in which you must take your father's place in the army, but keep clashing with the commander you're supposed to fool!
contains: lishang!toji x mulan!reader (YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS ) , toji gets a gay panic, toji isnt chinese so he doesnt fit here at all but idgaf because i said so, slight bondage, straight rawdogging cause captain goes straight to business 😛😛, porn with plot, LOTS of mulan references if you lock in you'd get it, HITTING IN FROM THE BACK 😨
for @jazzthatonewriterchick aint no fairy tale event! im so late but im SO HERE
5k
It was late.
Too late for the moon to shine, birds starting to chirp in the slightest streams of sunlight. Too early for you to be awake, too early for your local bread vendor to cross your streets.
Too early to have cut your hair and dressed yourself in armour, standing in line with males in a military camp. Too early to force your voice to be deeper, to stand straighter and taller.
Too early to face the scrutinizing gaze of Captain Toji.
Your hair was pulled back as far as it could go, stretching the skin of your forehead uncomfortably into a tight bun at the back of your skull. You were already mourning the loss of the hair you had to cut off, but you definitely couldn't show it on your face.
The Captain had started to walk across all the new recruits, arms behind his back in a way that seemed more intimidating than if he were outright slapping you. If you hadn't wasted time talking to that fuckass tiny dragon, maybe you wouldn't appear as sweaty as you did. Though, you had a sneaking suspicion that you were sweating out of fear of getting caught way more.
"And you are...?" His eyes gave you a once-over, narrowing suspiciously at your smaller frame. You spluttered for a common male name, and nothing came to mind except "Ping."
"You," Toji turned to his assistant, watching him tick off another name. He grabbed the clipboard from him, going through the details of your alleged identity. "It says here that you're supposed to be disabled, Ping."
You get curious looks from around you, but you force yourself to keep your gaze as innocent as possible. Well, as innocent a man could get. "There are a lot of Pings in my village, Captain. I'm pretty sure you're talking about dear old Baker Ping." Well, not exactly a lie, that one. Baker Ping should have stopped baking when he lost vision in both of his eyes a decade ago. You were scared to buy from there again for fear of finding another chest hair in your loaf of bread. "We must have gotten mixed up with another group."
"Mhm," he hummed with much disbelief, but moved along the line to your joy. You felt Mushu snigger in your pocket, and you felt the urge to pick him up and throw him right down the mountain.
"What was that about?" A soldier asked you, under the afternoon sun, while the two of you trained with swords. Honestly, he could pass off as more of a girl than you could with that slim-ass figure. Yes, queen, body goals.
"I'm not sure." You gritted your teeth as you held up your sword against his strike, feeling your arms burn. You hadn't exactly had any time to train before you came here, running off as soon as your parents were asleep or before you could change your mind. Your father would most definitely be angry, but at least he wouldn't have to lose his life. The stubborn man refused to stay at home or hide himself, even after giving half his life to the army already. His leg wasn't going to fix itself, but you could train to become as strong as he once was.
"Fight harder!" Came the Captain's orders from across the field, very much directed towards the two of you. I mean, what did he expect? The both of you were kind of pussies. He was training himself, beating up a recruit's ass mercilessly. Why couldn't he stop multitasking?
"Yes, Captain!" Came the mutual response, the two of you trying to push harder.
You were originally afraid of being an outcast, considering that you were probably the weakest there, but it turned out there were loners just like you. Sitting uncomfortably on the last seat available during dinner, you found yourself near the soldier from earlier, along with two of his friends. One was genuinely shaped like a midget, and you wondered if he passed the height requirement for the army.
Quickly realising that loners could be friends with loners and be loners together, you were now well acquainted with the slim baddie Ling, garden gnome Yao, and the fucking great wall of China. You still weren't sure what his name was, since he whispered under his breath most of the time.
The four of you were the weakest of the group, and Captain Toji constantly reminded you of that. He would pit you against stronger soldiers constantly, watching you fall over and over, struggling to even get up. His dirty looks in your direction only fueled your self-pity and anger towards the man. Why would he put you with someone at such a higher level? As if that would help you get better. It would only break your spirit.
This newfound alliance, however, was quickly destroyed when Mushu decided to butt his snout into business that wasn't his. You were partaking in a totally normal conversation, mind you, with the three of the men, when Mushu started to speak for you. Insults here and there for no reason, and you had started to look schizophrenic with the way you were hitting your pocket.
This ended with you almost getting pumelled by Yao and ending up with zero allies.
"Aw, don't sulk," Mushu poked at your sides, pulling out a notebook from god knows where. The dragon had decided to keep you up that night, even though you were very happy to put your head on a pillow and pass out. "Look what I got for you! Yes, yes, I know, I'm the best and all-"
"Where did you get my diary?" You yelped, grabbing the leather-bound book and pocketing it as quickly as you could, glaring at Mushu. "You little bitch, you went through my room when?"
"I didn't!" He protested. "The elders did! I just carried it along because they told me to! I didn't even read anything!"
"..."
"Okay, so I read the introduction, so what?"
"..." This time, your lucky cricket filled the silence.
"And a little bit of the pages while you were busy training, that's just because I was bored."
"..."
"OKAY FINE I READ THE FULL THING, I'M SORRY-"
Mushu was promptly dunked in the lake after that. You also did not give him the courtesy of drying himself off with your shirt. Instead, you flipped through your small notebook- half the pages were still empty. Maybe now, you'd have something to do instead of wallowing in self-pity.
The next morning, all the soldiers awoke to a callout into the pavilion. You followed groggily, catching sight of the Captain standing near a long, wooden beam. He waited until all the soldiers were in line before slipping off his robe. "You will all assemble here henceforth, at this time sharp."
Your cheeks heated at the sight of his back muscles before remembering you were a man and this was a non-gay-accepting time period, averting your gaze very quickly. You are a man. You are a man.
"Ooo, tough guy," Yao muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes at the Captain's words. You closed your eyes and pulled the speed face, waiting for him to be banished to the chambers of doom and despair.
"Yao," Captain Toji spoke. He pulled out one of the bows from the stand, aiming an arrow directly at your line. All of you stepped back, leaving Yao open to be incinerated. At the very last second, Toji turned, shooting an arrow to the top of the beam before you could even blink. It wedged itself between the wood with a splintering crack, the end sticking out and glinting in the morning sunrise.
"Soldiers," he shouted over the field. "Your mission is to climb this pole and get that arrow. Yao, thank you for volunteering to go first." He gave a grin to the said garden gnome.
"Oh, I'll do it. And I'll do it with my shirt on," Yao murmured profanities, cracking his knuckles and going to climb the pole before being stopped. "Wait, how could I forget?" The Captain walked up to him, holding out two golden discs. "This one represents strength, and this one represents discipline. You will use these to climb the pole."
Yao's hands fell flat on the ground under the weight. And you suppressed the urge to mutter something yourself. Ah, yes, climb a long pole with circular objects that weigh three times my weight. How innovative.
And it was no surprise when every soldier failed again, and again, and again. While the others were busy trying to do an extra challenge, you were busy trying to survive even the main training. With the bitchass emoji-sized man on your dick for the insults Mushu had spoken, you were continuously sabotaged each training session over and over by Yao and his two goons. Bugs in your shirt, getting tripped over, you name it. It wouldn't have even been that bad if Captain Toji wasn't present every single time, giving you a withering look that had you questioning reality.
You tried to do your part by helping around the troops, cleaning up extra, and using the skills your mother taught you to their full capacity. If she were here now, you would have thrown her a banquet. Every little trick she taught you for cooking, you used for dinners to help the cooks. They seemed to prefer you much more than the other soldiers, especially since you helped them wash the dishes later on. It wasn't like you had anything else to do except fail in training.
Everything you had worked for came crumbling down when Captain Toji approached you one night. He didn't have to say anything. He just had to look at you, arms folded, and your horse at his side.
You already knew what he was saying.
Leave.
It was only a matter of time before your father was discovered, thoughts plaguing your mind as you pulled on the leash of your horse tiredly. You glanced at the camp one more time, trying to figure out how to keep him out of the enlistment, before your eyes fell on the pole. The arrow that stuck out at the top, the weights that lay at the bottom, abandoned.
You tied your horse to one of the wooden posts, approaching the pole. At least, if you were going to leave, let it be after trying the so-called impossible challenge.
Your lucky cricket chirped in dismay as you fell down more than eight times minimum, your muscles screaming at the weight of simply just one disc. If only you could take off your shawl and wrap it around the pole. You would have been able to climb up way faster-
Wait.
You swung the weights around each other curiously, watching the black threads knot together behind the pole. Your face lit up as the sky lit up with the first light of daybreak, pushing yourself up further and further up the pole. Somewhere along the way, you had discarded your shoes, using your bare feet to get a good grip on the wood. When you looked down, you realised that soldiers had been watching you for goodness knows how long, cheering you on loudly.
About to slip, you were pushed forward by only the fact that it would be a public humiliation ritual if you fell down right now. Reaching the top with your core burning, you threw down the arrow with pride.
The shouts had started to heal your broken ego, but nothing could have done more than when you glanced at the ground to see Captain Toji staring up at you. His hands were crossed over his chest, looking down at the arrow before looking back up at you once more with a look far different from before. Sincerity. Impressed.
Pride.
And now that the three chipmunks weren't messing with you, you found that you did far better in the training sessions. You shot arrows with precision, carried the buckets of water with balance you didn't know you had, and fought with sticks till you were topping the ones who had you down just a few weeks ago.
And when you came back to your tent, day after day, you wrote down giddily in your diary how you were the best in the entire troop, and how the Captain had given you a compliment today.
Mushu had simply sat on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at your words. "You like him."
"No," you scribbled down. "I like winning."
Toji was one hundred percent sure he wasn't gay.
That was until you showed up in the army.
Now he was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn't gay.
Surely, all he felt for you was pride? You had been able to best even him in a fight yesterday, and that meant that you were far stronger than you had ever been. It couldn't have been more than happiness at the improvement of one of his students.
Yet, you had such pretty features and looked just like a beautiful girl when the light hit you right. Your laugh may have been boisterous, but there was still a feminine edge to it. What the fuck were you, a femboy? Did femboys even exist in this period?
Toji was fifty percent sure he wasn't gay.
Plus, he had caught you staring at him numerous times this past week. And not in the normal oh my god he's my army captain i'm so scared to fuck up in his prescence look, but as if you were a WOMAN. Which you WEREN'T. This couldn't be good for his mental health.
Toji was twenty five percent sure he wasn't gay.
"Just because I live with men doesn't mean I have to smell like one," you muttered, throwing your clothes over the rock and getting into the lake. The soft moonlight bathed your shoulders, and you could finally let your hair loose. Well, whatever was left of it after you'd cut it off.
Mushu protested. "Girl, they're gonna catch you any moment, and I know there are some things they're bound to notice!"
"Relaaax," you drawled, floating on the water happily and washing yourself off. "Everybody's asleep. Who's going to be out at this ho-"
"Ping?"
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-" You grabbed a lilypad from beside you and held it over the water where you were treading. God, why didn't pollution exist in this time era?
"Ah, it is you," the captain sat down on the coast of the lake, sandy spreading out with his weight. "What are you doing out here so late?"
"Oh, nothing, Captain." You deepened your voice as usual. You had never wished in your life to be more flat-chested than you did now. Goddamn everything to hell. This was the worst time for Mushu to be right. "I'm just cleaning myself from today's training."
"Cleaning isn't a word you hear a lot in the army," he chuckled, and you had to pause and blink for a second. Was this the first time you'd heard him laugh?
"Ah, well, my mother always drilled it into me to bathe," you laughed, trying to keep all awkwardness out of your voice.
"I miss getting in the lake, too," he admitted, looking at the water with a hint of wistfulness. "But the duty of a captain means barely any free time." You felt a bit guilty for being in the lake now, seeing as he had probably meant to get in as well. You couldn't have chosen another night to wash up. "I am very grateful for your help around the camp, Ping. You cook well."
"Thank you," you bowed your head slightly, happy at the appreciation. Who knew all it took for some praise was to climb a big, long stick?
"I might as well get in now, don't you think?" He had started to untie his silk pants, and your brain was screaming at you to just go under the water and drown before your trusty three chipmunks heard your bat signal.
For whatever reason, the entire troop had decided that they wanted to have a dip, too. For the price of seeing close to forty naked men jump into a water body you were currently in, you got to escape in the chaos, wrapping a towel around yourself and running behind your horse. Perhaps, after this, he was a goat. (IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY)
But all that could plague your mind that night was the sight of the Captain's deft fingers undoing the knot of his pants. What if you'd let him? Surely, before getting executed, you would have been able to see -
Okay. Maybe you liked him.
I mean, who wouldn't like a man constantly shirtless and fighting? The scar at the corner of his mouth that tilted up every time he smirked, the way his hair fell over his forehead when he had it loose from his usual army updo.
