I hate writer's block, like there's unimaginable anguish I need to give to the freak(y) trio (Pierrot, MC, and harlequin) and you're ruining it for me.
It was the end of another grueling day at work. After closing the café per boss's instructions, I decided to take a detour at home skipping the circus all together. I'll probably have an hour before Pierrot comes knocking at my balcony door, 2 if he's exceptionally busy for today, but either way I'll enjoy whatever time I've got.
Or so I thought.
As I step into my apartment and turn on the light, I'm greeted with a familiar green clown taking over an alarming amount of space on my couch, his eyes gleaming with mischief and satisfaction at the glare I'm currently throwing at him.
"Welcome home dearest, I've missed you terribly."
"You were harassing me at breakfast just this morning."
"Such delightful times, indeed." He hums.
I sigh, resigned to the company I've found myself with for tonight. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you had important things to do or whatever." I say from my bedroom as i look around for something comfortable to change into. I'm pretty sure I had some pajamas laying around here somewhere.
"I've already taken care of that. Besides, I'd very much prefer spend the remaining hours of my birthday in here than back there." He replies almost bored, his hand toying with the remote as he switches channel after another.
I take a second to soak in the information that he shared so casually as if it's unimportant. Maybe he thought I wouldn't catch it (which- rude. I might be an airhead but this is just insulting.) Or perhaps, he doesn't care, he doesn't seem to care about many things.
"Today's your birthday?" I ask as i poke my head into the living room, unsure if he's being genuine or not.
"Curious aren't we? Why, so you could give me a gift?" He grins, basking in the frustration building behind my eyes as i frown at him. Cryptic asshole, he never gives me a straight answer.
"Obviously! What am I supposed to get you now at 7pm? Sure i can buy you something tomorrow but it loses all significance if it's not on your acual birthday. Not to mention i dont even know what to get you."
A week ago I outdid myself on Pierrot's birthday. A homemade cake, a planned picnic in a flower field, and an evening under the stars. Plus a portrait I've spent ages on as gift, one pouring with sentimentality. It was romantic, intimate, and something I knew he would love and cherish.
But with Harlequin it's diffrent. Im not even sure if we're friends, but we do hang out alot so that must count for something. And not only did I not know when his birthday is, I don't even have the slightest idea where to start, nor what could count as a decent gift. I'm not the slightest bit prepared and his day is already over.
This is a disaster.
During my little spiral i failed to notice how quiet everything has gone. Harlequin sat there unable to come up with a comeback, genuine surprise rendering him speechless as he simply stares at my figure rambling.
I catch his narrowed gaze while it was assessing me with something close to suspicion, almost as if trying to catch the flick of a lie in my eyes.
"What's wrong with you?" I ask, a bit too defensive than I would've liked.
He doesn't respond, instead he raises his hand, a very familiar blue pajamas resting in his grip.
"Nice set." His eyes flick to my abdomen.
I look down, and to my horror I seemed to have stepped completely into view during my rambling while forgetting the teeny tiny detail that I'm still in my underwear.
I ignore his thundering laugh that resembles a squeaky old door, snatch my clothes right from his grip as I curse to the sun and back, and with the grace of a pigeon, i retreat back into my room.
After a while i step back out now a little more at ease, not just because of the comfortable clothing after an entire day of wearing tight jeans, but also because i have an idea on how to save face.
"Did you have dinner yet?"
Harlequin gives me a look, probably debating if he should be difficult or not. He decides against it for whatever reason, and offers a simple "No." Then goes back to channel flipping.
I nod, then go to my kitchen to whip something up. Surprisingly, he doesn't follow suit. Usually he'd take any opportunity he can get to get on my nerves. Did something happen? Did everyone forget about his birthday and now he's sulking? Is Harlequin even the type to get 'upset' by such a thing?
Either way, I don't ponder for long as I make my way back to the living room. The menace then decides that it's the perfect time to be difficult again now that I'm holding a tray with hot food and refuses to make room on the couch. My patience though seems to have run thin after a long day so I kick him in the side, not that it would do any real damage but he finds it amusing enough to take pity on me.
His green eyes skip over the food, again with that silent suspicion ever so present in his gaze. "You dont have to get me all wined and dined to soften me up my dear, I'd much prefer if we skip to dessert all together don't ya think?"
"I survived on a single cracker and a cup of tea for the entire day. I'm eating this bowl of noodles and yours if you don't get to it." I say. Which no, of course I wouldn't eat his share, and he knows I wouldn't, yet somehow he still requires these harmless threats to finally pick up his own and start eating. I smile into mine.
"It's fine."
"Right? I've never bought this brand before but I think this one's an improvement from the one I used to get."
"The one with the weird looking chicken on it?"
"I thought it was a duck."
"A bird nonetheless. Either way, i suppose it surpasses it's predecessor in flavor, thats undeniable. The spice though? Not so much."
"Oh, try this." I pick up a small plate with red paste on it, "it's harissa, if the noodle broth isn't spicy enough try adding some."
"Where did you even get this?"
"Made it, duh."
"Is that why you were fighting me over red chilli the other time?"
"That wasn't a fight, you decided to steal my peppers behind my back after you lost to me in rock papers scissors."
"And you made a scene."
"I didn't make a scene, I'm not a child."
