I was planning originally to post this sentiment on just TikTok or such since I think that’s the source of this constant headache, but it might be a good idea to put this here as well since I fear it needs repeating:
For those who follow me and my videos on YouTube and on TikTok, please remember that The Freak Circus is not a game or media meant to be played by anyone under the age of 18.
It features dark, sensitive and graphic content that is meant for an adult audience.
Myself, Neko and the entirety of the TFC team are incredibly uncomfortable that there are people under the age of 18 interacting with the game and fandom, especially when we’ve taken a great amount of care to properly tag and label things across the board— its labeled as such on itchio, the official blog is clearly labeled as well with no room for misinterpretation:
The Freak Circus is not meant for anyone under the age of 18.
We are also not the parents of other people’s children, and are not responsible nor obligated to witch hunt every single minor that posts in the TFC tag or comments somewhere. I have become incredibly wary to interact with people who do not have a posted age (though people can and do lie on the internet, I’m quite aware of that) largely because there are many people who just don’t respect that boundary.
(There are a lot of fans who don’t respect many boundaries, but that’s a separate issue and one that I can ignore a lot easier.)
There’s very little an adult creator can do to restrict access to their adult-but-not-explicit media without also risking their media to be blacklisted, banned, restricted to those who show government IDs, ect. Even if someone is an adult, they should never be forced to show their photo ID to a company or to a government in order to access the internet or to interact with a piece of media, and it’s the biggest reason I use tags instead of labels to try and find a responsible but aware balance with who can see and access my content.
For context, the whole TFC team grew up and were fundamentally part of an internet where governments and companies did not have access to people’s personal information in the same way they do now— the idea of them even asking for more than your name was strange. I know I’m not the only adult who would agree that the internet is a very different place then where it started, and very much worse in some regards (I hate the state of modern day social media and the commodification of art) but there is only so much one person can do without going completely insane.
Me and Neko have agreed on many occasions how important it is to keep the game accessible for people, because there are plenty of adults who cannot access the game otherwise if there was a price tag on it or if the game itself was restricted behind Patreon or a similar process.
We just… fundamentally disagree on restricting it in that way, and its exhausting to take every reasonable measure to communicate this boundary and still have people disregard it or get angry that we aren’t ’doing more’.
I’m not out to vilify or lay moral judgement on anyone as being a horrible or irredeemable person (please dear god keep yourself safe, don’t trust companies with your information), but I’m also not going to act like I don’t stress about how I have to hold myself or figure out ways to clearly assert my personal boundaries (as I am a creator of suggestive/explicit works) so I can avoid using broken, ill-thought or outright malicious ‘verification’ procedures various social media platforms are trying to assert across the internet.
Thinking about "it" and by "it" I mean The Freak Circus Harlequin trying to escape an angry mob while in monster form only to stumble upon Reader whose on a nightly stroll. Luckily for them, right now he's prioritizing getting tf out of there so he chooses to run away in a different direction
However... he overhears the mob ask Reader where the monster went, and based off the sound of their footsteps, they misdirected the mob, and led them away from Harlequin
Harlequin gets to escape, he lives. Unfortunately while he gained the gift of not violently dying that night, Reader gained a pest™ that follows them around everywhere because he wants to know more about the moron odd human that helped him for no reason other than "I didn't want to see anyone get beaten to death ty"
i don’t know if you meant for this to be a prompt but i have not been able to stop thinking about it since it hit my inbox so uhhh enjoy?
(feel free to send me more scenarios for these characters btw, i’d love to write more~)
ao3
stunned with falling (the harlequin x gn!reader, the freak circus)
You don’t know how lucky you are.
Or perhaps you do, with that expression of stunned terror fixed upon your face, the streetlamps above setting the panes of your widened eyes alight before he catches the rumble of feet at his back and lumbers in the opposite direction of your frozen form.
Ducking into the nearest alleyway affords him a moment of respite, though his current form is nearly too large to fit within its confines, horns scrapping along brick as he tilts his head back to listen to the din of the mob growing louder, closer.
“Which way?” a gruff voice shouts from within the crowd, their inquiry no doubt directed toward you. Who else could the mob have stumbled upon, at this late hour?
The cadence of your voice is too low for his ears to catch, and yet the renewed rumble of his pursuers’ footsteps are anything but, a renewed sense of purpose in the cries of his would-be killers as they set off in fresh pursuit -
- away from his current hiding spot, where you had doubtlessly seen him run.
The Harlequin pauses, claws raking gently across brick as he pokes his head out of the shadows and peers down the street to where he had seen you last.