A straight man. That's who wouldn't like him. But unfortunately, you were a very, very straight woman when it came to Captain Toji. So much so that one day you almost forgot that you were supposed to be an XY chromosome, walking out without binding your chest tight enough and then rushing back inside as fast as possible.
Okay. You definitely liked him.
But there was nothing you could do about it! Even though he seemed to look at you in a weird way. Maybe, if he were gay, you would have a chance?
No, that would never work. Gay guys needed dicks to suck, something you clearly didn't have.
"Focus." The Captain's voice rang out, snapping you out of your daydream and slapping you down hard with the wooden stick. "What are you doing today, Ping?"
You rubbed your eyes, watching him hold out his hand. You took it hesitantly. "Sorry, Captain."
"Something on your mind?" He asked, his voice gravelly. You shook your head. Something is definitely on my mind.
"Or, something you're hiding?" You choked on your spit, doubling over and cursing when Chien-Po, the apparent Great Wall of China, slapped your back to try and help you. You probably broke one of your vertebrae there.
"N-No, Captain," you choked out, watching his eyes crease at the ends with amusement, tilting his head with a knowing look. "Why would you say that?"
"Oh, nothing," he shrugged, moving past you. His hand brushed against your waist, causing you to flinch. "Just making small talk."
Small talk, your ballsack. Captain Toji never did small talk. About to go overthink, he turned back to you once more. "And, Ping?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"I hope you know that the soldiers weren't allowed to carry leather notebooks in this troop."
You sat back down on the ground in horror, Mushu giving a small "oops" from wherever he was in your clothes, and Cri-Kee giving you an awkward backtrack of doom.
Oh no. Oh no.
You ran back to your tent when your legs finally got feeling back, checking underneath your pillow and feeling horror settle in your stomach. Your diary was gone, and Mushu was standing like a guilty cat near your blanket.
"Mushu," you growled, dread filling your face and heart and lungs and you were going to get executed, weren't you? This was your last day, and he was toying with you. You were committing treason by doing this, after all.
"MUSHU!" You exclaimed, catching the traitor by his tail and dangling him upside down. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"NOTHING!" He tried to hide his face. "I was just reading your latest entry outside, and then that wretched captain came up, so I had to hide myself, but I forgot to take the book with me and-"
You sat down on your blanket, holding the pillow to your face and screaming loudly. This was it. This was the end. You couldn't believe that you were going to die before your troops even got to go to war.
Toji himself was very, very relieved after reading through the suspicious notebook. First, very flattered by the way you wrote about his compliments in detail, and second, very relieved that he was not imagining things.
Toji was one hundred percent sure that he wasn't gay.
The next evening, you were called to Captain Toji's office.
"Strip."
That was the first order you received. "I'm sorry?"
"Do you have a problem?" He tilted his head. "Surely, we're both men here. It shouldn't be anything new for me to see."
You paused, hands hovering over your robes. Shit, you should have worn armor and come. It would have given you an extra few minutes of life.
"Captain, I-"
"Strip."
You sighed, removing the ribbon of your robes as slowly as you could. You slipped the material off your shoulders, leaving you in your pants and your tight, tight binding on your chest.
Toji raised an eyebrow, and you took off your pants as well, sullenly. He opened his mouth, though you knew he was just asking for the sake of it: "Why is your chest wrapped?"
Well, if you were going to go out, at least you could go out with a bang. You didn't see the need to talk to your captain with respect now that you were going to die.
"I'm a woman; that's why," you snapped. "Do you need me to unwrap this, too?" You pulled at the bandages on your chest.
"I mean, by all means, go ahead," He shrugged, causing your cheeks to heat up. "But before you strip-tease, I would like to know the reason a woman would want to join an army."
"I needed to protect my father," you tried to explain yourself, purposefully ignoring his previous comment. You watched him get up from his seat, stalking towards you. "He was injured. He could not have possibly fought this war."
"Do you think there are no other men here who may be injured?" He asked curiously, eyes raking over you. "Do you think that in all of the troops, there are men of different ages and builds, still willing to serve the army?"
"I don't care about the other men over here," you growled. "My duty is to my heart and my family."
"Interesting." He had started to circle around you, like an eagle watching a rat. "Do you know why I did not execute you on the spot after I went through your diary, Ping? Though I must say, that's not an appropriate name to use anymore. What should I call you, soldier?"
You spoke your name, and he repeated it, committing it to memory. "Why do you think I have not executed you yet?" He repeated his question.
"I honestly think it's just to humiliate me," you admitted under your breath, picking at the binding.
"Now why would I humiliate my best soldier?" You could hear the cocky amusement in his voice, making your skin burn. He was currently behind you, so you couldn't even see his expression.
"Because your best soldier has a vagina."
"No," he said evenly, and you startled at the touch of his fingertips at your ribs. "That is precisely the opposite reason."
"...What?"
He spun you around to face him, untying your hair from the bun you had kept it up in. "Do you know what men miss in the army the most?" He purred, fingers spinning the ribbon around.
"Freedom?" You guessed weakly.
"Women." He tossed the ribbon somewhere onto his floor mattress. "And you are no exception to the category."
You opened your mouth to fight with some sort of insult against his supposed sexism when he shut you up by trailing his fingers down the column of your neck. "Not only can you cook and clean, but you can also fight and wield with might. You already prove my father's biases wrong the moment you stepped foot in this troop."
Your ears started to turn red with both his words and his proximity. His hands had stopped at your collarbones, but seeing that you hadn't moved away, he inched lower. With the speed he was moving at, he was giving you every chance to turn and flee from his tent.
"But surely, there can't be no reprimand for this action," Toji murmured, starting to peel off your binding carefully. "What do you think, soldier? What punishment do you think you deserve?"
Which is how you found yourself in a dark tent with your captain on top of you.
Now, where could you even start? The part where his candle flickered out? The part where you were ecstatic that you didn't have to be gay to kiss him? The part where he used his tongue to pull you apart in ways you didn't even know were possible? Or the part where he was currently drilling into you?
Okay, let's start with that.
Considering the fact that you had come from an orthodox village, your freak was already off the charts if you asked the elders. But you were still a virgin, so it was quite nice for Toji to push in as slowly as he could. You had bitten onto his arm in pain, holding on for dear life as he stretched you out with a cock you weren't sure even your horse had. You'd asked him to move as slowly as he could, and he complied, though you could see that it pained him to do so.
That was, until you'd started to squeeze so hard he thought you were going to milk him dry. He'd had to place one of his big hands over your mouth to suppress your sinful noises, flipping you onto your front so he could press your head into the pillows when even that couldn't stop your moans.
Your back was in the meanest arch, and even then you knew he was going easy on you. His thrusts may have been deep, but they weren't as fast as he could have gone. His restraint was showing, especially with the way his grip on your hair tightened with each passing moment.
He leaned forward till you could feel him press against your back, hips pummeling into you in ways that made you see stars. Shit, if you were going to fucked like this everytime your cross-dressed, you would have done it fucking ages ago. "Stop thrashing, brat."
Your arms had been clawing at his blankets for the last few minutes, unable to do anything in this position but arch and take every inch. Every time you tried to move, he would push your back down further. "I'm trying," you slurred. You swore you had drooled somewhere in the middle; you were so fucked out.
"Tch." Before you knew it, he'd grabbed the ribbon that was in your hair just half an hour ago and was now bound around your hands. You winced as he pulled them behind your back, using your arms as leverage to drill further in, if it was even possible. How did he manage to tie the ribbon so fast? How did he even find the ribbon in the dark?
"Stop moving away," he grunted, his thrusts becoming sloppy. Your thighs had already become numb- you'd cum at least three times already. "If bad girls deserve punishments, they have to take them."
You kept your mouth shut, burrowing into the pillows once more before you felt a sharp sting on your ass. You yelped, turning your head around as far back as it could go.
"I don't think silence is the correct answer, soldier."
"Y-Yes, Captain." Your words were punctuated with whimpers, and he smushed your face into the pillows once more to smother them. You felt another familiar coil in your stomach tighten, letting the pleasure wash over you without trying to fight it. You squeezed around his length so tight that he cursed into your shoulder, cumming with stars in your vision.
"Fuck, don't squeeze on me like that." He'd started to go faster, licking up a long stripe from the middle of your spine to your neck, making you shudder. "Turn around, turn around right now."
As if you could turn around yourself. You were like a rag doll right now, completely blissed out and at his mercy. He flipped you over himself, kissing you messily as you creamed around his cock. You could feel the slight roughness in his lips where the scar passed through, and you tried to nip on it clumsily. The action seemed to throw him over the edge, and he pulled out as fast as he could before you felt warm sprays all over your stomach and inner thighs. He let out a downright pornographic moan, and it was your turn to reach up in horror and cover his mouth.
His fist clenched around the base of his cock, leaving more messy ropes of seed over your stomach, some even reaching your breasts. He collapsed next to you as you reached a finger down to lick up a bit, scrunching your face at the salty taste.
He laughed at your reaction, using your discarded robe to wipe off the sweat and the cum lazily, before blindly reaching for the blanket with his feet. You assumed you were supposed to go back to your tent now, but if he was the one putting the blanket on you, surely he didn't mind?
"So, soldier, do you want to keep this job?"
You waited until your breathing evened out, using your brain to connect dots. You turned to face him on your side. "I want a law stating that women can join the army."
"I'll send a request to the General."
"Same time next week?" A giddy smile passed through your expression. Well, well, well, look who got stuck on the bait.
"As if." He growled, pulling the blanket up until it covered you up to your nose. "Same time tomorrow."
a/n: mulan my love my favourite i love mulan mulan is my childhood mulan is my soul nothing can ever make me hate mulan i love you mulan
love without loyalty is just lust - but which feeling lies where between the king you've sworn to serve and the clown who'll never be able to make you laugh?
synopsis: the only way for a siren like you to survive was as the king's pet, his pretty nightly pastime who spent years pining after him. but what happens when he's meant to marry another? or when a member of his court offers you a way out?
pairings: king!Sukuna x siren!Reader x jester!Gojo
content: MDNI, mostly angst ngl, medieval fantasy AU, forbidden love, heavy pining, very unbalanced power dynamics, messy relationships, gojo pov!!, asshole yandere!gojo !!, he is in love and he is TERRIBLE about it, reader is going through it
divider by @/bronzewasp
Gojo didn't want to see you like this.
Gagged and tied up, your eyes hidden behind a blindfold as he squatted down to study the way you squirmed against your restraints.
But how the hell else was he supposed to show you that you shouldn't be ashamed of yourself?
That unless you used your voice to protect yourself, you would just end up devoured. Chewed up and spat back out by the court, looked down on by the noble ladies and all the other morons who thought their inherited wealth meant they could push others around.
You inherited something far more valuable.
A gift that you could rule the world with.
And once he made you see that, everything would be solved.
You might be upset with him if you found out how much he had orchestrated. But you'd be grateful one day. Understand why he had to.
This would be your happily ever after.
Right now, you were playing the damsel-in-distress, not left in a dungeon, but the unused basement of the castle his stepmother must have found suitable.
He heard the sound of voices approaching from down the hall, tucking himself back into the shadows, slipping into the single storage closet attached to the dingy room just out-of-sight, waiting for his moment to strike.
His plan wasn't particularly complicated.
He knew his stepmother wouldn't stand for you taking her place, becoming the next queen once he took the throne. Unable to handle being thrown away, losing every ounce of power she wielded to someone she could never control. Gojo barely even had to snoop to discover her plans to pay off a few guards to kidnap you and sell you off in an underground market.
And okay, Gojo could have stopped it.
But wouldn't it be more romantic if he played your hero? Saved you from his wicked stepmother and showed you that you were his priority?
And most importantly, make you to use the ability you'd been blessed with while he was at it?
He could see through the cracked sliver of the door as two burly guards walked in, clearly drunk as they crossed the room, neither even glancing back in the corner he was in as they approached the chair they tied you to after stealing you straight from his bed.
"Think what they say about her is true?" One of them chuckled, daring to put a filthy hand on your hair.
"Careful," the other one half-slurred, slumping against the wall as the coins in his pocket jingled. "I heard she can drive a man mad just from a look."
"She's blindfolded, imbecile," the other one mocked, and you tried to say something, your voice muffled into the gag.
There it was.
His girl trying to fight back.
Before they could push their luck, the door swung open again, and tonight's villain finally decided to show her face.
"Is that thing tied tight?" His stepmother muttered, disgust dripping from her abrasive voice as his hands reflexively reached for the hilt of the sword strapped to his side.
"The gag is secured, Your-" One of the idiotic guards started to insist, but she just scoffed at him.
"I was talking about her."
You were a thing in her eyes.
A pest he had the audacity to bring home and treat like a pet.
To be fair, he sincerely doubted she would be happy with anyone she didn't select herself, irritated when he swore he was preoccupied searching for one and outright incensed that he brought home a woman who wouldn't fear her.
She wanted a puppet.