"The security would beg to differ."
"Yeah, well, jokes on them, I'm the one who kept their cookie brand in business. Let's see how they recover from that."
"I'm sure they'll manage without that 1% of revenue."
I roll my eyes, slurping my noodles. The evening progresses in a much similar way, conversation flowing easily as it differs between simple day events and embarrassing memories. At one point we put a movie on, a thriller, because God knows I can't stand action ones and he's intolerable of psychological horror. So we found a middle ground.
The movie plays and i take another bite of the ice cream i brought beforehand. it's not so bad, I acually ended up liking it a bit too much, maybe I'll even play the sequel if he's up to it.
I know this evening wasn't what someone would call a birthday surprise, but it's better than nothing for now. Which reminds me.
"What do you want as a gift?"
Harlequin reluctantly drifts his gaze from the movie, "I thought this was my gift."
"Yeah, some noodles and a movie. What kind of friend do you take me for?"
He hums, amused, his grin stretching wide and pleased as if a golden opportunity has fallen right into his lap. Which, it kind of did now that I'm thinking about it. Maybe I should've got him a gift card and called it a day.
He leans forward, not exactly into my personal space, but close enough. His grin didnt falter, and his eyes had a certain glint that makes me want to run and hide never to be found again. Not that it worked before.
"A kiss."
"Absolutely not."
"That was fast."
"Pick something else. Anything else."
"Unfortunately for you, that's my only wish."
"How about a handshake."
"A kiss."
"A hug."
"No tongue."
"On the cheek. Final offer."
"Deal." He grins as he turns his face just enough for me to kiss him and waits. He looks so smug and certain that he got me cornered. Still, he must think i wouldn't do it by the looks of it, due to cowardice or something else im not sure, which pisses me off to no end.
When I don't make a move he shruggs and pulls away. "Anyway, much appreciation for the lovely evening my dear, I cannot wait to rub it in Pierrot's fac-"
I pull him by the collar and place a kiss on his cheek, so quick and light you wouldn’t almost catch it. I don't dare look at him after, too embarrassed to say anything even though he's the one who demanded it, but the silence that follows makes me sweat in my socks.
Why isn't he saying anything?
I dont get the chance to know though as he stand up right after and dusts his pants. His eyes covered by those thick curly raven locks.
"Wait, you're leaving?"
That seems to atleast catch his attention, he turns around, figure tall and imposing, as he flashes his signature toothy grin.
"How bold of you, my dear. I suppose i could stay but i must warn you, im a very handsy sleeper."
"Nevermind, get out."
He chuckles, turning once again to my balcony door to leave as if i don't have perfectly functioning door right behind me. But right as he's about to go, I stop him once more, delighted at the slight annoyance radiating off him.
☆ I think trying to do anything behind his back would prove to be fruitless, he's too observant and he'd immediately clock any change in your demeanor as you desperately try to plan him a decent celebration.
So instead, you decide to approach it head on.
☆ The day starts with you waking Pierrot up with tender kisses all over his face and neck, leaving birthday wishes and adoring words carved into his skin with each peck. By the time you're done he's already too gone to form anything coherent, settling for soft rumbles and whines while his arms wrap around your waist pulling you flush against him.
☆ After half an hour of cohesion, you two finally join the others for breakfast. They wish him a happy birthday over bitter coffee and a special pancake breakfast made by yours truly, and Pierrot's smile is nothing short than blinding as he enjoys the sweet delicacy while Jester explains today's schedule.
☆ A few hours later and after finishing all his chores, he finds you waiting for him in the kitchen wearing a pink apron while holding a matching one for him.
☆ You scroll through recipes for birthday cakes with a variety of flavors online while Pierrot searches in his own cookbooks. At the end you settle for a chocolate lava cake that's the epitome of diabetes served on a plate, perfect for the occasion.
☆ Pierrot loves baking, so I thought that doing it together would be the perfect way to spend time together.
☆ You work in sync, passing eachother ingredients and tasting everything your lips included while contemplating if the chocolate amount advised is a suggestion.
☆ And as you finally put the cake into the oven, and let the ganache cool off in the fridge, you finally send him off to spend some time with the others for a much needed quality time. (He protests but you really need to finish decorating the cake, that atleast can count as a small surprise, so you stand your ground this time, not falling for his puppy).
☆ Fast-forward to the evening, the circus is closed for the night for the special occasion. Colorful lights and balloons decorate the red tent, as soft music play in the background. There's all sorts of snacks and drinks, the multilayered cake now finally decorated stands tall in the center of the tent, with countless candles that risk to be a fire hazard.
☆ Pierrot's eyes mist over as he takes in the sight. Everyone is here, the people that came to be his family, his friends, his love, everyone is smiling and laughing, celebrating the fact that he was born.
☆ Warmth fill his chest and tears prick his eyes, He ignores the way Harlequin is actively scoffing at him while calling out his sentimentality, because even his aggravating voice can't ruin this moment.
☆ You get him a new set of knives with his name engraved on them.
Bonus:
Idk why but I see harlequin putting a bow on himself and declaring his company the greatest gift of all. He gets stabbed 29th times later.
[ "The poison had bled itself dry, with nothing left but a bitter aftertaste of what remained."
