingers pushed on past your cheeks to run through your hair, and you couldn’t help leaning into the touch. God he was making you sleepy again like this.

He huffed, his thumb rubbing over your cheek to try and brush that sleepiness away, a quirk of a smile tugging at his lips.

Settling with only closing one eye and leaving the other on him, you rose a brow quizzically.

“You feel better?”

The question had him retracting his hand to fiddle with the edge of his apron, moving his other closer towards you. Looking down, you notice he still had it clenched into a fist, must’ve been next to him on the bed the whole time.

It was shaking too, his poor nerves.

He seemed to be offering it out to you, which had you granting him a smile. That seemed to boost his confidence, and his own smile grew just that little bit bigger.

You shuffled back and used the hand on his shoulder to encourage him to follow. The poor man realized and made quick to follow, pausing to shake off his shoes before settling himself in the middle of the bed, one leg extended with the other drawn up closer to his chest. You couldn’t help a breath of relief at the newfound freedom you had when it came to the movement of your chained hand. Turning your attention back to him from your chains, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled from your throat at seeing him fill up the small twin-sized bed, he was just so…

And without a moment of hesitation, you took the gamble.

The gargled yelp you got from him after getting to your knees and bouncing on the old springy mattress had your giggle blowing up into a clear laugh. His ass didn’t even leave contact with the stupid sheets at all! But judging by the red starting to pool in his ears and the squinted eyes, he wasn’t too amused even though the mischievous glint in his eye said otherwise and was quick to retaliate.

The moment your body left the mattress was the moment he realized he didn’t quite calculate your weight into the equation, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep the childish squeal from waking up the house. The two of you stared wide-eyed at one another the second you made contact with the bed again, your hand reaching out to grab his knee to steady yourself. He was smiling and you were snickering as quietly as you could, pinching his knee as payback. Thomas was quick to cover his teeth with his lips while he smiled, and you pursed your own in turn, folding your hands on his knee before resting your head there. Bad dental genetics or not, you thought his smile was lovely, but that was a battle for another day.

“Alright big guy, back to business. What’d ya have for me?”

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Lady Dimitrescu scolds Cassandra

You're my daughter!! Now act like it!

Blood of A Rose - Turning Point (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Summary - (Y/n) has always dealt with harsh criticism when it came to her work, but that never meant she was immune.

Notes - Sorry for the wait for a new post! I decided that weekends will be my off days from writing to preserve my sanity 💀

Word Count - 2,031

Warning(s) - Bullying, violence, mild gore

Song Inspiration -

Acsida - Privet Privet 2009

(Y/n)’s small living room was dimly lit by soft, flickering candlelight, casting shadows across the walls that seemed to stretch and twist in strange patterns as her TV hummed in the background. She sat on the floor, legs outstretched as her back leaned against the couch, absentmindedly working on a small canvas resting on her lap. 

Art lounged on the couch behind her, his head tilted as he silently browsed through channels, glancing down at (Y/n) and her work occasionally. His now pristine hand played with her hair mindlessly, combing his fingers through it as he found the texture satisfying. 

(Y/n) didn’t mind, though. It made her aware of his otherwise silent presence, which she had come to call home. It soothed her and kept her relaxed as she worked. 

Through their time together, they soon found that regardless of nearly being polar opposites, her more calm and reserved demeanor greatly complimented his boldness and chaos. Their shared interest in death was what drew them to each other, but everything else just seemed to perfectly fall into place for them. 

Art surprisingly came to respect her personality as she respected his. It was refreshing for him, in a way, which he never thought was even possible until she proved him otherwise. 

It started out as curiosity, wanting to understand how someone with such interests could be so tame. That curiosity then grew into an obsession, taking note of her smallest behaviors. Whether it was the way her nose twitched when she didn’t like something, or simply her breathing patterns. He knew everything there was to know about her. 

She dabbed her brush into a deep crimson, dragging it across the canvas in harsh, deliberate strokes. (Y/n) could feel Art’s gaze lingering on the piece, and for a moment, she wondered what ran through his head when he saw her art. 

“You like it?” She asked, her voice soft and curious. 

Art didn’t respond with words, as usual. Instead, he sat up, his silent movements almost ghostly as he leaned over her shoulder. His head cocked from one side to the other as he carefully observed the piece. He then grinned with a thumbs up, patting her shoulder in approval. She placed her free hand over his.

“Thanks.” (Y/n) giggled.

“I just don’t understand how someone would  think it’s appropriate to ever publicize something like that.” 

The laughter stopped, both of them looking up to the TV screen settled on a talk show. 