To act like she throne was hers even if she couldn't sit on it anymore.
Sure, to everyone else, she was doting, sweet, all supportive of the prince that wasn't hers. But Gojo had spent years seeing her for the snake that lived inside her skin.
"Have all the preparations been made?" She asked, walking around to examine you herself. Pinching your chin between her thin fingers before peeling the blindfold off to look directly in your eyes.
"Yes," the other one dutifully answered, shoulders stiff as he stood ready for her next command.
For all her flaws, she knew what you hadn't learned yet.
What you didn't want to learn.
How to wield every ounce of control she had.
"At least I'll make a pretty penny off of her," she exhaled. "I wonder how much you'll sell for at auction."
Sukuna and him could agree on one thing.
You were priceless.
Both the guards were distracted, nervously glancing at each other as his stepmother appraised you like some collectible, and Gojo supposed it was as good of time as any to put a stop to it now.
But before he could step out, you managed to wiggle one hand free and ripped the gag from your mouth, not giving her time to react before you were barking out an order.
"Don't fucking move," you whispered, your throat raw as the words ripped out of you.
It was a little satisfying to see them still.
Bodies frozen and unable to so much as budge an inch.
You were shaking, fingers trembling as you struggled to get your other hand out of the ropes keeping you tied to the chair.
Well, this would make the hero act he planned a little harder to execute, but he still stepped out of the closet with his sword drawn, puffing out his chest as he softly called out your name.
Your head snapped towards him, but there was no understanding in your stare as he preemptively prepared a speech to patch this over.
But his stepmother spoke up first.
"You stupid wench-"
"Shut up," you hissed at her almost automatically, chest heaving hard as you managed to tear your other wrist free, not even reacting to how raw it could've rubbed your skin.
She opened her mouth to argue, probably throw out another nasty name, but nothing come out.
Under your complete control.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he soothed, walking over to the chair, bending down to release the restraints binding your ankles to it. "You did great."
It took you a second to meet his gaze, to really see him there, but you didn't talk either.
He didn't know how to read your face. What expression you were wearing now.
But your eyes were wild.
Like some untamed animal he startled in the woods.
"I was going to intervene, but it looks like you had it handled," he offered, cracking a smile like the last time he left you, you hadn't been pissed at him.
And apparently, still were, judging by the way your blank face abruptly twisted into something distraught.
Gojo knew.
Deep down, in the pit of the stomach, he knew who it was directed to.
But he still couldn't stop himself from acting like he didn't. Selling himself another lie and swearing that you would buy it too with time.
"I'll make sure she's imprisoned for kidnapping you," he comforted you, a hand on your forearm as he pulled you out of the chair, throwing a cursory glance back at the frozen statues behind him, their eyes moving back-and-forth as their bodies refused to let them budge. "Them too."
You had to be grateful for that, at least.
It would all work out perfectly.
With that ring on your finger, and the queen rotting in the dungeon, his father would be forced to relinquish the throne to him.
Maybe it made him greedy. Gluttonous for being unable to just accept what he already had.
He couldn't just go live off in a fucking cottage somewhere and pretend like he was happy to pick crops or play farmer.
Not when he had spent his life being waited on hand and foot. Knew what riches were waiting for those bold enough to take.
Gojo didn't know how to give.
Didn't it mean something that he wast trying to learn for you?
Sure, stealing you hadn't been enough. He still wanted Sukuna's kingdom too.
But he was just righting wrongs.
All of it should've been his from the start. He was just reclaiming everything that should have been his by birthright.
You looked at him like he was just as disgusting as the roaches scurrying over the stone floor.
"You let this happen to me," you whispered, shaking your head with the distrust he hoped to avoid shining in your eyes. Your voice was so fucking beautiful, it hurt. Lulled him even deeper in love with you, made his lashes flutter as he felt himself frown.
He understood, of course he understood, but he still huffed. Aching to make you understand him too. See that he only wanted to best for both of you.
You shouldn't have to spend your life accepting scraps when you should be showered with dresses and diamonds and desserts most people could only dream of.
"I would never let them hurt you," he insisted as you backed away, inching towards the door.
He touched your shoulder, fingertips grazing against your shoulder as you recoiled with a weak scoff like you were wounded anyway.
"You used me."
"You used me too," he reminded you, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. "You wanted to run away. I did that for you. For us."
"This isn't the same," you protested, those pretty eyes watering as the blindfold that had been forced on you dangled around your neck with the gag.
"Don't be like this, baby," he murmured, tempted to bring up the fact that your kidnappers were still behind you, that they were the ones for you to be angry at. He was the one trying to protect you.
Gojo stepped forward, about to grab your arm to stop you from recoiling any further, when you swatted his hand away.
"Don't touch me," you hissed at him, your extra pointy canines glinting in the candlelight.
It was cute.
How convinced you were that your words would keep him away. He let you think that before. Played along when you kicked him out of his room.
But he supposed it was time for the truth.
To put all the cards on the table since he already rigged the deck.
He would claim the jackpot tonight, but it really was adorable seeing you act like you were the winner.
"You're going to get me a carriage and let me go home," you commanded, using your sternest voice, scowling at him as you rubbed the wrists you must have just realized were sore.
Home.
He nearly scoffed.
You were caged before. Confined to your bed chambers and the corners of Sukuna's court.
How the hell could you call that home?
And how long would it take for you to see that your home was here now? With him?
Sukuna might like his trophy to sit up on a shelf.
But Gojo wanted to watch you shine.
"Don't think so," he retorted, doing his best impression of an apologetic tone as he breached the gap between you. You didn't move. Too stunned to do anything but stare as he cupped your cheek tenderly. "I'm taking you back to our room."
"But-"
You couldn't even get more than the single word out.
And then your eyes drifted down to the engagement ring on your finger, his clever girl figuring it out for herself that it was more than just a show of his affection.
"It's charmed," he smiled softly, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. "Your powers won't work on me."
Here is how ABO universe works with explanations for my Ascensionism fic!! Everything is under the cut because it is A LOT
Enjoy pookies <3
AO3 Masterlist
Omegas
Very choosy with mates. Very expensive to go through a heat cycle.
Choose mates that are likely to have good parental care, good resource availability, and good habitat.
TLDR: The mate (alpha, beta, or omega) has to be a good parent (provide, protection, food, education) provide a good home/nest.
If an omega is malnourished, stressed, or in an unpredictable climate, then the chances of them going into heat is low.
To elaborate on heats being expensive: to produce eggs (ovulation), it requires ample amounts of energy and resources. Human females are born with a predetermined amount of eggs. Omegas will have the ability to produce one egg (on average) during her heat.
The physical exertion of going through a heat takes its toll as well. Omegas are likely to lose up to 10 pounds.
Because of this, omegas are often eating in excess right before their heat to ensure they have ample amounts of energy.
Because heats are seen as opportunity reproduction (when the right conditions are met) it is possible to force an omega into heat multiple times in a year. As an advanced society, it is considered unhealthy to have more than one heat in a year. Without the consent of the omega, forcing one into heat is considered abuse.
Omegas have 5 scent glands. One on their wrists, and two on their inner parts of their things. Any gland can be bitten to trigger the mate response.
MATE RESPONSE: The transference of pheromones when biting any scent gland of an alpha or an omega. The pheromones/scent of the mate will be ingrained in the receiving party’s mind as “safe/home/mate”. This affect encourages monogamy among mated individuals (a common practice)
PURGING: The phenomenon that occurs post death of one mate. The body of the surviving mate will purge itself of the unknown pheromone (transferred during the mate response formation) hours after the death of the mate. The purging includes: excessive urination, excessive excretion of feces, excessive sweating, and vomiting.
Polygyny (one alpha, multiple omegas) is an old practice and is viewed as barbaric.
Omegas have three special traits:
Number 1: They can lactate (without giving birth). The cry/scent of a baby can cause an omega to lactate within 24 hours of being around the baby.
Side notes about babies born from alphas/omegas/betas: They unconsciously secrete the scent that triggers the omega’s lactation up until the baby has a means of other food (typically after teething) evolved to be this way.
Number 2: When they (or their young) are threatened, an omega can produce claws that come out of their nail beds (replacing the other nail). The omega will stay vigilant up to 72 hours after the treat leaves. This will include minimal to no meals and minimal to no sleep.
Number 3: Omegas can “purr” which is a resonance that comes from their chest. There is no tune or sound, just a feeling of calm that emits from the omega.
More often used with children than with mates.
The gestational period (or pregnancy) for an omega lasts the same as a human woman (9 months).
Omegas have yet to evolve to carry fetus till they can survive on their own (look up spotted hyenas, they’re pretty cool) without the death of the omega, so the omegas and human females evolved to expel the fetus before it gets too large to kill them.
Omega bodies are more likely to fluctuate during gestation.
The fetus is the priority
Similarly, post birth, the omega will be overpowered by their own biology and the pheromones released by the baby, and the omega will neglect their own health to tend to the baby.
Alphas (or the omega’s mate/community) need to prioritize taking care of the omega (food, sleep, bathing) while the omega’s body is overwhelmed by their biology.
Alphas
When it comes to attracting a mate, alphas tend to resource guard.
They prioritize getting a good job, securing a house in a good neighborhood, near a good school. A good alpha does what it takes to be a perfect mate before looking for a mate.
On the opposite side of that coin, an alpha can trick an omega into mating with them by making false promises.
Alphas go into rut as soon as they reach maturity. When in rut, an alpha is coursing with testosterone. To ensure the alpha survives a rut, they evolved to mature slower than omegas and betas (the average age of maturity is 16-20 years old)
High amounts of testosterone can affect growth development and weaken the immune system.
Ruts encourage alphas to mate. It does not ensure that an alpha mates with his own mate. Similar to white tail deer, when male deer are in rut, they smell for doe that are also in heat.
They will approach the closest, available omega.
In the modern society, there are businesses made to assist alphas and omegas through heats and ruts (providing secure room to stop roaming, available toys, and volunteers to assist through their reproductive bouts).
In the old days, it was frowned upon to roam during a rut, but it still happened (most roaming-rutting-alphas were turned a blind eye)
Alphas also have the mate response.
Alphas also have 5 mating glands, in the same locations as omegas.
Good alphas (or mates) will prioritize taking care of their omega during and post gestation.
The only special ability is to "push" their pheromones to affect the people around them. They can instill fear, pride, aggression, lust – all very powerful, innate emotions.
Betas
Betas are more biologically similar to humans than to omegas and betas
Betas are able to detect pheromones, but they cannot produce pheromones.
Betas do not have a mate response because they do not have mate glands (or any glands)
They can invoke a mate response in omegas and betas.
Children
Children that are alphas, betas, or omegas are able to sense pheromones.
All alpha, beta, and omega children secrete the lactation inducing pheromone
They can also secrete a fear pheromone that can trigger an aggressive response from only alphas or omegas to protect against the fear trigger.
Pairing: Streamer!Gojo x PuppyHybridGf!reader x Streamer!Choso
CW: SMUT.. so much…smut, Dog hybrid reader, Dominant Cuck Gojo, Switch/Sub Choso, Sub reader, gaming, lots of petting, petplay(? shes a dog bro), shy Choso, masturbation, punishment, dp, anal, threesome, blowjobs, spitroasting, praise with degradation, kissing, humiliation(?), remote controlled vibrator (that pink lovense lush thing), facial (cum kind) (i gave up on adding chat lol)
"STOP SPAWN CAMPING MEEEEEUH!"
Your boyfriend groaned and smacked the desk hard enough to leave a pink blooming mark in the middle of his own palm, shaking the whole thing. The other hand was already tugging some overly expensive blue LED headphones down in frustration, white hair all messy.
"Mods! Find whoever suggested this FUCKASS game and kick them!" He practically shouted into the microphone.
Satoru was livestreaming himself playing an FPS game that chat had suggested he try, but of course, he wasn't happy about not being a pro player 5 minutes in.
Oh.
And someone woke up from their nap.
A dreamy yawn escaped your throat, ears twitching and folding up from your skull to listen to your boyfriend start cursing at his monitor(s) once again, getting worked up about people in the speeding chatroom laughing about his temper tantrum.
There was a human-sized dog bed underneath his desk, right between where Gojo would put his feet… enough room to curl up and roll around.
I mean, it wasn't him if he wasn't manspreading.
You let out a small whine when he groaned about something again, slowly sitting up and leaning forward- laying your cheek against the inside of his thigh, the fabric of the grey sweatpants soft against your skin.
The sudden contact had Satoru pausing, as if the little fit of rage faded on contact.
"My princess… did I wake you?" The white-haired man lightly cooed, focusing on the cute sight of your still drowsy eyes and scrunching nose, his hands leaving the keyboard and mouse to start petting your hair, blunt nails scratching behind your ears.