You stand exactly where he had left you, gaze fixed on the retreating mob. As soon as they’re out of your sight, your eyes swing in his direction, peering restlessly into the shadows he had delved within with your fingers clenching uncertainly at your sides and your lip sucked between your teeth.
What would you do, if he revealed himself to you again? Would you run? Scream for the mob you had just so effortlessly waylaid? Or would you stay, lip plumping beneath the blunt pressure of your teeth, and allow yourself to be consumed?
The Harlequin shudders at the thought, hunger a bitter film in the back of his throat. Hunger for flesh, the same hunger that had loosed him on the streets after the circus had closed its doors for the night, and yet not. Not entirely.
Curiosity, then, he decides, for the fool who had confronted the dogs on his tail, and sent them off chasing shadows.
Your good deed would not go unrewarded, he promises with a baring of his teeth, shadows shifting as his form shrinks into itself and the alleyway filling with the muted pop of flesh and bone reorienting, horns and claws retreating under swaths of green and black and the faintest tinkling of bells.
You had found your footing in the meantime, it seems, the soles of your shoes thudding gently against asphalt as you retreat in the opposite direction from himself and the mob. Not quickly enough to escape his notice, of course, and the Harlequin grins as he gives chase, the faint traces of your scent lingering upon the air serving as a beacon to guide him straight to you.
Rather than immediately lunging upon you and sinking his claws into those delectable shoulders as he’d originally planned upon your first meeting, the Harlequin sticks instead to the shadows gathering at your feet, footfalls silent as the grave and teeth bared in an anticipatory grin.
Almost as though sensing his presence, you glance over your shoulder, eyes quickly scanning the dark street behind you before the speed of your footsteps increase, the scrapping of your shoes over asphalt joined by the heated rush of your breaths and the faint but telling drumming of your pulse at the base of your throat.
The Harlequin’s forked tongue flickers across his bottom lip. Mmm. So much fear.
Poor thing, he thinks pityingly, green eyes gleaming in the dark. Its sweetness had drawn him to you earlier, but now he finds himself preferring the traces of your true scent lying buried beneath it, a fresh, soft smell that reminds him of clean linen and the air after a rainstorm.
Hunger gnaws in his belly. How strong would that scent of yours grow, were he to place his lips against your beating pulse?
As though eager to bestow the answer upon him, one of the streetlights overhead pop and go out, drawing a strangled gasp from your throat and stilling your feet. In the moment that your gaze swings toward the offending darkness, the Harlequin has already settled within it, wide, white smile and fierce green eyes emerging from the gloom.
At the sight of him, your heart gives a harsh, resounding thud in your chest.
“You - ” your voice trembles over the word, hands curling into fists at your sides. “I knew it was you. Why are you following me?”
The Harlequin tilts his head, the bells on his hat jingling merrily. “Why did you do it?” he counters, voice a mere rasp in the darkness.
Your lips press together, feet shifting restlessly beneath his gaze. “Didn’t feel like seeing someone get beaten to death,” you return glibly, and the Harlequin laughs at your candor.
“You have my thanks, strange one,” he replies, dipping his arm in a theatrical bow. “But surely you’d prefer something else. A reward, perhaps?”
You take a step back, shaking your head. “Your thanks is enough,” you assure him, shivering as his eyes catch the light from nearby lamps, yellow and gold and green reflecting eerily from the darkness.
The Harlequin’s crescent grin widens, his body sinking stealthily into the shadows. “Oh, I think not,” his voice drifts airily from the void, and you jump as his warmth settles across your back a bare moment later, shoulders stiffening beneath his weight and one wide eye turning to meet his gaze. “I can do much better than that.”
“I… ” you fumble, shoulders heaving against his chest. Your pulse races rabbit-fast at the base of your throat, and the Harlequin barely resists the urge to tuck his teeth against that throbbing swath of skin. “I - I don’t - ”
“Ah, I know just the thing!” It’s entirely too difficult to gather his thoughts with your body tucked so close - so close and so warm, despite your fear and the late hour. Your constant wriggling does neither of you any favors, the friction of his costume and your thin shirt and jacket only serving to remind him of how insignificant the barriers between you truly are. Just a rending of his claws would bare your flesh to him. But first - ”Here you go! Something special, just for you.”
You blink owlishly at the ticket he held before your gaze, the worn paper emblazoned with the words The Freak Circus and dyed the same vibrant green as his eyes.
“A - a ticket?” you murmur, making no move to retrieve the gift just yet.
