Summary - As chaos begins to stir, (Y/n) starts to notice Art sharing an odd connection with her.
Notes - Still following the events of Terrifier 3 with minor insight of (Y/n)'s background/childhood 👀
Warning(s) - Canon-typical violence/gore, minor trauma/flashbacks
Song Inspiration -
The Pretty Wild - Sleepwalker
ZAND - I Spit On Your Grave
Cinema Strange - En Hiver
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Art motioned for the Santa to undress, gun still threateningly pointed at him.
(Y/n) swallowed another shot, having grabbed another bottle from behind the bar. Her head began to spin, though not drastically as she teetered a thin line between buzzed and drunk.
She turned and made her way over to the two men, chuckling to herself as the older of the two began to strip.
"Make it sexy for us, Santa. Give us a show." She pressed back against Art, swaying her hips tauntingly to encourage the phony. Art's face contorted into pleasant surprise, tilting his head around to watch (Y/n)'s playfully seductive movements and placing his free hand on her hip.
He looked back up when her motions stopped, the two of them breaking out into laughter as the man in front of them tried his best to do what she asked. She held onto the clown for support, wheezing and hunched over, holding onto her stomach while Art slapped at her back in his own fit.
They wiped away their tears, eyes drifting to the red suit and boots that now sat in a pile on the floor. (Y/n) cleared her throat and looked over at Art. "I needed that." She sighed and he nodded in agreement.
Art then pointed to a chair sat at one of the few small tables, then pointed to a platform where the Christmas tree and snowman sat. (Y/n) winked, moving to grab the chair. She heard the now stripped Santa begin to shout desperately as she dragged the piece of furniture over, lifting it and setting it down center-stage.
Seconds later, the man was aggressively pushed into it, nearly tumbling backwards. Art passed the gun to (Y/n), moving to his bag while the latter lazily pointed it in the man's direction with a bored expression.
"Y'know, I really expected more of a fight out of you. A little disappointed." (Y/n) voiced as Art returned with a few lines of rope, beginning to tie down the man's limbs to the chair.
The clown looked back at her as he did, nodding in agreement with a pout.
"That's okay though, we'll make up for it, won't we?" Art looked up at their poor victim with a sickening smile, unnerving him to the bone.
He then stepped back, revealing his work with a flair to the nearly drunk woman who applauded him. He motioned for her to hand over the gun back to him and she obeyed, stepping away to collect the discarded Santa outfit and setting the articles of clothing on a nearby pool table.
As Art pulled off his second shoe, he suddenly smacked it across Santa's face, laughing to himself when he grunted and walked over to where (Y/n) stood. He stopped in front of her, waddling a turn to face his back towards her.
She reached up and unzipped his suit, watching as he slid it off of his slim figure and tossing it into her arms to which she grumbled at him before folding it and setting it on the table. She did the same with the rest of his accessories, mindful and delicate with them as he began to dress himself in the new red attire. She adjusted and buckled his belt, fiddling with the clothing until they deemed it satisfactory.
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Blood of A Rose
Fanfiction(Y/n) is an aspiring artist, but rather than mainstream, she captures what she considers to be the beauty of death. She has been fighting with the industry and local art museums to publicize her work. Reaching negative publicity, a particular clown...