Yoonhater112: !! SIXEYES GET BACK ON THE GAME
melonsmelonsmelons: who is he talking to, bruh did the game make him tweak?
seacock3: @/melonsmelonsmelons nah it's his girlfriend
hybridgooner: OHHMYGOD SIXEYES SHOW HER SHOW HER I MISS HER
The regular viewers knew about you, Satoru had you hanging around when he gamed, but you rarely popped up on the camera- too busy snoozing or sucking his dick.
"Mnn… why were you yelling?" You murmur out, leaning into the affection, slowly crawling up from the plush bed to try and get on your boyfriend's lap.
"Sorry, puppy, I'm streaming- Watch where you put your hands." Satoru smiled, hoisting you up on his lap, cradling the back of your head, chest against chest in a familiar way.
You let out a soft grumble but lay your head on your boyfriend's shoulder, wrapping around him to comfortably cling on. "Too loud.." Your tail was slowly flopping back and forth, waving around in the camera.
"You comfy? I'm still live." Satoru gave a crooked grin, glancing back to the second monitor, seeing the sight of you on top of him.
GooningAvacado: gyatt
ihateovertime: I'm not into furries, but she might change my mind….
ICumOnTrees: how much to buy a hybrid
IDON'Tcumontrees: @/ICumOnTrees u cant buy them anymore lol, go out and touch grass- find one in the wild
"Are you trying to put on a show for them or something? Your ass takes up like half of the screen, baby." He quietly asked against your hair, a sneaky hand sliding down to grab into the flesh of one cheek, the fabric of your clothes not stopping him.
"Toruuu…" Your tail tried to swat him away, ears flattening again to try and pull away again.
"Fine, sorry, sorry. Not that kind of stream." Satoru smiled innocently, patting your ass before fully letting go and helping you climb off. "Maybe go get ready for bed, I'll stop gaming in a bit, kayy?"
-
A few hours passed, a shower taken, tucked in on your side of the bed… but your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, still playing something and talking with chat, your tail flicked across the sheets in annoyance.
Bored of scrolling on your phone, the next best thing to do when bored came to mind.
To explain why you were reaching underneath the bed and pulling out a box filled with various toys, well… you and Satoru were freaks. You liked it that way anyway.
Your favourite was this pink thing… something Satoru had bought to use remote controlled, but he wasn't here to do so, was he?
click click click
The third setting on any vibrator is the best, prove me wrong.
The sound of buzzing filled the space underneath the blankets, and the soft moan that left your mouth echoed from the bedroom's walls.
You nudged the silicone thing between your legs, rubbing it against your panties- and applying more pressure right over the clit.
Your eyes fluttered shut, fluffy ears lying flat, and your back arching up from the mattress.
Just a quickie, you thought, to help you get sleepy.
You were too busy on the feeling of your clit getting pleasured through soaked fabric to notice the rest of the house had gone quiet, the lights in the hallway turned off, and the door to the shared bedroom was wide open.
"What are you doing?"
Busted.
You fumbled with the vibrating toy, trying to sit up and hide the embarrassment starting to show on your features.
"Nothing-"
"Nutting, yeah."
Satoru slowly walked over to the bed, taking his swwwweeet time to let you see his unimpressed look.
You rarely had any rules or things your loving boyfriend forbade; he loved seeing you happy.
But trying to get off by yourself? With a toy no less. That was a big, big biiig mistake. A hit to his pride and an offense to his dick that loved you oh so much.
"Couldn't wait for me to come back? How pathetic." He mumbled, leaning down and taking the pink thing from your nervous hands, dangling it in front of your face.
"Cmon puppy, you know I don't like it if you do this kind of stuff without me… do I have to remind my bad girl what happens when she breaks her one rule?"
"N..no…msorry..!" You tried to paw at the vibrator, wanting him to toss it aside and forget about all of this, thinking that acting cute would get you out of punishment.
But Satoru wasn't fooled by your puppy dog eyes and big pouts.
You found yourself flipped over, thighs pulled up, a rough hand keeping you down by pressing into the small of your back- face in the pillows while having your ass up for him.
click click click
Your tail trembled when the vibrator was slowly dragged up the inside of your thigh, teasing it closer to your needy cunt, all worked up from playing with yourself .
"Stay still for me."
Being edged by the same thing you had tried to get a quick orgasm out of was like pure torture, it didn't help that you could smell how turned on Satoru was by all of this. You knew he was practically leaking through his sweats, and a throbbing cock wanted to fill you up. But he was determined to teach you a lesson.
-
Satoru was petty, competitive, and a bit mean.
Mean because he decided that you crying and barking last night while he watched your poor cunt quiver and try to clench around nothing right before pulling away the toy wasn't enough.
The moment you woke up, he had stuffed you.
Not with himself, no.
The same pink traitor.
Remember how it was remote controlled? - by an app on Satoru's phone.
Breakfast was impossible, sitting across from him. Unable to even lift your cup of coffee without your fingers trembling from the sudden throbbing against your walls. And that white-haired bastard was smiling at your flustered state.
Walking around with your tail tucked between your legs and ears droopy, trying to be good all day, but Gojo just loved to make you squirm whenever you tried to sit or lie down, knowing the pressure would be worse.
"Can I take it out now- p..please…?" You tried to softly ask, tugging on his arm and wiggling your hips around, putting on the best act you could, maybe some mercy would be shown.
But all you got in response was him grabbing his phone and sliding the speed slider up- showing you the setting it was on- the evil vibrations showed on the display.
Obviously, he enjoyed this, having a cute puppy moaning for it to be turned off and unable to stand on her shaking legs was amusing.
It would have been fine-ish (LIE) if it had been just you two in the house all day. But noooooo…. Satoru needed to invite a close friend over to stream together.
Choso Kamo, better known as BloodBag to online fans. He has been friends with Satoru for ages now, and you have met him a handful of times by now, too. Choso was more active on YouTube, making bass guitar or drum covers of some niche rock bands, but he streamed more cozy, low-intensity RPGs or story games. You know the kind.
Anyways.
Choso and Satoru had planned this collab ages ago, Kamo staying over for the night, and a live going on for ages.
What wasn't planned was you trying to squeeze and rub your thighs shut while bundled up in the fluffy dogbed underneath the desk, acting unsuspecting while staring up at the two men sitting at the desk, fiddling with controllers and having some banter about the jiggle physics of their characters.
The setting your boyfriend had left the toy buzzing inside of you was fairly low, so neither you nor it gave away what was happening underneath.
Obviously, a whimper or whine escaped if you shifted, and the silicone would press against a spot that was a bit too sensitive.
Choso did glance down from your nervous sounds a few times, but the man looked more bashful than you after making eye contact.
"Chos! Watch out, that boulder is following you- DUDE!"
"Sorrysorry… got distracted."
A cut-scene played on screen, giving everyone a little break, Choso quietly talking to the viewers, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.
Doing a poor job of trying to ignore how Satoru was leaning back in his chair, looking down, where you were starting to feel a bit too warm now. Not to mention the odd app Satoru had pulled up, using his thumb to slide some sort of wavy line up and down.
Choso tried not to look underneath the desk, he could hear some sort of thrumming sound getting louder- just the pc probably. Nothing else that could vibrate, yeah.
His eyes flicked down, meeting your watering ones, the sight of your pitiful little face almost had him cry, too.
Maybe Satoru bought some more RAM… he has the money for it- or fans. Actually, the pc fans-
"Chos! Want anything to eat? I'll head to the pantry to grab a snack."
Choso's eyes snapped back up, panicking a bit.
"YeahYesYes- ahem, yeah, some chips would be.g..good…"
Not nonchalant at all, but it got Satoru to get up, pat the nervous man's shoulder, and walk out of the room, phone in hand.
Not even a second after you were moaning, trembling all over, with a hand sloppily attempting to cover your mouth.
That bastard.
The whirring got impossibly loud, having you try to sit up and shove a hand between your thighs. Some saving grace to having the guy you were sitting in front of and an ongoing livestream of thousands of people hearing you start to whine.
Choso, the poor guy, managed to mute the microphone and pull back enough to glance down, unsure, dark eyes meeting your droopy ones.
You tried to open your mouth to tell him to look away, but another pulse had you almost orgasming on the spot.
Subconsciously, your wobbly legs had shifted forward, as if wanting to crawl towards the dark-haired man.
"C..choso..s..sorry… mmmn.."
Not even sure why you were apologising, but while straddling the side of the fluffy dog bed, you couldn't do anything else. You reached out, desperate, fingers grabbing into his pants to hold on while your hips ground down into the almost pleasurable edge- humping the wall of the dog bed like some mutt in heat. Which you kind of were… unable to control the string of lewd moans flying out after a bit more fiction.
The wetness from your cunt had seeped through your panties and shorts at this point, a wet splotch forming between your thighs.
Kamo, somewhat still able to think, paused the livestream and brought his hand up to cover his face. But he was a simple guy, seeing a cute girl… with a shaking tail and flopping ears after each pathetic hip roll… he just had to peek through the gaps between his digits, flushed skin showing.
Seems like both of you weren't too in control of your limbs, his free hand twitched awake, sliding from holding on to the armrest to palm at a growing bulge.
Choso had noticed you acting a bit… needy the moment he had sat down with Gojo, and the little breathless gasps and mewls in the background while they both gamed had his cock straining against his boxers uncomforably, managing to hide it well till now.
"A..are you alright?" Choso breathed out into his palm, feeling stupid for asking such an obvious question, but he had to say something-
His trying to converse ended in you shuddering, fluffy tail standing up straight. And shifting off of the dogbed, another hand gripping into the fabric of Kamo's pants to crawl towards him, sniffling when the vibrations inside didn't stop hammering around.
You wanted to climb on his leg to use it instead of the dogbed, eyes getting bigger and lips parting- tongue flicking out to lick the corner of your lips, gazing at the throbbing thing in Choso's hand, the outline of it calling to your overstimulated brain. He hadn't stopped palming himself, hissing after dragging his thumb to the tip and pressing down. A tempting sight to a deprived hybrid.
The mastermind of this whole incident strolled in right when you planted your sopping cunt on Choso's foot, the fabric of your shorts and his sock shifting while you tried to rub against it.
"You two having fun?"
Chosos froze up, the hand over his face not budging an inch. An even more embarrassing situation- I mean, he was literally holding his dick while his friend's girlfriend tried to hump his leg. Not to mention that buzzing-
"Sorry, m..man..she just-" The turning red one tried to explain.
"Don't worry, Chos, keep going." Satoru smiled, tossing the bag of chips in his hand away to casually walk closer, tucking his hands in his pockets.
You, trying not to start crying from frustration, hugged Choso's calf, ears flicking up and then back down.
"What's wrong, puppy? Don't you want him to help? Cmon, ask nicely." Satoru leaned down to coo at you, face beside Chosos.
You sniffled, unable to keep still, and kept nudging your hips forward again. " Chos… c..can you help me.. please?"
He clearly struggled to keep calm; his hand dropped down from his face, hesitant to reach out, but a few fingers ran through your hair before guiding your head forward. "Yeah… yeah.."
Satoru stood up straight, watching from above while you gladly smushed your head in between Choso's thighs, gasping at the feeling of the lengthy hard on against your cheek, the warmth seeping from the fabric to your skin.
"Good girl… You gonna suck him off? Go on. I'll watch." Gojo encouraged, walking behind you both and landing in the empty gaming chair, pulling his phone out to fiddle with the settings for the vibrator.
Choso had one hand in your hair, gently pulling you closer- the other was tugging down the waistband in a hurry. Once freed, you wasted no time to start lapping at the leaky tip, eyes half-lidded and glossy lips kissing at the salty skin.
The view of you still trying to hump at Choso's leg, hips wobbling and tail wagging like crazy, ears flat and eyes focused on the obscenely large, pale dick in your mouth had Satoru biting the inside of his cheek, shifting and spreading his legs… it started to grow too uncomfortably tight in his pants.
The soft groan and breathy whimper Choso let out after you hollowed your cheeks and slurped on his cock had Gojo's breath hitching.
After a bit of getting to watch you try to deep-throat Choso and form a puddle of arousal, Satoru couldn't stand cucking anymore, abruptly standing up and reaching over to tug on your fluffy ear- pulling you off of Choso with a wet POP! The vibrations stopped, too. It seems like either the battery ran out or your boyfriend gave you a break from that torture.
The slobbered dick twitched, making Kamo shudder and slump back into the chair, downturned eyes flicking back from Gojo to you.
"Get her on the couch, Chos. Be good for me." Satoru exhaled, fingers twitching to his own pants.
Choso, the obedient puppy number two, stumbled up, carefully pulling you up and helping you to the couch in the back of the streaming room.
It was everything you had ever wanted, without hesitation Satoru had told Choso to bend you over, your boyfriend claiming your mouth, toying with your tongue with his fingers before helping a familiar girth over it, filling your throat completely, a palm under your jaw and one on top of your head, between your ears.