“I mean, think of the children! They could run into it on the internet and be traumatized and need therapy.” 

(Y/n)’s gaze hardened, heart beginning to race as she took in their insults. She chewed her lip as she watched, nearly drawing blood.

“Trust me, I don’t think they’re the only ones who need therapy -“ 

The channel suddenly changed, remote in Art’s hand as he frowned at the screen and waved it off in distaste. He then looked down at (Y/n) who began to calmly clean up her area. 

Too calmly. 

She stood up, taking her supplies with her as she made her way to the sink to clean everything off. His eyes followed her carefully, paying attention to every minor difference or change. As soon as he caught her mouth twitch he rose from the couch. 

He walked over to her, or rather stalked, and slapped a hand on the counter beside the sink as he faced her, leaning against it. She didn’t look at him until she was finished cleaning, drying her hands and giving him her best smile, albeit fake. 

His grin was wide, encouraging, and he motioned for her to do the same with his fingers. When she didn’t and simply giggled half heartedly, his smile dropped and he tapped his chin in thought. 

Art’s expression then turned mischievous, baring his teeth again with a Cheshire smile as his hands slowly reached for her, his fingers wiggling menacingly. 

“No.” (Y/n) pleaded at first, taking a hesitant step back. “No - Art!”

She shrieked when he snatched her, holding her against him as he tickled her relentlessly. He laughed silently as she squirmed and cackled, using all of her strength to try and worm her way out of his grip, but they both knew he was far too strong for such a feat. 

“Okay! Art, I’m fine - I’m okay now!” The clown stopped tickling, but still held her. He peeked his head from around her to watch her face to determine if she was lying or not. 

As (Y/n) caught her breath, she looked up at Art with the usual glimmer in her eye that he so adored and he firmly nodded before letting her go. 

She sighed dramatically and he wiped his hands off together proudly, giving her an ‘ok’ symbol with a wink and heading back to the couch with a pep in his step. 

(Y/n) shook her head in exasperation, rubbing at her temple before following him. 

The following day, they both worked in silence at their hideout. Art sat at his workbench, tinkering away while (Y/n) sat on the floor against the stove beside the desk, filtering through her photos on her camera. A small radio played in the background, (Y/n) humming to a familiar song every now and then while Art nodded along with her. 

It was one of their calmer nights, the two of them deciding not to go out and to simply spend time with each other, even if it was just sitting in the other’s company. 

(Y/n) saw Art’s hand motion for her in her peripherals, looking up at him finally. He pointed to her then to the stool left unused, then to the floor and flung his hand out as an exasperated question. 

“I’m comfortable, Art, I promise.” 

(Y/n) giggled when his head ticked at her stubbornness. He then pointed back at the stool aggressively, and then next to the edge of the desk with a determined expression. 

“You want me to be closer to you?” Art nodded and she laughed. “Well why didn’t you just say that?” 

She nearly snorted as she stood up when Art threw out it arms, silently telling her ‘what the fuck?’. She brought the stool over to his desk and sat on top of it, camera in hand for her to resume what she had previously been doing. 

Her laughter died down to a chuckle. “You know I love teasing you, I hardly ever get to.” (Y/n) reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Art rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her before turning back to continue modifying one of his weapons. 

“I personally think she’s just trying to use shock value to get some traction on her work.”

Their ears caught as they continued to work, however Art glanced over at (Y/n) every now and then. 

“She’s trying so hard to shove it down our throats for attention when it’s nothing more than glorified gore.”

“Be glad I don’t shove something else down your throats…” (Y/n) grumbled to herself, the initial pain of their insults gradually seeping through into anger and irritability. 

The clown’s movements froze at her words as he stared at the desk in front of him with parted lips. 

With however long they had been together, not once had he heard her threaten another person, regardless if it was empty or not. She had always kept quiet and to herself when met with confrontation while he was the one who dealt with it accordingly. At least, what he considered to be accordingly. 

Art slowly shifted his eyes over to look at her, seeing her click the buttons on her camera casually as if she never said anything. 

And for once, he wondered if he was going crazy. 

He then looked back at the weapon in front of him, glanced at her once more, then slowly went back to working. 

One night, however, they decided to go out once they began to feel a sense of boredom, something they both passionately detested. 

Feeling particularly clingy, (Y/n) took to latching herself onto Art’s arm rather than just holding his hand. He gladly accepted it, throwing her a giddy smile and practically shaking with excitement. 

As they walked, (Y/n) noticed how much more comfortable she had become walking out in public. Art fed into her confidence, deliberately or not, and she held her head higher. He made her feel appreciated, feel important in a world where all she had before him was herself and the captious stares of those around her.