Or
A fanmade Dead Leaves oneshot where Harlequin seems to have some difficulty trying to sleep. This AU does not belong to me, but to @destinysquared. Please make sure to check out and support Destiny's original story linked here! No beta reader we die like the man aka the circus' ringmaster . I am not dissing my hg Columbina here ] .
2K+ words.
࿔*:･༄˖°.🍂࿔*:･༄˖°.🍂࿔*:･༄˖°.🍂࿔*:･༄˖°.🍂࿔*:･༄˖°.
It was another one of those nights again.
Gripping the pillow in his sleep, Harlequin buried his face deeper into it. His body shifted, twisted and turned underneath the soft blankets of his bed. Claws twitching every so often, they almost seemed to try to reach for something that was no longer there. One arm remained wrapped tightly around the pillow while the other curled beneath it, holding it close against his chest in a desperate sort of way.
As if it could stop something from leaving him again.
The sleeping chambers of his tent were dark save for the faintest sliver of moonlight peeking through a small tear in the ceiling. It cast pale lines across his form, illuminating parts of him before shallowing them whole again. His hat had long since been discarded somewhere nearby, leaving his curved horns exposed among curls of black hair. Even in sleep, tension sat heavy upon his face. His brows furrowed. His lips stuck in a frozen frown. Occasionally, a strained breath escaped him.
Almost like he was fighting something unseen.
Or perhaps remembering it.
Two rings glistened somewhere on his bedside table.
Carefully placed upon a folded handkerchief, the gold bands rested side by side under the dim light, with one being slightly larger than the other. Time had not dulled them despite the years that had passed. Harlequin made certain of that. He polished them often, more out of habit than necessity now, rubbing away fingerprints and dust with almost obsessive care until the metal gleamed like it was brand new.
Monsters did not wed.
Not truly at least.
There were no ceremonies among his kind. No vows exchanged between two people alike. No blessings or papers that bonded one to another. Creatures like Harlequin were not built for permanence. They wandered. They bit and bited. They tore into open wounds and flesh.
They consumed. They hungered.
They survived.
And yet you still confidently slipped one ring on anyway while he held the other.
He remembered the way you laughed breathlessly afterward.
Harlequin teased you for it at first. Of course he did. He teased everything that frightened him.
Yet later that same day, he couldn’t stop staring at the gold around your finger.
Or the matching one resting upon his own.
You were the first human to look at him and not immediately see the act.
Not the grin.
Not the sharp teeth.
Not the monster beneath his costume.
Just him.
Harlequin himself.
Ironically enough, you didn’t get along with him very well during your first meeting.
At the time, Harlequin still dressed himself in the venomous green and yellow, stitched through his costume as though to represent his poison laced into silk. And even the markings upon his mask seemed sharper back then.
It was fitting for him.
Passing out the circus’ flyers throughout the day, he twirled the papers between his claws while the disinterested humans of the town hurried past him without sparing a single glance. Most avoided eye contact entirely. Others looked at him with fear and disgust in their eyes.
Harlequin found all of their reactions boring and displeasing.
Then he saw you.
You stared.
Not with horror or awe, but with curiosity.
The green clown remembered slowing to a stop in front of you, grin stretched like a Cheshire Cat as he offered a flyer with dramatic flair.
“Care to visit the circus?” He had asked you. “But you know…Stare for too long and I might charge for admission.”
Instead of becoming embarrassed like how most people would, you glanced between him and the flyer before raising an eyebrow.
You had said something completely unexpected.
And that caught him a little off guard.
He was fascinated almost instantly.
Most humans either feared him or adored the performance.
You did neither.
You looked and spoke to him as though he were simply another person speaking to you. Strange.
Real.
And somewhere along the line, Harlequin found himself lingering around you longer than intended after your small talk continued and handing out his green ticket much later.
Then longer still.
He remembered wandering past the crowded grounds at the circus beside you late into the night using some shortcuts, though somehow the noise always seemed so distant whenever you spoke. The lights shined overhead while the roars of applause, the screams, or laughter spilled out from the nearby tents. No matter what though, his attention remained entirely upon you during those sacred moments when his performance was over for the night. After all, the sound of your voice, the casual brush of your shoulder against his cape, and the way you looked whenever he said something particularly stupid or pervy was everything to him.
He remembered walking you home beneath skies of orange and bleeding red.
He remembered sneaking away from the circus after it closed solely to hold you for another hour before dawn stole him away again.
He remembered pressing kisses against every single inch of you simply because he could.
Your knuckles.
Your forehead.
The corners of your mouth.
The inside of your wrist where your pulse fluttered.
Everywhere.
Harlequin always pretended affection came naturally to him, like how his seduction was merely another trick hidden under his sleeves.
But you knew better.
You saw every pause hidden behind his grin.
Every hesitation.
Every fragile thing he buried with a wicked and unbothered demeanor.
And somehow, despite it all, you stayed.
His claws started to twitch again, starting to tear into the fabric of his pillow.
The dream shifted.
Just like it always did.
This was because time was cruel and unforgiving.
Your face that once carried the softness of spring slowly began to shift. Not all at once. Never all at once. Time was more careful than that. It worked slowly, deliberately, like a painter determined to finish what they had started with a new project.
Your eyes tired first.
Then the smile lines settled deeper beside your mouth.