"Such a cute slut… cmon, talk to us, who tastes better, hm?" Gojo teased, making sure to nudge down further when your throat tried to choke out some sort of incoherent words as an answer, making fun of the fact that you were unable to say a word. The neatly trimmed white hair was tickling your nose, just how you liked it- drool dripping down your chin.
"Chos, are you getting shy? Can't you see her pussy waiting to get stuffed?" Satoru grinned across to Choso, who was trying to be polite… as much as he could, taking his time to slide down your shorts and panties… the soaked fabrics not even comparing to the sight of glistening, puffy folds being revealed to Choso- the little pink tail of the vibrator was tempting him.
"Chooss… you can take it out, I know you want to replace it with your own meat. I'm sure she wants something bigger than that silicone thing." Satoru kept talking, making the other man look flustered, watching as your tail swayed to the side, as if giving him some opening to take it out.
Sloooowly, the pink vibrator was pulled out, having you squirm and splutter around Satoru's base, your spit spilling down to his heavy balls at this point.
Your empty walls clenched and unclenched around nothing, ears flattening further and tail drooping, feeling empty had you starting to whine and cry about it.
No worries, Kamo knew how to cheer you up.
Slurp sluuurp choke… twap..thwap.. smack..!
Aren't you glad Choso paused the stream and cut the mics off? The whining and male groans, accompanied by lewd skin-to-skin and sucking sounds, sounded like some porno.
The more timid one was gripping your waist and spreading the fat of your ass to watch the other hole twitch every time he filled your cunt to the hilt.
Gojo was petting your head, taking shallow breaths when you were forced to move forward by the motion of Choso behind you.
Sandwiched by two girthy cocks messing up your insides had you blissed out.
"Scootch over a bit."
"But-"
"Don't worry, it'll fit."
Satoru had the brightest idea ever. Instead of taking turns, why not go at the same time?
There you were, lying on top of Choso, sniffling and licking at his jaw while Satoru spread your cheeks, you looked pretty stretched out by Kamo already, but…
An excited pink tip was trying to push inside, having you arch your back even more, letting out a cry at the way you were getting split open.
Choso got worried once again, shushing you and rubbing your back to try and get you to calm down. But when that didn't work, he captured your lips with his, keeping you distracted with a tender kiss.
The initial stretch and discomfort were worth it, clinging on to the dark brown-haired man, tongue and every moan being swallowed by him too.
Meanwhile, Gojo was groaning in your ear, making sure to run his hands across your body, your tummy, while being balls deep inside together with Choso. The feeling underneath his palms of your insides being stuffed full with both of them almost had Gojo cumming. But he wanted to be nice to Choso for doing what he was told this whole time.
"Dude… s..shit.. tootight… hey, you wanna- you want to do anything before we cum? Haah.. not gonna last like this…" your boyfriend mumbled out against your shoulder, trying to talk to Choso, who was still pretty busy with whimpering around your drooly tongue and canines.
Maybe Gojo shouldn't have asked, more for you than him, but.
You were sat upright now, tail slowly wagging, eyes watering, and pupils blown, Satoru still inside and slowly grinding his hips upwards into yours, hands caressing your sides and face, now being the one calming you down.
Your spine tensed, hands clung onto your boyfriend's biceps… Kamo was easing himself in past the rim, gently massaging your hips and the globes of your ass to relax the muscles.
"Shh.. it'll feel really good in a bit… promise.." He finally spoke up, too, placing a sweet kiss in the middle of your back.
Again, he was right.
Having both of them pistoning in and out in and out in a matching rhythm around your fluttering insides had you cumming- unable to tell them because all the words on your tongue were lost, blabbering and slobbering against Gojo while having both holes properly jammed full.
Oh, and of course, that wasn't it.
You were pushed to sit back on the couch after them agreeing to pull out leaving you gasping and overstimulated, the two of them standing above you.
The intense sound of rushing palms with wet skin filled your senses, making your jaw unhinge and loll your tongue out.
Lovely, warm splurts covered your face, eyes fluttering shut as you licked your lips, the two differently tasting loads made you shiver.
"Clean her up, Chos."
Such a good boy he was, lightly cupping your face and lapping up both his own and Satoru's release, making sure to give you one last peck on the lips too.
-
"Chhaaatt!! Sorry for the wait, I had some technical difficulties. But look who's decided to join us now, gush about how cute she is instead of complaining, yeah?"
All three of you were at the desk once again, you now tucked between the two on your own seat, a small smile on your face as Choso pet you, letting Gojo do the talking.
The stream went on, and nobody questioned why the pillows and plushies were thrown about in the background… or the change of clothes.
Yoon's notes: this took me so long for no reason. HOPE U LIKEEE
ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ── Ink spun from my own fingertips—please don’t take, mirror, or rewrite it.
✑ 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: So yeah… You've been gone for months.
Not like forever. Just... away for a bit. You told them you needed space. Adult stuff. Life Stuff. Responsibilities that didn't involve a bunch of monsters. they respected it. well, tried to. pierrot left like seventeen tearful voicemails. But weeks turned into months. Texts stopped. Visits stopped. and somewhere along the way, you stopped explaining and just... vanished.
They've had enough and they will not leave until you are given the attention you deserve.
✑ 𝓌𝒸: 5.8k
✑ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: oneshot/s · tfc x gn! reader · hurt/comfort · fluff and angst · emotional hurt/comfort · burnout · depression · established relationship · post-avoidance.
Life has been... life-ing.
If that's even a word. (it's not.) Lately, these days, everything feels chaotic and unpredictable and just... too much.
You've been busy, like legitimately busy. Just dealing with things that required you to stay away from the circus for a while. you can't just live there like some monster who doesn't have real-world responsibilities.
You have a life. Or, you had one.
You switched from full-time to part-time at the coffee shop so you could focus on school. Exams got thrown at your face repeatedly—irritating doesn't even begin to cover it. but now the exams are done. everything should be over.
You should be resting. Recovering from your busy lifestyle.
At least maybe even feeling good.
But every morning, you wake up and you just... don't move.
You’re aware of it, vaguely. The way your body feels heavy, like someone filled your bones with wet sand while you were sleeping. the way your phone is always in your hand before you've even decided to pick it up. the way hours pass and you've done nothing but scroll and blink and exist.
Your boss has noticed. Fuck.
“You okay?" He asked last week, eyes scanning your face like they were looking for something you'd lost. “You seem... rather tired."
“Just busy," you said, and you almost believed it.
they asked again yesterday. “Seriously, are you sleeping? eating? you look—" He stopped himself, however, you heard the word they didn't say.
Empty. Stuck. Motionless. I’m fine," Which you always say.
Same words. Same tone. Same lie.
You know you're not fine. You know that. But acknowledging it feels like opening a door you're not ready to walk through. So you ignore it. You ignore the way your energy drains faster than it used to. You ignore the way getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. You ignore your boss's concerned glances and the way they leave an extra pastries by your bag every shift now—just in case you haven't eaten.
You ignore it because ignoring is easier.
Because if you didn't ignore it, you'd have to admit that something is wrong. And admitting that means dealing with it. And dealing with it means... what?
Therapy? Medication? Talking to someone? Changing?
You don't have the energy for any of that.
Causing your boss eventually stopped asking. Instead, he just... gave you time off. a week, then two, then three. "take as long as you need," he said, with that same worried look you kept pretending not to see.
He figured, like maybe hoped that staying home would help. that rest would pull you out of whatever hole you'd fallen into.
So you stay home. You live in and out of your bed. some days you're awake enough to sit on the couch. most days you're not.
Every now and then, someone comes to check on you. A friend. a family member. someone who cares enough to show up unannounced.
You don't have the energy to be annoyed—again you don't have the energy for much of anything—but you also don't want them to worry. So you clean. Just enough to make your space look lived-in instead of caved-in. You shower. You put on clean clothes.
You play pretend.
“I’m good,” you say, same as always. “Just tired. exams took a lot out of me."
They nod. they leave. and the second the door closes, you're back in bed, phone in hand.
All you want is to be alone. all you want is to scroll. to disappear into the glow of the screen where nothing matters and no one expects anything from you.
Your handheld game helps, sometimes. one of your friends bought it for you as a congratulations gift—"you finished your exams! you earned this!"—a wildly popular life simulation series where you populate a bustling, personalized island with mii avatars of yourself, family, friends, or fictional characters.
You act as an god like caretaker, watching these little digital people interact, fall in love, fight, perform concerts, navigate bizarre daily dramas.
It was supposed to be fun, relaxing, a reward for once.
Now it just feels like another task. another thing you should be doing. Another reason to feel guilty when you don't.
You even listen to music, too. Your favorite artist. The same songs on repeat, over and over, hoping to feel something. A spark of the person you used to be before everything got so heavy.
But at last, nothing comes.
Just the same boring numbness. Same hollow ache. You're lying there, thumb hovering over your phone screen, when you hear it.
A knock. Soft, but definitely there. Weird thing is—it's not coming from your front door. It's coming from your balcony window.
"What the hell…?" You freeze. Your heart does this weird thing—not panic exactly, but something like recognition. Because normal people don't knock on balcony windows. Normal people can't even reach a third-floor balcony.
You turn your head slow.
And there's a silhouette on the other side of the glass.
Tall. Familiar. Just... waiting for you to open up.
✑ 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓉
“…Pierrot?"
Your eyes watch the figure on the balcony moves, seeing a shift of weight and tilt of the head. Enough for you to recognize that shape anywhere—just a too-tall frame, slump of his shoulders, the way he holds himself like he's always bracing for bad news.
You set your phone down then swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your body feels heavy, each step toward the balcony window an effort, close like wading through water.
The lock sticks for a few secoud, you haven't opened this door in weeks, no truly months. But it finally gives, and the late afternoon air hits your face, cool and sharp, and there he is.
Just standing on your third-floor balcony like it's the most natural thing in the world. His white masked face is even paler than usual under the dim city lights, and his starry eyes—those beautiful, swirling eyes—are wide and wet and devastated.
“My dear," he breathes.
And then he's moving, crossing the small space between you in one long stride, and his hands are cupping your face before you can say anything, his cool fingers trembling against your cheeks.
“We thought you were dead," he whispers. his voice cracks on the last word. “We… )-I thought—when you stopped answering, when the days turned to weeks, we thought something had happened to you. we thought you'd left me forever."
HIs eyes search your face, and you watch the worry settle into his features like a physical weight. Those now starry pupils flicker as they take in everything—such as the dark bruises under your eyes, the unnatural lightness of your skin, the way your cheeks look slightly hollowed out like you haven't been eating enough.
His gaze drops to your hoodie (the same one from three days ago, you can't remember the last time you changed), then to the room behind you, displaying a dim, messy, stuck look, then back to your face.
“And you were just..." his voice cracks. tears spill over, tracking silver lines down his powdered cheeks. “You were just… scrolling?"
You open your mouth. the excuse is already there, the same one you've been giving everyone: i'm fine, just tired, exams took a lot out of me, i just need rest—
Pierrot shakes his head before you can even say it. “No," he whispers. “Don't. Please don't lie to me. i can see you, my dear. You're not fine."
You close your mouth.
He steps closer, his cool large hands finding yours again, holding them like they're something precious. “You look..." he trails off, searching for words. “Dim. like someone turned down your light. like you're fading."His lower lip trembles just a bit
“Please. Tell me what's wrong. I don't understand the things you humans go through, but I want to. I need to. because seeing you like this—" his voice drops to barely a whisper. "it's breaking me."
You don't have an answer.
You don't have words for what's been happening inside your head. Burnout? Depression? Exhaustion? All you know is that you've been stuck and numb and tired in a way that sleep can't fix.
Pierrot doesn't wait for you to figure it out.
He pulls you into his chest again, but this time he doesn't let go. his arms wrap around you tight—not painfully, but firmly, like he's afraid you'll dissolve if he loosens his grip.
His face presses into your hair, and you feel him breathing you in, shaky and desperate. “I’ve got you," he murmurs against your head. “I don't know what's happening, but i've got you. you don't have to explain. you don't have to do anything. Just... let me hold you."
You were still there for a long moment, limp in his arms, letting him support your weight. and slowly—so slowly—you feel something unfreeze in your chest.
He starts moving you toward the bed. not pushing, not dragging, just... guiding. His long body curls around yours as he pulls you onto the mattress, arranging the pillows behind your head, tugging the blanket up over both of you.
“Pierrot, what are you—"
“Shh." he tucks you against his side, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other coming up to stroke your hair. “We're going to stay here. in this bed. and you're going to rest, and I’m going to hold you, mayebe later I can cook for you and eventually—" he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Eventually, you're going to feel better."
“You don't know that."
“I believe it," he says softly. "and sometimes that's enough."
He doesn't understand burnout. Doesn't know the word for it, doesn't have a framework for the way modern life drains the life out of people. But he understands sadness. He understands exhaustion. He understands what it feels like to be so tired that moving your body feels impossible.
So he holds you. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back. his chest rises and falls against yours. And every few minutes, he whispers something soft and reassuring into your hair.
