Laughing Jack fluff.... or angst/comfort!!! thinking about his abandonment issues when starting a new romantic relationship or even during a friendship, where he feels so attached but afraid and in disbelief if they have mutual feelings .... gah head in hands... give me my emotionally convoluted clown...
@bunnijuni hey come read this request i got abt ur fav
also hi guys! a year-ish since i posted on here! sorry about that, have had really big writers block over fics for generally everything this past year and i didnt get inspo to write until recently. my dc followers were probably not expecting my return oneshot to be about a creepypasta LMAO
but anyways i will be going through requests to hopefully get some of those done, and they are always open. so like, request away yall just understand i do now also work a full time job so i may not always have energy [and i will be away for the next few days!!]
anyways heres my rising from the dead fic. and keep in mind if this telling of Laughing Jack doesn't fit your view/narrative of him or you just generally don't like it, that is okay! but this is how i choose to write him so its like.. my own fanon/hc way for him.. man i havent written creepypasta in so long. and basically never laughing jack. so enjoy
There’s many things that, in the past few centuries, Laughing Jack has grown accustomed to. Loneliness, being one of them. A fitting fate many would bestow upon him, judging him for his sins that rightfully, he had. He was nothing but a childhood friend then, all colors and happy moments, now turned monochromatic monster. He was sadistic, yes. A killer of children. But, deep down, there’s those aches. Pangs of guilt that creep in his chest, when his facade is faded. Smiles and giggles, morbid jokes turning to repentance for the things he’s done. The smile is gone, laughter gone in a breath. And he disappears in the blink of an eye, like a puff of smoke.
He knows of the other killers that reside in the mansion, those with urges like he has. Though the urge is intrusive, not something he truly enjoys. After all, he’s killing children. The age of people he was once meant to be a lifelong friend for, until the child matured and outgrew him. Perhaps things would be different if it weren’t for Isaac.
You, though. You were something new, a new presence that had been lingering around the mansion for a little while now. Maybe a year, but he doesn’t truly care to track. All he knows is that you are new, like a shiny new toy a child would get. All his focus and attention is on you, learning about you and figuring out just why you peak his curiosity.
It’s small, at first. The way you laugh at his jokes, how he pays attention to what causes your smile. He pays attention to every detail like that, not realizing the softness in his gaze when he looks at you. It’s a subtle softness, one that no one else would notice unless they really paid attention.
Then there’s the days that he notices how close you two have gotten. The days of soft silence, the lack of distance between the both of you that is starting to no longer be casual. The comfort he begins to find in your presence. Those moments are when the gnawing in his chest grows, like there’s not enough room for him to breath besides in increasingly smaller and smaller breaths.
The moments he realizes that perhaps things are having the chance to change, always in those moments where he realizes, that he disappears. You could be sitting next to him somewhere, and maybe the way you rest on his shoulder is casual, out of close friendship. Or perhaps it’s out of you seeking to close the distance. Either way, it makes him self aware the moment he feels the weight of you on his shoulder. Makes him aware of the feelings that he can feel bubbling up, and it makes him afraid.
It brings back the memories of those years he spent alone in his box, watching and waiting for the day Isaac would let him back out. It scares him, the idea of that repeating itself again with you. And in the same moment he thinks those thoughts, he’s gone. You fall to your side onto the rest of the couch, no longer having him there to keep you upright. And he spends a few days away, inside that horrifically memory inducing box that reminds him of darker days.
It’s almost routine after that. Any time he thinks about it, he disappears. Avoids you for a few days, then comes right back like it has no effect on you at all each time he leaves.