Your skin changed into something thinner, gentler, with your veins becoming more visible too. Your hands changed. The same hands that once tugged him without hesitation trembled ever so slightly whenever they held his own.
Harlequin noticed everything.
Every wrinkle.
Every ache.
Every deep and drained breath you tried hiding from him.
To watch you age was to watch a masterpiece being finished, one stroke of the clock at a time.
Humanity called that beautiful.
Poets and scholars alike spoke of time as the ultimate virtue, or a gift bestowed upon the living to be savored and honored. It was the currency of the soul, a precious, finite resource that gave meaning to every “hello” and weight to every “goodbye.” Humanity held time up as a blessing, a golden thread that wove experience into wisdom. And even some of monsterkind agreed with them.
How absurd of a concept that was.
Time wasn’t a virtue. It was a burden.
And that burden would weigh itself on his shoulders like an unmovable force of nature.
And Harlequin hated it.
He hated the way your body slowly betrayed you. Hated the medicinations lining your bedside. Hated the fatigue you felt when you still perked up near the end and when you still tried comforting him through your own pain.
Most of all, he hated himself for being unable to stop it.
Because his kind was “meant” to survive, and yours, unfortunately, didn’t last for so long.
Yet there he stood, like a helpless little thing, while something as simple as time took you away from him piece by piece.
He would never be able to meet your eyes again.
Or intertwine your fingers.
Or feel your arms wrapped loosely around his neck while his claws scratched patterns across your skin.
Or feel your legs tangled with his beneath the sheets.
Or press your body against him while he could hear the steady beat of your heart.
Or even have his lips press against your own, capturing your taste with his poison to create something that was once so beautiful.
But as cruel as time was, that itself faded away too.
The poison had bled itself dry, with nothing left but a bitter aftertaste of what remained.
And just as his claws just barely touched your shoulders, it all went away too soon for his liking.
You faded.
Not suddenly, but just slowly enough just to hurt.
Like standing among the dead autumn leaves while the final colors of spring disappeared.
Like watching smoke unravel into thin air.
Like trying to hold onto a reflection in old glass while cracks slowly split through it until nothing recognizable remained.
Your smile blurred first.
Then your voice.
Then your eyes.
The very culmination of your being faded away until there was nothing left for him to reach.
His eyes finally opened.
For one horrible second, the dream still clung to him.
He could still smell you.
Sweet. Earthy. Familiar.
Then the cold morning air ruined it.
A ray of sunshine slipped through the opening of his tent, stretching across his bed like mockery. Morning was supposed to feel hopeful, wasn’t it? It was supposed to bring the promise of a new day. A fresh start.
Instead, it only showed the dampness that stained his face.
The pillow he had been holding onto throughout the night remained trapped between his claws. Tear stains darkened the fabric where he held it against himself all night long, but most of it had already dried up by now.
Blinking groggily, Harlequin stared at the ceiling of his tent. He felt less like himself and more like the empty room.
His breathing felt uneven.
Heavy.
Like something sat on top of him refusing to let him move.
The dull ache behind his eyes remained unbearable. Sleep still tugged at him, trying to lure him back towards the promises of a fantasy he both craved and despised.
Sometimes he woke up screaming.
Those nights were worse.
Pierrot once nearly tore through the tent walls trying to reach him after hearing the noise. Other times, Ticket Taker or Jester rushed inside only to find Harlequin gasping violently among tangled sheets and pillows, clutching his chest with a single hand as though his own heart attempted to escape him. Doctor usually had to get involved when this happened too, as he knew exactly what to do in order to make him calm down.
Those nights usually ended with shaking claws, sweat-soaked skin, or something far worse.
This morning, however, was quieter.
…
Slowly, Harlequin rolled onto his back before lifting a palm toward his face, dragging it down from the start of his hairline to the bottom of his chin. His throat tightened.
Even after two hundred years, grief still found new ways to hollow him out.
Eventually, begrudgingly, the scaled monster forced himself upright.
The room swayed as the pure and utter exhaustion settled into his bones. His gaze drifted toward the bedside table almost immediately. Toward the two rings resting carefully on top of the folded cloth.
Waiting for him.
Always waiting.
After all, there were more pressing matters to take care of. Ticket Taker and Jester were already up for the day, with the Doctor more than likely helping them out to gather supplies and do other preparations. Only a month remained before the fae trials began, and Pierrot would be the first to face them.
He had to play his role too.
Because he was the Harlequin.
And the Harlequin was meant to laugh in the face of misfortune. To dance alongside the suffering until tragedy itself became an entertainment. To remain high in spirits even if life itself left him feeling unsatisfied.
That was the role he was meant to perform best. The clown all dressed up while his inner turmoil quietly rotted away.
A performer until the very end.
Harlequin slipped the rings back onto his fingers.
Gold caught onto the light for only a moment.
Until that too would start to fade away.
First time posting fanfiction to this site kinda nervous. I have many mixed feelings about this since it's been YEARS since I was a fanfic writer.
That is because, once upon a time, I was in fact a fanfic writer. A popular one in fact, but on a different platform and under a different user. One work I was well known for had over 100K views and that's still crazy to me even to this day. For reasons I won't name here, I lost the spark to write fanfic. Let's just say it was related to the popularity and with that...I genuinely couldn't find myself to write anything for any fandom again. I archived everything - including that one popular work - and left said platform.