“You're safe."
“I’m here."
“You don't have to be anything right now."
His starry eyes never leave your face, even as the minutes stretch into an hour. he watches you like you're the most precious thing in the world—like he's memorizing every detail, every breath, every small sign that you're still here.
“Pierrot?"
“Yes, my dear?"
“…Thank you. For coming."
Your felt his arms tighten around you. “Always," he whispers. “Always, always, always." And for the first time in weeks, you close your eyes and let yourself be held.
✑ 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃
“What the fuc… Harlequin?”
You whisper his name before you even open the door, and Harlequin's silhouette goes still. “…What?"
“Uh, just... come in."
You slide the door open, and he steps inside like he owns the place—because of course he does, it’s him. You notice his neon green eyes sweep across your apartment, taking in the dim lighting, the messy blankets, the general stagnation of it all. But instead of concern, his face splits into that familiar, jagged grin.
“Well, well, well," he purrs, dropping onto your couch like a cat claiming a sunbeam. “The human seems alive or, well… enough. Same difference."
You sit back down on your bed, phone already finding its way back into your hand.
“So,” he drawls, kicking his feet up on your coffee table. "you gonna explain why you've been ignoring me? or are we just pretending the last few months didn't happen?"
“I wasn't ignoring you—"
“Oh, really?" he pulls out his own phone, scrolling with one claw. “Because i've sent you... let's see... forty-seven reels. FORTY-SEVEN. and you haven't reacted to a SINGLE one."
You open your mouth. Then close it.
The truth is, you've watched every single one.
You couldn't not watch them—harlequin has a way of knowing when you've seen his messages. but the things he sends you are... cursed. Like, genuinely deranged. Last week he sent you a video of a raccoon riding a roomba while wearing a tiny cowboy hat, set to dramatic classical music. The week before that, it was a compilation of geese committing what could only be described as war crimes.
You weren't sure if you were depressed or just terrified of birds now.
“I watched them," you mumble.
“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you react?"
“Because I don't know how to react to a goose stealing someone's sandwich."
Harlequin snorts. “That's fair. That one was art."
You fall into something almost comfortable—him sprawled on your couch, you curled on your bed, both of you on your phones. This is normal for you two. parallel play, he calls it. existing in the same space without being annoying about it.
Except.
Except you stop responding to his commentary. Your thumb keeps scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling. reels blur together. cats, memes, a video essay about something you don't care about. Harlequin says something—a joke, maybe, or a sex joke—and you hum in response, not really hearing him.
“Hello? Earth to the human who's been ignoring me for months?"
You don't look up.
“Okay, that's—" he cuts himself off then you hear him stand feel the bed shift just a bit as he moves. Suddenly his hand is on your phone, tugging it gently but firmly out of your grip. “Hey—"
“No."
You look up. Harlequin is standing over you, your phone in one hand, his neon eyes fixed on your face. and for the first time since he arrived, he really looks at you.
The grin fades while his head tilts—catlike, curious, assessing. his gaze traces the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slump, the hollow emptiness in your expression that you've been hiding from mirrors.
“You look..." he pauses, searching for words. “Bad. like, really bad. When's the last time you slept?"
“I sleep."
“That's not what I asked, little thing.” Still, you don't answer.
One of Harlequin's tendrills flicks behind him—a nervous habit he'd never admit to. He looks at your phone, then back at you, then at your phone again. something shifts in his expression.
Something almost like... guilt?
“Was it the reels?" he asks, quieter than usual. “Did I… was I the reason you—"
“No.” and for once, you're being honest. “It's not you. I’ts… everything. I’ve just been stuck." He stares at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he shoves your phone into his pocket. Sits down on the bed beside you. Like Close, very close than he normally would.
“Okay," he says.
“…Okay?"
“Okay, you're stuck. Okay, you've been ignoring me. Okay, you look like a sad, wilted lettuce." he bumps his shoulder against yours. “I’m still here, aren't I? I’m not going anywhere."
You lean into him without meaning to. One of his tendrills curls around you. “You're gonna be fine," he mutters, almost to himself. “You're annoyingly resilient. it's one of your few good qualities."
“I have other good qualities."
“Name three."
“…I’m not doing this right now." He laughs—soft, real, nothing bitter about it. And for a little while, neither of you moves.
✑ 𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇
“The hell, Jester…?”
You whisper his name through the glass, and for a long moment, nothing happens.
He doesn't move, speak, just stands there, massive and still, like a statue someone forgot to finish. you almost think you imagined it—the knock, the shape, the whole thing—when his voice finally cuts through the night.
“You took longer than expected to open."
it's not a complaint. not really. just an observation, delivered in that low, resonant tone that makes your bones feel weird. You slide the door open, and Jester steps inside.
He doesn't say anything at first. just stands there in the middle of your tiny apartment, taking it in. The messy bed. the scattered snack wrappers. The phone in your hand, screen still glowing.
His purple eyes, just sharp, steady, ancient eyes—sweep across everything in your place. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and resonant, each word deliberate. “So this is what modern humans consider meaningful existence. Staring at box of light. Ignoring the living world.” He crosses his arms, and you feel the full weight of his judgment pressing down on you.
You should probably say something. Defend yourself at least. Explain your poor behavior. But your throat feels tight, and his presence is a lot, and all you can manage is a weak, "...hi."
One of his eyebrows lifts. just slightly. just enough. “Hi," he repeats, like the word is foreign. like he's testing it on his tongue. “You disappear for months. you stop responding to all forms of communication. You let me believe—" he pauses, something flickering across his face too fast to read. “And all you have to say is hi?"
You shift your weight, just a bit. “I didn't know what else to say."
"the truth is usually a good starting point."
You don't have the truth. Not one you can put into words, anyway. So you just stand there, phone still in your hand, and let him look at you.
He does, like for a long time.
And then he unexpectedly moves. Well not toward you. Toward your kitchen funny enough. You watch, baffled, as the jester—massive, purple, terrifying jester opens your cabinets. Peers inside. Closes them. opens your fridge. makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum.
“You have no food," he states.
"i have... some food."
“You have instant noodles and expired yogurt." he turns to face you, arms still crossed. “This is not food. This is desperation or a cry for help.”
Vefore you can respond, he's pulling out his phone—a sleek, expensive-looking thing that seems too small for his hands—and typing something with practiced efficiency.
“What are you doing?"
“Ordering groceries."
“You… you can't just—"
“I can," he says, not looking up. “I am. Watch Me.”
And you do. you watch the most intimidating monster you've ever met stand in your messy kitchen and order you groceries like it's the most natural thing in the world.
When he's done, he pockets his phone and turns to you, expression unreadable. “You're going to eat," he says. "real food. more than once a day. i will ensure this."
“You don't have to—"
“I am aware that I don't have to. I am choosing to." his purple eyes meet yours. “There is a difference."
You don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing. He looks at your bed, all of the the rumpled blankets, the pillow you've been hugging for warmth and then back at you.
“When's the last time you slept? Truly slept? not the restless, nightmare-ridden version you've been enduring."
You blink, "how do you know about—"
“I’ve notice things." he says it simply. like it's obvious. "you have dark circles beneath your eyes. your posture has collapsed. your energy is... dim than before.” a pause. "you are not well."
It's not a question. “I’m just tired," you try.
“You are exhausted, burned out. there is a difference." he moves toward you—slowly, carefully, like you're a wild animal he doesn't want to spook. “And you are not going to fix it by staring at that device."
He gestures at your phone, still clutched in your hand.
"Give it to me."
“What? no—"
“Give me the phone, little human."
There's something in his voice—not a command, exactly. more like... an invitation. like he's offering to carry something too heavy for you. And maybe it's the exhaustion. maybe it's the numbness. maybe it's just that he's him.
But you hand it over.
He takes it gently, like surprisingly gently and sets it on your dresser, face down. “There," he says. “Now you have no choice but to exist in the present moment."
“That’s… terrifying."
“Good. Fear is motivating."
He sits on the edge of your bed, which it creaks under his weight and pats the space beside him. “Come. sit. tell me what has happened to you. or don't. Either way, you are not going to be alone in this room tonight."
You hesitate then you sit.
His presence is huge and warm and solid, and somehow, despite everything, you… feel something loosen in your chest.
“To be honest… I don't know what's wrong with me," you admit quietly.
“Nothing is wrong with you," he says, and his voice is softer now. almost gentle. “You are a human experiencing human things. Burnout. Exhaustion. The crushing weight of existence." he glances at you. “It happens. it passes. and in the meantime..." he shifts, draping an arm across your shoulders—heavy, grounding. “You’ll have to deal with me.”
“I disappeared for months."
“And I found you." he says it like it's obvious. like there was never any other option. “I will always find you."
You lean into him without meaning to. Again, surprisingly, he lets you. And for the first time in weeks, you don't feel quite so alone.
✑ 𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇
“Wha.. Ticket Taker…?”
You whisper his name, and the silhouette on your balcony straightens. instantly. like he's been waiting for permission to exist.
You slide the door open, and Ticket Taker steps inside. His eye don't wander. they scan. every corner, every surface, every crumpled blanket and discarded wrapper. his expression is unreadable—that perfect, black-and-white symmetrical mask he wears like armor.
But you see the tension in his jaw. The way his hands clasp just a little tighter behind his back. “You didn't show up," he says. No greeting, nor small talk. Just facts.
“I know—"
“To work. To the circus. TO anything." His voice is clipped, controlled, but there's something underneath it. Something that might be hurt, or anger or both. “You failed to appear. Repeatedly. Without notice. Without explanation."
You open your mouth. close it.
he pulls out a small notebook—the one he always carries, the one filled with your schedule, your preferences, your existence filed away in neat, precise handwriting. he flips through it, not looking at you.
“Your screen time has increased by approximately 400% since your departure," he states, adding on, “sleep deprivation is evident. your circadian rhythm appears to have collapsed entirely." his eyes flick to your fridge—you forgot to close it earlier. "nutritional intake is minimal. inadequate. frankly, embarrassing."
He closes the notebook with a snap.
“This is unsustainable. Even for an human, I will be implementing restrictions immediately."
"Restrictions?"
“ON your device usage. on your sleep schedule. on your diet." he finally looks at you, and his gaze is sharp. disappointed. "you have disappointed me."
the words hit harder than you expect.
“I didn't—"
“You didn't show up." his voice cracks, just slightly. just enough. "you didn't show up, and you didn't tell me why. I had to infer. I had to calculate. do you know how many variables I had to account for because you wouldn't simply communicate?"
You don't answer.
He paces—short, sharp movements, like a caged animal. “I have been maintaining everything, hoping and preparing for your return, assuming there would be a return." he stops, faces you. “And then i find you here. In this state. Living like..." he gestures at the room, at you, at everything. “Like this."
“Like what exactly?"
“Like someone who has given up."
The words hang in the air between the both of you.
And something in his expression just changes, a little softens, just a fraction. He looks at you, see him notice the dark circles, the hollow cheeks, the way your shoulders slump like you're carrying something too heavy.
He exhales as a hand through his hair already slick black hair—which is a rare tell, man’s was worried about you.
“…I’m pushing too hard," he says quietly, not a question more like observation.
You don't confirm or deny. You just stand there.
He sits on the edge of your bed—perched, really, like he's afraid of wrinkling his suit. his hands rest on his knees. he looks almost... uncertain. “Let's start smaller," he says. “Carefully. one thing at a time."
He pats the space beside him. “Sit.” which you do.
He doesn't touch you—he never initiates touch, not really—but he's close. closer than usual. his presence is solid, steady, there.
“Tell me," he says. “How do you feel?" It's such a simple question. and you don't have an answer. not one that fits into words.
“I don't know," you admit.
He nods, like that's acceptable. like he was expecting it. "then tell me what you do know."
You think about it. "i'm tired."
“Obviously."
“Like... bone tired. Mentally, the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix."
He's quiet for a moment. then: “Continue."
“I haven't been eating. or... I have, but not enough. not the right things." you glance at him. “You noticed."
“I notice everything." his voice is softer now. less sharp. “It's what I do."
“Yeah."
Silence but like it's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that happens when someone is actually listening. “I miss the circus," you hear yourself say. “I miss... everyone. I just didn't know how to come back."
He turns to look at you. Now those cool, calculating eyes—but there's warmth there, hidden underneath.
“You're here now," he says. "that's a start."
He pulls out his notebook again—but this time, when he opens it, he doesn't start calculating. he just... holds it. like he's waiting.
“I’m going to help you," he says. “Whether you want me to or not. i'm going to make a schedule. I’m going to ensure you eat. i'm going to monitor your sleep. and eventually—" he meets your eyes. “Eventually, you're going to feel like yourself again."
“You can't know that."
“I can." he says it simply. “I’ve calculated the variables. the probability of recovery is high. provided you cooperate."
You almost smile. Almost. "...and if i don't cooperate?"
His lips twitch—the closest he ever gets to a smile. "Then i will be very persistent. you know this about me."