On the more rare occasions where she walked out on the town by herself to grab a bite to eat or restock on supplies, she crawled back into herself ever so slightly. Regardless, she was still more self-assured than she previously had been. 

“Maybe something with feet? I feel like I don’t focus on feet enough.” (Y/n) thought out. 

Art simply listened from beside her, genuinely intrigued and in his own thoughts about what he could do with his next victim - or victims - for her. 

She gasped suddenly and Art, ever the dramatic, jumped with a surprised expression. “A mouth!” (Y/n) looked over at him with an animated expression. 

Art tilted his head at her with his eyebrows raised, letting her know that he agreed. 

“Mouth it is tonight.” The clown wiggled his eyebrows at her perversely and she lightly backhanded his chest. 

“Oh shit, are you (Y/n)?” They heard a somewhat distant voice express. Ahead of them, a woman leaned against a wall, phone in hand as she waited beside a small food joint. 

Art and (Y/n) shared a suspicious look, continuing to walk until they were close enough to decently communicate. “Yes?” She answered with caution. 

Art made a simple decision from beside her, accepting the woman’s unwilling offer that was too easy to pass as he set down his bag while they talked. “This is so weird seeing you in person. I always hear about you but never thought I’d actually meet you!” 

(Y/n)’s eyes squinted with confusion, unsure of where the interaction was going to lead to. “Thanks? Like is that supposed to be a compliment?” She replied warily, almost irritably. 

“Oh no, I’m not a fan or anything, it’s just weird finally seeing someone you hear about a lot.” (Y/n) deadpanned, a familiar feeling of distaste building in her abdomen. 

Art, however, rather than growing defensive and upset, looked over at her curiously, letting the conversation work itself out with underlying mischief.

“It’s like if you met Jeffrey Dahmer in person, you’d just look at them like what the fuck, because of the shit they’ve done, y’know?” 

(Y/n)’s tongue ran along the inside of her cheek, casually looking over at the clown’s bag on the ground. As the woman continued to ramble, (Y/n) stepped over to it and began to search through its contents.

Art’s eyes widened, a grin spreading wide across his painted face in anticipation. “Like if the word edgy was a person -“ 

The woman was cut off as a shot echoed through the town. 

Art watched as the woman slid off of the wall and thumped onto the ground, then eased his eyes to look over at (Y/n). 

Arm straight out, the gun in her hand pointed at the bleeding woman with an indifferent expression, then lowered with a heavy sigh as she turned to toss it back into his bag after turning on the safety.

“I’m tired of this shit.” She mumbled to herself and rubbed at her forehead then looked up at Art. “Sorry. Let’s go find someone else for you.” 

Art was rigid where he stood, staring at her with an intensity that began to pull her out of her vexed state. He took a step towards her with predatory intent, grabbing the back of her neck and tugging her into him, their lips crashing together unexpectedly. 

(Y/n) froze at first, caught off guard by his behavior before she slowly began to melt into it, cupping his jaw in her hands. She gasped breathlessly for air when they parted as he silently heaved. 

“Does that mean I’m next?” She whispered. He flashed his teeth sadistically, leaning in once more.

Tag list: @callsignwidow

Tosche Station: Oasis Springs

Over the weekend I got it into my head to make a Star Wars Themed restaurant that can take advantage of the existing Star Wars costumes, and all the new experimental food items. While recreating the Mos Eisely Cantina was the obvious choice, I’ve never been one to go for the obvious, hence why I chose Tosche Station instead.  I mean there had to be more than just power converters that had Luke Skywalker so anxious about going there.

In addition to the Restaurant and Bar, the build features Bacta Baths, a Rancor Pit, a Lounge, a Sarlacc Waste Disposal chute in the kitchen, and of course, a Power Converter shop. You can find additional pictures of the build on my blog.

I’ve created a bit of custom content (pictures, stickers, bantha milk dispenser, door and counter recolors etc) for this build which you can download below. You’ll also need some additional custom content by other creators which you can fun listed under the cut.  You can find the Tosche Station restaurant in my SimDoughnut gallery. simply enable the “include custom content” button under the Advanced Options menu, and use the hashtags #starwars #toschestation #restaurant and #dineout. I strongly recommend enabling the MoveObjects cheat before placing this lot. I hope you enjoy the build.

Have Fun :)!

Tosche Station Stuff Pack Download (Dropbox)

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#no one compares #civil war bucky stands alone

The accumulated Jason and leatherfaces sketches I drew

**BITCHSLAP**