That was, until, I joined the fandom for The Freak Circus and read Destiny's "Dead Leaves." Then, because I really enjoyed her story, I checked out some of her other works. Her stuff lit my spark again, so now I present this oneshot to everyone here.
I'm a little rusty I know. With time and patience, I'll improve maybe. I have lots of writing tips in my saves already haha.
With that being said...
Should I become a writer again??
HELL YEAHHHHH 🔥🔥🔥
HELL NAHHHH ❌❌❌
Voting ended onMay 21
^ This poll will be very helpful to me if you decide to vote on it. I find polls to be very informative already for my Insta stories, so why not do it here too?
And a quick thank you to the mutuals/oomfs I DMed since I told them that I would be writing again just for TFC. They were all very supportive when I told them the news, and, when I showed them a little WIP of this oneshot...they all got very excited to my surprise. (I have mixed feelings about my writing style tbh :'D I tend to be poetic and all of that when writing).
Thank you to those who read this all the way through!! Have a silly meme I made:
I'll be posting a speedpaint of that banner I made later on ^^
I feel like if MC (or atleast delicate innocence MC) decides to have a child with Pierrot it would be purely to prevent him from khs when she eventually passes.
Dont get me wrong, after years of being together they've been through so much, and they've both grown, but Pierrot's impulsivity and big feelings are just part of who he is and there is simply no changing that, nor does she want to.
Pierrot likes to dream and sigh about their forever together, and MC loves the twinkle in his golden eyes whenever he does, but as time passes it became a source of anxiety to her, because she knew that when the time comes he's not going to accept it, nor move on.
She tried to bring it up multiple times, but everytime she does he either deflect or shuts her down, so eventually she gave up and decided to go about it differently.
If she can't stay with him in his forever, maybe a piece of her can.
Jester wasn't as hard to convince as she initially thought, he's always been a being driven by logic and practicality. He understood.
And where Jester is, Ticket taker follows, so he didn't need much convincing from her part.
Doctor was against it at first, warning that carrying a hybrid child would be a heavy task for a human body with a 50/50 chance of surviving the delivery, but the promise of documenting such a rare thing was too perfect to pass on.
Harlequin wasn't pleased the slightest. He'd argue that it was simply not true, that she was overthinking per usual as his smile remained just as wide, but the way his teasing words turned borderline hurtful suggested otherwise. He didn't avoid her, God no, but his presence that used to illicit laughter and mischief, turned into something cold and sorrowful. She pretended not to notice.
Pierrot of course when presented with the positive pregnancy test was ecstatic, he's always dreamed of starting a family with her, a Mini MC and him running around the circus laughing as he and his wife go about their routine. It was a picture right out of a movie.
MC felt guilty as her husband sounded genuinely happy about the idea unaware of her true intentions. Ofc she wants to have a family with him, she dreamed about it as much as he did if not more. she just wished it went differently.
Either way she let's her husband hug her and twirl her around, promising to be the perfect dad to their unborn child while she hides her face in the crook of his neck, her tears staining the collar of his costume, murmuring a silent apology that his ears don't pick up.
MC: Do you think your hypersexuality is the result of how much you crave intimacy but are overall scared of forming any meaningful connection with someone because you fear them validating your poor beliefs abt yourself and being abandoned?
Harlequin: Idk, but do you perceive your need to keep every person who tries to get close to you at arm's length as a consequence of your fear of getting hurt yet at the same time reeking of desperation to be understood to the point you'd date a grotesque?
☆ Summary: MC visits the red tent, and Pierrot sinks in his delusions as his obsession grows even further.
As i finally make it to the red tent i notice that it's quite similar to the green one, design wise atleast. It's bigger, and way more packed with people than the previous one, which unintentionally raises my expectations for Pierrot's act.
Unlike Harlequin, he cannot speak as part of his character so storytelling is out of the question. Maybe he's more of a magic trick kinda performer? I'm not sure. But either way I find myself a little excited as I step into his tent.
Finding a seat was quite the easy task this time thanks to the Red ticket, so I settle down and take in my surroundings. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, some raving about all the creepy things they got to see, others are getting impatient for the show to start already.
Either way it makes me glad that the business is going for them, especially after all the harassment they had to endure from the town's folks. You know what they say, If you can't beat them, drain their pockets down to the last penny. Or something.
My gaze fixes back on the stage and my eyes spot Pierrot peeking slightly from behind the curtains, which is a funny sight considering how large he is. Thankfully though everyone seems immersed in their own conversations to pay him any mind, so his attempt at being stealthy is against all odds working.
I snicker, and his gaze finally lands on me. His golden eyes strangely seem to brighten as he notices my silhouette in the big audience, almost as if he didnt think I'd acually show up.
Should I wave? Would that be too weird? What if I'm acting too familiar with him and he finds it annoying? Maybe it's not a big of a deal, it's just a wave, a way to say hi. No biggie.
I hesitantly send him a small wave, and his smile stretches even wider, so wide i can see it all the way from here. He waves right back at me open and proud, and I try my hardest to ignore the way my cheeks heat up in embarrassment, my heart skipping a beat.
He dissappears behind the curtains and the lights dim in the tent, the crowd falling into silence.