You do.
He stands, straightens his cuffs and looks down at you with something that might be fondness, if you squint. “We'll start tomorrow," he says. "Today, you rest. I’ll stay." He sits back down.
Doesn't touch you but his shoulder is close enough that you could lean on it, if you wanted.
✑ 𝒹𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇
“Is that, Doctor??”
You whisper-yelled his name through the glass with confusion, not expecting an answer.
You're about to call out again when you remember—oh. Right. This is Doctor. He doesn't do spontaneous visits. He doesn't leave the circus unless it's Halloween or the entire month of October when he apparently haunts the mortal realm like a goth Santa Claus.
Any other time? Good luck. He's in his greenhouse.
Talking to his ferns. Listening to heavy metal. Dissecting things that probably shouldn't be dissected.
So the figure on your balcony? On a random Friday?
You're either dreaming or he's lost.
But then he ducks because your balcony door is not small, but this man is very much tall. Like, Pirrot tall. Maybe taller. His horns scrape the top of the frame and he has to bend his neck at an angle that looks deeply uncomfortable, and you realize with a jolt that you completely forgot how big he is.
Doctor is not a man who looms. He's a man who exists in the background, in the shadows, in the spaces between things. But up close? In your tiny apartment? He takes up soo much space.
“Well,” he says, his voice that low, pleasant hum that somehow makes your skin crawl in a not-entirely-bad way. "You look awful.”
"...Hi?"
"Hm." He sets down a medical bag you didn't notice he was carrying and starts circling you. Like a shark. Like you're a specimen in a petri dish. "Pupils are dilated. Skin is pale. Posture is collapsed. When's the last time you saw the sun?”
"I don't know. Two week ago?"
“Disgraceful."
He pulls out a small penlight and shines it directly into your eyes without warning. You flinch as you heard him clicks his tongue behind his mask, "Follow the light. Don't blink. Try not to be dramtic about it, sweetie”
"I'm not being dramatic—"
"You're flinching. That's dramatic."
He makes a note on a pad that has also materialized from nowhere. His handwriting is surprisingly neat. Almost pretty. There are little botanical doodles in the margins.
"Your eyes are strained," he announces. "You've been staring at that—" he gestures at your phone, still glowing on the bed “—Rectangle for hours. In the dark. Without proper lightting.”
"I have a lamp—"
“A lamp is not sufficient for retinal health. You need ambient light. Natural light. Just light that isn't blue and screen-sourced." He pulls out a small handheld scanner—you don't even want to know where he got it—and runs it over your face. It beeps. He frowns.
"Your melatonin production is essentially non-existence. Your dopamine receptors are fried. Your circadian rhythm is destroyed." He looks up at you, cyan eyes sharp. "You've turned your brain into much.”
"Wow. Thanks…”
"You're welcome." He pockets the scanner and tilts his head, studying you the way he studies anything else.
"Here's the thing, sweetie," he says, stepping closer. He doesn't ask permission. He just... occupies space. "I don't do interventions. I don't do heartfelt speeches. I don't do whatever Pierrot does—the crying, the clinging, the I thought you were dead theatrics." He waves a hand vaguely, like he's shooing away a fly. "Exhausting. All of it."
"You came all the way here though."
"I did." He says it simply. Like it's obvious. Like of course he did. "Because you're interesting, and interesting specimens don't just get to... wither. That's wasteful."
He pulls a small glass vial from his bag—something pale blue and faintly glowing. "This is a tincture. Herbal. I made it myself. It won't fix you, nothing fixes anything, not really but it'll help your body remember how to sleep. Real sleep. The kind where your brain actually resets."
He presses it into your palm. His fingers are cool, much larger than your own. "Drink it before bed. Not with your phone in your hand. Not with the screen glowing in your face. Just... close your eyes and exist in the dark for a while."
"This isn't going to turn me into a frog, is it?"
"Don't be ridiculous." A pause. "Frogs require a much higher dosage."
You stare at him. He stares back, completely deadpan.
"...That was a joke."
"Ah. Well. I can see that."
"Was it funny?"
You didn't have the heart to answer. Just looked away.
He followed your gaze, glancing around your apartment agaia—the rumpled blankets, the scattered wrappers, the general stagnation of it all. His mask made his expression hard to read, but something in his voice softened. Just slightly. Just enough.
"You've been existing, not living," he said quietly. "There's a difference. I know you know that."
Again, you didn't answer.
He didn't push. Instead, he moved toward you, not looming this time, just... present. Close enough that you could smell the dried lavender and chamomile clinging to his coat.
"You're not a failed experiment," he said, tilting his head. "You're not a specimen that's been left on a shelf to collect dust. You're just... unwatered. Like my ferns when I forget to open the greenhouse blinds."
"...Are you comparing me to a plant?"
"I'm saying plants don't choose to wilt. They just don't have what they need." His cyan eyes held yours. "You haven't had what you need either. That's not a moral failure. It's just... a missing variable."
You blinked. "That's... surprisingly gentle. For you."
"I have my moments." He pulled a small glass vial from his bag, pale blue, faintly glowing, and pressed it into your palm. His fingers were cool, dry, steady. "This will help. Not because I'm kind, but because I don't like watching interesting things wither. It's inefficient."
"You could just say you care."
"I could." He didn't. But he also didn't move away.
The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, just... full. Like something had been waiting to be said, and neither of you knew how to say it.
"I don't sleep much," he said finally, quieter than before. "I listen to music. I check on my plants. I... could sit with you. If you wanted."
"...You?"
"Surprised?"
"A little."
He almost smiled. Almost. "So am I."
He didn't leave immediately. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, his presence solid and steady.
"You should drink that before bed," he said, nodding at the vial in your hand. "Preferably in the dark. Preferably without your phone. And preferably..." he paused, something unreadable wavering across his masked face. "Preferably not alone."
"...Is that an instruction or an invitation?"
"Yes."
You huffed something that might have been a laugh. It felt strange in your chest.
He turned toward the balcony, his silhouette massive against the dim light. His horns scraped the top of the doorframe again, and he ducked with that same awkward grace, pausing at the threshold.
"If you need anything," he said, not looking back, "I'm in the greenhouse. Or the tent. Or... somewhere. You know how to find me."
And then he was gone, leaving behind a faint scent of dried herbs, cool earth, and something that might have been chamomile.
You looked down at the vial in your hand. And for the first time in weeks, you thought maybe you weren't as alone as you felt.
♤ — 𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
They are not perfect, I know, but I'm not a divider blog and I mostly made these for myself.. Anyone is free to use them but since I drew these myself I'd be grateful if you'd credit me ^^
bkg winning one of the biggest awards of his career and the interviewer says “this must be the best day of your life!!” and bkg blankly looks at him (even though inside he is very excited) and ominously says “one of them.” lowkey gets awkward so the interviewer moves on but in a later interview perhaps on another day he’s asked “so what is the best day of your life??” and he’s quick to say, “meeting my girlfriend.” (after you then it’s the day he won that award) (he loves being the best)
-> Headcanons & loose imagines in which the reader (no specific pronouns used) is a fellow hydro dragon. Begins as platonic and develops into romance.
Was thinking today abt Neuvillette with a dragon!SO and wanted to jot some ideas down, but it turned into this :)
-> Neuvillette's blue horn-like features in his hair are referred to here as rhinophores!
-> SFW, ~4k words
-> CW: Descriptions of physical affection, jealousy, general clinginess, briefly implied near-harassment (not by Neuvillette)
Upon first meeting, Neuvillette feels unusually tense around you without any understanding why. Whether you are meeting at your place of work (say if you are a baker, a mercenary, guard, etc), haphazardly in public or at the Opera, or whilst delivering something to Neuvillette's office in the Palais Mermonia, he finds the first encounter strange and off-putting. You look human enough, surely, as human as anyone else does.
He feels guilty, in that he may miss much of your initial conversation in attempting to figure out what about you strikes him as odd. There are hundreds of faces he sees on a nearly daily basis, and he's truly seen all, but it is you he absolutely cannot shake. Is it how you hold yourself? How you speak to him? It truly wracks his brain, and he barely gets to know you in attempting to understand why you seem to make him feel this way.
When you leave, Neuvillette gingerly requests the assistance of a nearby Melusine (Sedene, if he's in his office) who'd seen you. He asks if she's noticed anything peculiar or off-putting about your person, since Melusines are uniquely skilled in seeing beyond the physical form.
To his utter disbelief, the Melusine returns his just slightly distressed expression with a big, cheery smile. She gushes about how friendly you are towards her and the other Melusines, and that your essence looks just like that of Monsieur Neuvillette's! Neuvillette blinks at this information, brows knitting together as he tries to make sense of it. Were the Melusines being literal in viewing a kind person as similar to him (if so, he is quite flattered), or is it more than that?
He spies you in the far distance, as something catches your attention and prompting you to stop. A staggered breath spills from his lips seeing two near-identical blue rhinophores among the strands of your hair. In his utter disbelief (and slight stupidity), he does not chase after you, but remains standing there, unable to grasp what he's just witnessed.
In all his centuries of being in this human form, he has never met another dragon, let alone what he assumes to be another of his own kind. He has met Vishaps, yes, he has heard rumors of the Geo and Dendro sovereigns in neighboring nations, but he has yet to meet another true Hydro Dragon, let alone one that assumes human form like he does.
The next few days in his office pass remarkably slowly. Neuvillette is uncharacteristically unproductive as he now replays that first meeting over and over in his head like a record, trying to analyze each word you spoke, the expression in your eyes, the overall characteristics of you. Were you aware that Neuvillette was like you, too, and simply made no acknowledgement of it? Were there more like you, somewhere? How had someone like you existed without once ever catching his eye?
Whatever your story may be, Neuvillette finds he can hardly function without answers. In the many centuries of his now human-esque existence, he has been left to his own devices to figure out what it means to be a dragon, what to expect, and how to live as one among human society. The answers he's sought now dangle before him tauntingly, just barely out of reach.
Whilst he can scour endless tomes and read human recollections of dragonkind and its lost culture, it provides an outside, matter-of-fact perspective of his kind that gets him no closer to understanding who he is meant to be. By meeting you, Neuvillette now has access to learn about the true lived experience of a dragon, the emotions attached to it, the quiet details that no book could capture.
He decides it, then. The Iudex will seek you out again, selfishly subscribing to the pursuit of his own desires, to make sense of someone like him that has appeared seemingly out of the blue (did you come from the ocean…?)
As determined as the Chief Justice is, he sends you a rather awkward, straightforward letter requesting your company in his office. He cannot hope for an agreed meeting whilst requesting for a meeting place in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger - he understands this, so his office is the best he can do.
Until you arrive, the Iudex will pace his office, wondering what questions to ask and what you might say. He wonders if openly revealing his identity to another will be a mistake.
He also wishes to befriend you. Though the Iudex prefers to keep a respectful distance from many for the sake of impartiality, he would at the very least prefer to make an amicable relationship between himself and one of his kind. Neuvillette fears unintentionally offending you, not knowing whether or not to subscribe more to human politeness or to truly unmask and allow himself to adopt more draconic tendencies.
His office is… overprepared, to say the least. Recalling how Lady Furina used to host guests, he has requested sweets and savory sandwiches be prepared. Neuvillette has even brought with him one of his favorite bottles of water, a vintage from the snowy mountains of Snezhnaya. He wonders if all Hydro Dragons share the same love of tasting water or if he is truly unique in his pleasures.
When you arrive, your eyes widen at how many preparations were made seemingly just for you. You sheepishly ask the Iudex if he is expecting others, and he seems to avoid your gaze when he tells you plainly that it is simply the two of you. You are, truthfully… not entirely sure why he's asked you here. You have a single hunch, though.
In your first meeting, you picked up on the fact that he was like you, but you thought it rude or improper to point it out. You figured the two of you were both aware of this fact, so there was no need to air it, especially in a public space. Perhaps the meeting now was to quietly confirm that likeness?
You were right, it seems. Neuvillette asks you to sit. He is calm, donning his typical neutral countenance as he explains his dilemma as of late. You listen, nodding your head, though your eyes curiously dart to the bottle of water before him. That gesture disrupts him so severely that he staggers onto his next word, abandons it, and asks you with a huff of a laugh if you'd like a glass of water.
You bob your head eagerly, watching near ravenously as the Iudex pours his specialty water into a silver goblet. As he hands it to you, your fingers brush against his gloved hand, and you feel a sudden, startling warmth blossom inside you. Forcing it away, you nod gratefully to him, but your excitement is palpable.
The water's flavor is truly like nothing else you've ever tried, and you're sure to tell him how much you enjoyed it. Neuvillette's lips are parted slightly in disbelief, eyes a hint wider than usual, and he cannot help but smile. It seems before he can get to the admission of why he has invited you here, the two of you go down a rabbit hole rambling about water-tasting, which is proof enough of the fact that you, too, are like him.