“My ticket,” the Harlequin corrects, his free hand winding around your waist and claws curling lightly over your stomach. Your skin jumps beneath his touch, shoulders twitching harshly against his chest, and the Harlequin hisses gently against the urge to rip, to tear - not at your flesh, but at the clothing that dares to separate yours from his. His hunger has not waned, after all. It has merely… changed.
“You want me to… use it at the circus?” you breathe, seemingly afraid to make any further moves with his claws tucked so closely against vulnerable flesh.
The Harlequin hums, fitting his chin in the bend of your shoulder and pressing the cool, white cheek of his mask against yours. “As my guest of honor,” he confirms, dark curls tickling your cheek.
Your lips rasp dryly together as you reach for the slip of paper held aloft in his claws, fingers trembling as they curl around the edge of the ticket. You linger there for a moment, not moving, as though you know your fate is sealed the moment you pluck the gift from his grip.
“Tell me you’ll take it,” he urges you, teeth clicking gently together as he tucks his wide, wild grin against your throat. Your pulse hitches at the touch, warmth suffusing your skin, and the Harlequin nearly shudders at the sharp ache of hunger clawing at his belly. At your feet, unbeknownst to you in the moment, tendrils of jade-colored tentacles billow and writhe, eager to climb along your calves at the slightest of urgings from their master. “Tell me you’ll come.”
“I - ” you swallow roughly, throat humming against his teeth, and pluck the ticket from the curl of his claws. “I’ll come,” you promise quietly, trembling as you stuff his offering into the pocket of your jacket. Your fear has gained a sharp, sweet edge, so strong it nearly sours on his tongue, but the Harlequin knows you’ll keep your word despite your terror. You have little choice, now that he knows your scent, knows you, and where to find you.
“Until then, strange one,” he smiles, claws squeezing appreciatively at your flesh before he pulls away. You watch him go in tense, terrorized fascination, your gaze a heady weight along his spine. “Sleep well!” he calls over his shoulder, though he knows you will not. Your dreams that night will be filled with sharp, white teeth and green eyes, just as his will be laced with the soft, rainfall scent of your skin.
Does anyone know if the fandom has like an MC character sheet, or something like that around?
If not, I was thinking of making a template everyone could use to show information about their MC, like a picture of them, general information, personality, skills, likes and dislikes, the clown or clowns ya be tryin to get with romantically with, fun facts about your MC, and a spot for you to write a summary of your MC's backstory if they have any.
Would you guys be interested in such a thing?
Tbh I just would love to know more about everyone's lovely MCs
I wanna share some thoughts I've had since I can remember about the country I was born in, in western Europe. I never felt a sense of patriotism for it, or any attachment, just familiarity because it is where I was born, and lived all my life.
The culture never reached my heart, it's not something that sparks interest, and I personally always disliked how this language sounds. It's a small country, but had colonies in the past, many of them, and did its own fair share of bad things in the world.
I still remember during history classes when they taught about those things, and the role it had on slavery, and how my classmates laughed. I didn't have the heart to laugh. I know it was just a bunch of middle school children who didn't understand the gravity of what was being taught, it was the same when they showed us stuff like Chernobyl, but I couldn't laugh, it wasn't funny, it was sad.
I don't think I'll ever love this country, but I live in it without much choice.
Have you ever felt like this with your own country?
I made this illustration in collaboration with @春醴记工作室 Studio!
I never imagined seeing so much love and so many beautiful artworks celebrating Pierrot’s birthday! I’m truly delighted!
I also made another fun one as an extra little tribute haha!
By the way, some of you may have seen the earlier post where the symbol on Pierrot’s left arm had the wrong color. That was completely my fault, sorry about that hehe. I was so excited that I let that slip by!
Thank you all so much for the messages for Pierrot!
Feliz aniversario para Pierrot!
Fiz essa imagem em colaboração com o estúdio @春醴记工作室! Nunca imaginei ver tanto amor e belas artes para comemorar o aniversario de Pierrot! Estou encantado! Também fiz outra divertida como mais uma homenagem haha!
A proposito, talvez alguns de vocês tenham visto a postagem mais cedo com o símbolo do braço esquerdo de Pierrot da cor errada, Isso foi totalmente minha culpa, desculpem por isso hehe estava tão animado que deixei essa passar! >.>
Obrigado a todos pelas mensagens ao Pierrot!
Just a small reminder for all discouraged artists out there:
just because your work doesn’t get a lot of likes, does NOT mean it ‘isn’t good’. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve see really AMAZING art that doesn’t get nearly as many likes as it deserves
Blame the algorithm for doing your art dirty; YOU and your art are amazing💖💗🫶💕🫂
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