In the center, a single light illuminates a tall figure, Pierrot stands with his arms stretched wide then proceeds to give a bow, welcoming the crowd.
The show begins.
A soft melody starts playing and Pierrot shifts into a more menacing stance, his smile turning sinister. His limbs proceeds to twist and turn elegantly in a hypnotizing rhythm as the lights change around him.
If feels as if he's dancing with his own shadow. Except when he moves one way, the shadow moves the other... in a really creepy way. Is it the lights? But how? The light's position is wrong, and there are no visible ones at the bottom. Even if there were, they're unlikely to be strong enough.
Maybe another performer who's acting as a shadow? I mean, the lighting is pretty dim so perhaps that's it.
I shake my head, trying to focus back on the acual show. on Pierrot. And I can't help but notice how comically diffrent he looks on stage compared to how he usually behaves. he seems... in his element. confident, every move sharp and coordinated, commanding the audience's attention. Even his demeanor is diffrent in a way, I can't put my finger on it.
A spotlight suddenly illuminates the opposite side of the stage where a large wooden plank stands tall with an assistant strapped onto it. Her face is covered with a mask similar to Pierrot's so I can't exactly make out her features, but I can't help but notice how small she looks compared to him.
His movements come to a stop, his dance finally coming to an end, or maybe it was only the beginning. he stretches his arm towards the woman, and seemingly out of thin air, knives materialize between his fingers.
The woman remains as still as stone, as if it's the norm, to which it should be I suppose, it's just an act, they must've rehearsed it several times and performed it even more. There was no need to fret.
The first knife gets thrown and it lands just millimeters beside her head, yet she doesn't even so much as flinch. Still, like a lake's undisturbed surface.
It's quite impressive, I'm out here sweating bullets for her.
The second slashes her uniform as it lands beside her waist, and abrupt cheers starts to fill the tent to hit her already, the crowd too immersed in the performance and the charged atmosphere.
The third slashes her ear, I'm certain it did. Front row seat privileges and all. I can see the blood running down her neck and staining her uniform, a rich red that cannot be mistaken for anything else, either that or their props are top tier. Either way, it has to be part of the show, after all how could she remain still if that was the case.
Yeah, I'm just being paranoid aga-
The last hits the woman straight in her forehead, It happened so fast I couldn't even see it properly. The assistant's head drops to her chest, and her body goes limp. Almost as if... lifeless.
I hardly flinch at the thundering sounds of cheers and clapping as I just stare at her. The way she fell, the blood gushing from her 'wounds', the rising demands for 'More! More! More!'. '
My fingers dig into my thighs, the sharp pain grounding me. It's just a show. It's not real. She's probably bored out of her mind up there pretending to be dead.
It's okay. Fine. I'm fine.
...
Shit, I need some air.
I grab my bag and make my way out of the tent, and as soon as im away from the suffocating mass my lungs learn how to breath again. these performances never fail to leave me breathless, pun intended.
It's obvious so much time and effort was put into these performance to deliver such an impact. I dont know how they faked the stabbing and bleeding but damn if it wasn't believable. Either that or i just witnessed an acual murder, I mean what are the chances?
Acually, a Circus of horrors would be the perfect place if you want to commit a murder in plain sight and have a solid alibi. but then you'll have the bodies to worry about, we're not anywhere near a large body of water, and there is no forest. I doubt they'd have acid laying around and about especially with so many people wondering, that's a smell no air spray can hide.
So, hypothetically speaking, if every assistant in a show is a potential victim then disposing of them without getting caught would prove to be a one way ticket to prison. No parole. Which means these guys are just innocent jesters and I probably need to be locked up for my train of thoughts because what was that?!
What a way to calm my anxiety, but hey It worked anyway so I don't know why I'm complaining.
I flinch as a large hand lands on my shoulder, a familiar one. Pierrot seemed concerned for a minute, his eyes etched with unspoken worry, but then they land on my collar and it sharpens into something ugly. Anger? or maybe annoyance, Replaces his once soft gaze. he hesitantly raised his hand to trace the green heart-shaped pin with the sharp claws of his glove.
"Oh, right. Your uh...friend? He gave it to me."
Pierrot doesn't say anything, instead he leans closer brushing my collar tenderly, and i almost miss the star shaped pin his fingers leave behind as they retreat. I pull on my shirt to examine it better, and to on one's surprise I don't hate it at all. It's small, but so incredibly beautiful in its simplicity.
he doesn't pull away completely, his face inches away from my ear, but i could still point out the way his features melt once again into that familiar bright smile from the corner of my eye.
I guess they're not friends then.
"Did you like my show?" Pierrot asks in a hushed tone, and I don't ponder long.
Artistically, it was quite the performance. The dance itself was so hauntingly beautiful that I can't get it out of my mind, memories of his sinuous movements playing on loop as it blends seamlessly with the melancholic melody and general atmosphere, creating a scene that perfectly encapsulates macabre beauty.
The second act of his performance was probably the one that unnerved me the most. His aim was immaculate, it was as if those knives seized to be an object of their own in favor of becoming an extension of him.
I could swear I heard the crunch of bones and muscle tearing as it carved its way deep into that assistant's forehead. But again, that's just absurd. This place was getting to me, which I suppose is part of the experience.
