#stitchfacekiller

       𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒   𝐀   𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘   𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒   𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐅𝐎𝐑   𝐇𝐈𝐌   𝐈   𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐒.        [  𝙳𝙾𝙻𝙻  ]   ——    :    𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘      𝐁𝐎𝐘.      @stitchfacekiller​​​

send          me          a          💬          to          make          you          a          starter          with          a          random          line          of          dialogue       from          this          generator   .   

❛❛         [      .  .  .  .       ]          i’m          𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙔          t’          𝚝𝚛𝚢          𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗          ,          if          𝙔𝙊𝙐          are    .          ❜❜

NONVERBAL PROMPTS. / @stitchfacekiller sent: 😊 sit down next to my muse.

There is a liberty in the way she walks, each step and sidle a dance, the mass of tightly spun curls on her crown bouncing as she gravitates toward him. When he first saw her painted face, he expected her to move with the pre-ordained perfection of a wind-up puppet, as if a key had to be slotted in her back so she could even raise her head and smile. But the more he trails after her, the more unpredictable she reveals herself to be. All his presumptions proved false, he witnesses a fluid chaos in how she kills - a voracious playfulness and freedom.           Blood pooling around his boots, he sits on the bench - no more mobile than a memorial statue, his own blade clean. She perches next to him, and he wonders if her seat at his side is intended to be encouraging; less so has he overtly relished in the massacre of the park’s guests, more so has he been content to observe. Even now, with bodies strewn and mangled over the asphalt, his head is turned so his hollow gaze can stare at Dollface, her immaculate face-paint untouched by the red that spurts from the neck of a victim.

   “Yoooouu BITCH, how the FUCK did you get in here?! Why I oughta scruff you by that raggedy fuckin’ hair and drag you to death!!!”

  Cutter’s furious declaration can be heard echoing throughout the shabby little bungalow, followed by the sound of various objects falling over, a particularly worrying thump, and several colourful phrases before his large frame hobbles into the kitchen. His craggy face is adorned by yesterday’s leftover greasepaint and a deep scowl, tattooed fingers hurriedly fixing the drawstring on his pants. He bares his foul teeth at Doll, reaching over to pointedly swat her hand away as it nears a little too close to a glass collectible for his liking. The older clown is pissed. 

   “Next time you come waltzin’ ’round in here without my fuckin’ permission it’s gonna be a hole blown through your grey-matter, y’hear?”

random asks / always accepting!

           — I QUIT!!!!

drinking starters / accepting!

    Lynn’s memory of the evening was hazy. She remembered the first few drinks, telling herself she’d only have one or two and then she’d go home, but her mind was foggy after that. Events ran through her head like skipping scenes in a movie, each one loud and vibrant and separated by countless minutes of blur and static. One event in particular stuck in Lynn’s head. A woman had joined for a drink and while she couldn’t remember what they had talked about, Lynn was certain she’d gotten up, claiming she was ready to go home. Instead, the woman, grinning a little too wildly, took her by the arm and began leading her out of the bar herself, claiming she’d get her a Uber. 

    Another time lapse. Her vision was filled with shadows and shapes she didn’t recognize, but she could hear someone speaking at her side, followed by a warm kiss to her cheek. Something tacky was left behind on her skin. Lipstick maybe? Time slowed and somewhere in the back of her mind Lynn knew something was wrong. It wouldn’t matter. Her world went dark then.