I'm not exactly sure how to put all of this into coherent words without sounding like an obsessed fan, so I settle for something simple.
"It was... amazing. You were amazing." I say.
But being the curious person that i am, i can't stop myself from asking, "How did you make that woman seem so real?"
Pierrot's smile widens as he puts up his index infront of his mouth. Yeah figured, a magician never reveals his secrets and all that jazz.
"So many secrets..." I huff in fake annoyance.
He leans back down, his breath tickling my ear through his porcelain mask, "Why don't stay a little longer? I could show you the rest of the circus."
Tempting. But one look at my watch is enough to make up my mind. I smile up apologetically at him, "I'd love to, but... I should probably get going. It's not a great idea to be wandering around alone this late."
"Shall I escort you, my lady? If you're frightened, I can ensure you reach safety."
"No need, really! I'm fine, don't worry. I wouldn't want to bother you."
Pierrot seems to deflate, a bit dissapointed at my rejection but understanding nonetheless. He pauses for second, visibly contemplating his next words, then he whispers his question softly, "May i see you again tomorrow?"
No, I've had more than enough social interactions to last me a lifetime. I'm tired, and drained, and in need of something sweet, preferably an iced popsicle while i lay in bed and watch whatever's trending on Netflix right now.
But of course i dont say that, how could i when he's looking at me with hope gleaming in those big golden eyes? So I mentally prepare myself for another evening away from my couch, outside, in the cold, with a green clown lurking in the shadows waiting to jump me for whatever reason.
But hey, on the bright side there's still many tents i haven't had the chance to check out yet, so that's something.
I smile up at him and nod, the decision finalized, "Sure, why no- Woah!" In a swift movement his hand clutches mine in a firm, but gentle grip with our fingers intertwined. His face flushes, an even wider smile stretches on his ivory mask, and I could swear I could see literal hearts in his eyes.
"I shall look forward to it, my lady." He says.
He gives my hand one last squeeze before reluctantly setting it fre- I mean letting go.
Its flattering how much he wants my company, not sure why since again, we literally met yesterday, but still being wanted around for once feels... nice.
I find myself smiling again, to which i cant help but notice that he did indeed fulfill his promise from the other day, and i look up at him one last time for tonight.
"Goodnight, Pierrot."
"Until tomorrow, my dearest."
___________________
From the moment Pierrot's heart began singing this girl's name yearning for her affection, his mind simultaneously started racing with a hundred scenarios on how this could possibly and irreversibly go wrong.
Humans are fragile minded, so revealing himself would be plain idiocy. first, because he doesn't want to be on the end of Jester's wrath, and second and most importantly, he dosent want her to fear him.
Realistically, Pierrot knows he can't hide the truth forever, she's bound to find out eventually either on her own or from himself, preferably. So he decides it would be for the best to play it safe.
He'll ease her into it, be gentle, patient, slowly building his way up brick by brick, and by the time she realizes it? It would already be too late. Finally his. Forever.
but who could blame him when her mere existence is enough to set him ablaze? The way she walks, talks, breath. How her heart flatters against her ribcage when her eyes meets his, as if begging him to take it in between his clawed fingers.
Would she hate him for having such thoughts? Would she be disgusted to know how badly he craves her warmth against him?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Either way, it doesn't matter anymore. She's his darling, his everything, and he is her's too whether she realizes it yet or not.
Pierrot watches her silhouette disappear into the distance, and suddenly tomorrow feels like en eternity away. He throws the cake he withheld just in case in the trash, and makes his way towards a familiar apartment he now knows by heart.
The glass door of the balcony is open much like yesterday, and Pierrot can't help but wonder if this was her way of inviting him in? It must be, otherwise why would she leave herself all open and defenseless.
The bed dips as he settles down next to her, and he chuckles as she doesn't so much as stir. Moments like these makes him appreciative of the fact that she's a deep sleeper, something he deducted after numerous trials last night. Still he rather not be too careless, so he settles for gently caressing her face, his slender fingers familiarizing themselves with every inch.
He doesn't think he'll ever get bored of watching her, just as he did today from the moment she stepped foot into the circus. Pierrot thought that he didn't mind her in blue that much, even if he still thinks that red would suit her way better.
Pierrot admired her from a distance, she looked absolutely divine wondering about in his home, uncertain but purposeful steps one after the other as her eyes took in the blinding lights and towering tents with the innocence of a fawn skipping through the forest.
He wanted to sink his teeth in her right then and there.
But what good would that do?
Nothing. So he waits.
""We can take it slow then, my lady...i can be patient." He whispers, "I can smile at you and pretend I'm not burning inside."
He leans down, inches seperating her warm skin from the coldness of his porcelain mask. Its still not enough, still feels too far, and his chest aches at the distance. "Pretending I'm not imagining you breathless-" His finger traces her cheek softly down to the artery in her neck pulsing with life, and she shivers. "...trembling beneath my touch."
He should leave. Should return to the circus. But it feels as if the damn he fought ferociously to seal has broke, and the words just keep on coming, flowing into the confined walls of her bedroom.
"That sweet demeanor... that gaze that teases me without even knowing it... As if you weren't aware that you're poisoning me with love in every little gesture." Pierrot whispers.
His hands slide back up, cupping her cheeks as he towers over her gentle frame as she peacefully slumber, "But that's all right my lady... Because when I have you, it won't be gentle. I want it to be, but I know it won't. I'll leave my mark on you. From the inside out. Until your body knows my name better than it knows your own. Until your skin burns at the touch of anyone who isn't me. You'll cry, tremble, beg... but not from pain... well. Unless that's what you want. I'll always be there for you, hungry, yet gentle."
Today was a true testament to how deep this love has already rooted itself in his heart, he can still feel his blood boil at the prospect of her 'marked' by the green fool, he won't allow it, and he's certain that she won't either. After all, he can tell she already feels certain fondness towards him, it's only a matter of time before she burns the same way he is. Body and soul.
"Do you want me gentle? Affectionate? Shy? Or perhaps... bold? Do you want a hunter, chasing you with relentless passion? Do you want me rough?" He chuckles, hot breath soflty ruffling her bangs, and he can't help but brush them away.
"It's all right I'll learn what takes your breath away. I'll learn the intensity that makes your soul, and your body tremble for me. Because I love you, my lady. And for you..." He rests his forehead against her's, his hair creating a curtain seperating them from everything. And for a moment it's just them in their little world. Two hearts beating for eachother.
"I can be everything."
_______________
Thank you for reading! The ending was a bit rushed but that's due to me wanting this chapter out and away from me. Anyways! The other chapters are on my ao3, I'll probably upload them here soon enough after heavy editing but until then, feel free to check them out in :
I'm physically incapable of writing any romantic headcanons about Jester because I simply cannot fathom the concept of him in love and with a human nonetheless.
PLEASE I NEED MORE YEARNING OF THAT GREEN GOBLIN😭😭
Hello to my first request on this blog, I feel ya we all yearn for that yearner so let me deliver 🙏
Yearner Harlequin II:
Harlequin who's training late in his tent for a new type of performance Jester suggested that involves a dance with a partner. Something unprecedented for him but welcomed nonetheless, it's a challenge and he's not gonna back down from it. Never did before, never will.
Unfortunately though the fools he tried to use are all useless. One's too slow. The other too tall, and another just doesn't feel right.
"You're still here?"
He doesn't need to turn to know who it is. He'd know that irritating voice anytime, anywhere. "Surprised you managed to slip away from him."
"He's pretty much spent, today was alot." You chuckle.
"And you're here because?"
"I can't sleep, and you're just as much of an insomniac as me so I figured we'd tire eachother out."
"Careful darling, don't threaten me with a good time~" He winks.
"Shut up." You nudge him with your elbow playfully, snickering at his very annoying, very irritating self. You finally notice the 3 fools standing on the sidelines, backs straight and awaiting further instructions, yet you can still pinpoint the exhaustion looming over them like a shadow.
"Still trying to perfect that dance?" You ask.
His shoulders are tense, and his usually etched smile is long gone from his masked features. "I'm not the problem they're the ones who don't fit."
You raise en eyebrow at him, "I'm pretty sure you just suck."
"Excuse you I'm a wonderful dancer."
"Prove it." You gesture for the fools to leave, finally managing to send them on their way for a much needed rest. You turn and look at him who's still processing your offer, and a wide devilish smile spreads on his face.
"Fine."
He grabs your wrist, surprisingly gentle, but firm, and pulls you to him. you crash into his chest and he grins as you frown up at him.
"Asshole."
"Ugly."
You both snicker, then the dance begins.
There's no music to guide you, you just let him lead, his large hands warm against the the palm of your hand and waist. You move perfectly in sync, as if you've done this a million times before. He playfully twirls you and you laugh in delight.
He's good. Too good. Maybe you've misjudged his dancing skills after all.
You find yourself too immersed in it, it's fun and liberating, and you almost miss the way he laughs aswell. Not mocking. Not condescending. But fond, so incredibly fond it makes your heart jump.
The dance ends and you look up at him, panting and grinning from ear to ear, sweaty and gross and all flushed, but the teasing you awaited doesn't come, instead he just stares at you, a soft smile stretching his lips. He doesn't say anything at first, just content to stretch this moment as much as he possibly can, then his lips part, and his voice isn't above a whisper, breathless.
"Olha só no que você me transformou."
The hand on your waist seemed to tighten its grip a little, as if not ready to let go now that you're within reach. As it's too much to even consider it.
"Minha querida... Meu veneno."
"What?"
He chuckles, bringing your hand to his lips and giving it a very suggestive, very gross lick. "I said you're ugly."
"Well fuck you too you Shrek wannabe, I'll never help you again." You say defensively.
"Help?" He raises a brow in question.
"Well... yeah. You nailed your dance didn't you?"
...
"...I guess I did. I'm not thanking you though."
"Yeah I figured." You roll your eyes, what else did you expect anyway. "I'm going back to bed, don't you eat my cereals I specifically bought them for me."
"No promises!" He waves to you in farewell and you flip him off as you finally make your way out the tent to get your much needed sleep in the arms of your very cuddly boyfriend.
Harlequin watches you figure disappear behind the curtains, his eyes lingering on where you once stood.
He can still feel your warmth, still can hear your delighted laughs, still can see your bright eyes and flushed cheeks as you stared up at him. He brings his hand to his lips, the one that held yours moments ago, and if be places a delicate kiss on it then it's nobody's business to know.
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