When the jovial conversation ends, you cannot help but ask Neuvillette why he's brought you here. As flattered as you are to be invited to the Chief Justice's office for conversation, you cannot imagine you made such a first impression for him to do so with a complete stranger. Given the distance he keeps, it would seem uncharacteristic. With courage to rip the metaphorical bandaid off, you blurt and ask if this is because the two of you are both dragons. Hydro dragons, to be specific.
Your directness stuns him into silence. The Iudex takes a moment, but returns your question with an honest nod. He asks how long you'd known for him, and you admit that it was rather evident from a first conversation. Pointed ears, rhinophores, the way the water seemed to react to the both of you. There's almost a tinge of red on his ears as he gives no reaction to your ease of identification of his nature, but simply accepts it.
Indeed, this meeting marks the beginning of a lovely friendship :) Over the following months, you and the Chief Justice share weekly chats in his office about anything and everything. You indulge him in your knowledge of dragonkind - of course, this depends on what your background is, but still, your perspective alone comforts the loneliness he once felt.
Neuvillette reciprocates by telling you what he knows and has learned. In this way, the two of you grow together.
You become a bit tense and overly formal when he casually reveals that he is the Hydro Sovereign. You scold yourself mentally for the impoliteness you have shown him, but Neuvillette insists otherwise and says the only impoliteness would be to not express yourself as you are. It's not instant, but you relax with time, and can become yourself freely around him.
Also, he brings a different type of water to try each meeting - or he tries to. With his busy schedule, he cannot always locate something new, but he tries his very best. Neuvillette lights up with delight when you enjoy one that he does, and seems to feel relief when you share your distaste of a particular type that he, too, found unfavorable (for example, he found water from the northern sea of Nod Krai to be a hint too metallically for his preference).
The rain seems to lessen when you're around. Neuvillette was unaware at first, but he comes to realize this with intrigue. On the days that rain occurs free of his influence, he wonders if it is from you - he feels foolish in realizing how much he now worries for your wellbeing. He hopes that you are well, that you are not grieving in silence as he is accustomed to. On nights where he has finished his work early and the rain pours freely of him, he conveniently shows up to your place of residence with dinner or asking to take a walk with you.
He feels quite silly when he appears on nights when you are perfectly fine, but has come to realize how partial he has become towards you. Neuvillette thinks of you, hears your voice, your laugh, feels the ghost of your fingers brushing his hand, and cannot seem to rid himself of it.
With your friendship comes a deepened understanding of strange feelings and behaviors he has noticed within himself. With you, he feels freer to embrace them and how to properly take care of himself.
For example, you warn Neuvillette about the stiffness and discomfort that can arise if one's rhinophores or horns are not properly attended to. You do not touch his (as they are particularly sensitive for all dragons), but demonstrate on yourself how to relieve tension and massage the base. He replicates your movements and notices, indeed, how much discomfort he's been holding.
You still have yet to show each other your true forms. Let's say over a year has passed. Neuvillette is very shy about it, and you completely understand. You're happy enough just having another hydro dragon as a friend (let alone the Hydro Sovereign).
Since this point, Neuvillette has found himself mimicking many of your behaviors subconsciously. As you grow closer, he notices how often you gift him small things. For example, sometimes you bring him unique waters you've found in your line of work or daily life, perhaps you bring him lunch, or maybe just interesting seashells you've found. Neuvillette reciprocates by returning seashells that he's found on his nightly walks, gifting you ribbons or shiny jewels he has come across, and especially waters he delights in.
What he cannot understand fully, but brings him such immense comfort is hoarding some of the items that once belonged to those he cared about. In one of your meetings, Neuvillette mentions in passing how he holds onto seemingly unimportant items, such as one of Lady Furina's old golden brooches, an envelope containing a letter sent by Duke Wriothesley, a pen the Traveller left behind. He is particularly flustered about and conveniently does not mention how many items of yours he's held onto - including every single seashell you have brought him.
You explain jovially and rather innocently, none the wiser, that dragons hoard items, particularly items they cherish or coming from someone they cherish. Dragons hoarding many items from one individual is typically expected for family members or for mates - and Neuvillette feels a breath caught in his throat.
When he thanks you and you go your separate way, he cannot help but replay on loop what you have said. Though, as more evenings pass, he supposes the context fits uncomfortably well. Neuvillette realizes it rains more when you are absent, that his heart races before each meeting, when he can hear your voice behind a door but cannot yet see your face, how often he thinks of you, how protective he feels over you.
It's one day that Neuvillette, against his better judgement, asks you with a rosy expression how romantic courting works for dragonkind. The Iudex explains that he believes he understands somewhat of how the process works for humans, but perhaps not for dragonkind. He's read textbooks, but to actually live the experience? Different. Your face matches his light crimson, but you explain it to him. You admit that you don't have a mate, especially given dragons mate for life, but there a few aspects you do know about how it works:
There has to be some sort of long-lasting, pre-existing bond established for courting to begin.
One dragon, oftentimes the male, will attempt to make an impressive display, often of power, towards the other to demonstrate his readiness and ability to sustain such a bond. Neuvillette unknowingly, whilst with you on a walk outside of the court of Fontaine, insists you stay behind him as he power washes handles a group of Treasure Hoarders harassing a Sumerian scholar attempting to repair her boat. His manner of handling them was a tad more… extreme than you expected, and he seems apologetic for losing his restraint. Neuvillette admits quietly he's unsure what came over him.
Dragons exchange gifts and may perhaps begin to build their nest with said gifts. You notice in the corner of your bedroom, a suspicious pile beginning to grow of gifts - ribbons, seashells, gems, clothing - that Neuvillette has given you. Neuvillette, on a late night filled with interminable paperwork, looks up with astonishment upon realizing how messy his typically orderly office has become. Whilst he's always sure to keep your gifts in a safe location, as they mean very much to him, he notices how they have sort of been gathering in a pile… Neuvillette feels distracted by how unkept he has seemingly become, and wonders if something has come over him.
Dragons may attempt to mark their potential mate to warn others away, and may get jealous if their courting partner is pursued by another. Neuvillette, one day, with the encouragement of the Melusines, decides to craft a necklace with a small scallop shell at the end. He gives it to you, quietly proud of his work, and seems to hold his breath when you ask it to clasp it around your neck. Now, he notices how you wear it everywhere, often fidgeting with it or telling other Melusines with joy that Monsieur Neuvillette crafted this just for you!
One day, however, a merchant notices the shimmering shell and compliments it, though he seems to be more so complimenting its wearer. Neuvillette is not far away, discussing reports with nearby Marechaussee Phantom members. He cannot seem to pay attention to the conversation at hand, and instead feels an intense tension in his jaw, a broiling distaste and unpleasant sensation in his chest. He apologizes profusely to the Melusine with which he converses and turns to the conversation that is louder than anything else in the area. Neuvillette notices how the fellow attempts to reach out and touch your collarbone where the necklace resides, and the Iudex interrupts with the sort of calmness he only possesses when he is wordlessly angry, to step away from you. The merchant stammers an apology and scatters elsewhere within moments.
Dragons become fiercely protective over their mates. After this has occurred, Neuvillette fusses over you. He scans you from head to toe, asking if you are okay. You reassure him that the merchant had just then tried to reach out, and that you had plans to stop him before he could. He insists that you should have called him over sooner if you were uncomfortable, and you admit you had no idea that he was even here and that you could've handled yourself.
The days that follow, Neuvillette finds it difficult to let you out of his sight. Your meetings drag on (haha) longer, he walks you home, he asks if you have had enough water, if you are taking care of yourself, physically and mentally. You find yourself reciprocating for a reason that initially evades you, insisting he not work so late into the night so he can rest, that he take a day or two off.
When it pours, you come to comfort and console him. How strange and wonderful it feels all at once to have another standing next to him as the rain covers the city. He cannot quite put to words what it means for you to stand there with him, nor the warmth it brings to him. You feel the very same, in despite the chill of the rain cooling your skin, you have never felt so warm.
It is only a month or so later that the two of you, at separate moments, realize that you have been courting the other. Neuvillette, though flustered, cannot deny the fact. You accept it just as well, but know there is one step left - to seal that which you have shared, if you so wish.
Dragons will share a flight to seal their companionship.
At this point, you and Neuvillette have more explicitly been going on dates together. He has been explicit in asking you on them, as have you, and they have all been wonderful - to be honest, these "dates" are not any different than your weekly meetings shared in his office, on walks within or outside the Court of Fontaine, or at cafes, but now there is a romantic subtext you both have acknowledged.
Neuvillette is shy to initiate physical touch. But one walk, you, with a pounding heart and rosy cheeks, ask if you can hold his hand. Breath catching, he nods, and your fingers playfully brush his before slipping between his gloved ones. He squeezes your hand.
He grows more relaxed at this. This turns into playful knee bumps when sitting together, to fixing each other's hair, to hugs that linger longer than either of you wish to admit, to kisses on the forehead, cheek, and eventually, to the lips. Neuvillette always kisses your forehead when you go to leave from his office, and pleads for you to be safe in that soft and desperate but low voice only you get to hear.
It is nearing the end of summer when Neuvillette admits that he is ready to show you his full form. You meet by the coast, far from any prying eyes, beneath the nocturnal sky blanketed by glimmering stars. Neuvillette, wearing solely a white dress shirt whose sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, black slacks, and no shoes, seems to pace back and forth on the sand. You cannot help but smile at his nervousness - it's endearing, but you understand. You also spy the pearly and deep scales littering his arms and hand that have always been hidden beneath his judicial robes.
When you greet and reassure him, it isn't long until you show yourselves fully to each other. You transform into your draconic form first to inspire confidence within him, your scales and fins unfurling, towering far above him, your rhinophores glowing in the darkness of the evening. You playfully nudge him with your snout.
When Neuvillette takes on his form, it is graceful and far more majestic than you ever imagined. He is the Hydro Sovereign, after all. The Iudex, no, the Hydro Sovereign towers even above you, azure scales gleaming beneath the moonlight, his fins glowing cerulean and aquamarine not so unlike the rhinophores on his head, which are now far longer. A grand white mane sits atop his head, travelling not only around his chest, but in a thin line down his spine, curling into his tail. Violet eyes with sharp slits purposefully avoiding your gaze, you rumble with delight and nudge your snout against his own.
It's then that he finally works up the courage to look at you. Neuvillette lets out a small rumble of returned satisfaction, nuzzling his snout against your own. You trill as you nod towards the water, your snake-like figure disappearing gracefully beneath the waves. Neuvillette's huff of a laugh follows as he dives after you.
The two of you glide through the ocean waters for what feels like hours. The cool ocean current glides past you as you race over coral, beneath arches, between sunken ships, through schools of fish. Neuvillette is far faster than you anticipated, and while you were nearly as fast as him, he ultimately beats your speed, but encourages you playfully that you can catch up next time.
As you swim, you swim spirals around the other, your form coiling around Neuvillette's playfully. He too darts beneath you, bumping you teasingly, before meeting you side by side, as you finish your swim at an even pace.
Returning to shore, you collapse with pleasant exhaustion from your swim. Neuvillette exhales with matched exhaustion, but he lies beside you, head resting atop your neck, tail entangled with your own. He thanks you for everything, and quietly professes his love. You return said admission, thanking him for helping you to feel not so alone in this complicated world.
With that, the two of you become mates :)
Some actual headcanons because I started writing them, and then it devolved(?) into an imagine/oneshot:
Neuvillette obviously feels free to be his full draconic self around you. This includes being a bit clingier than he would like to admit (he feels embarrassed about it, but you reassure him there's nothing to feel embarrassed about). He adores holding your hand, hugging you, holding you whilst you lounge or rest together. He finds that he does not want to be without you, and often tries to be as close to you as he can manage.
Mutual fussing over each other. You like to help him get ready every morning, including helping him brush out that massive head of hair and either tying it into its usual low ponytail or braiding it. You also delicately clip his usual accessories to his hair, just above his ear, making sure they're just right. He will gladly exchange the favor and help you with your own hair. Neuvillette adores brushing strands of hair from your forehead, fixing your collar or sleeve cuffs, or making sure you're warm enough. He will very happily give you his jacket at any moment's notice - the sight of you wearing his clothes is enough to make him melt.
Shared care of your draconic forms. Now that you're together, you don't mind helping to massage the area around his rhinophores that have the tendency to grow sore, and he returns the favor to you. You also help each other clean your scales, which is particularly helpful for those hard to reach places.
You definitely have some sort of a shared nest now :) It's a collection of items from your two separate nests (that you were both subconsciously creating) merged into one. In that way, it's a sweet reminder of your time spent together.
You often go on nightly swims in your dragon forms. You're careful not to get spotted. Afterwards, you almost always curl up with the other and reflect on your lives. You often drift asleep due to the lulling melody of Neuvillette's voice (a blessing and a curse), and Neuvillette must decide each time whether to bring the two of you somewhere safer or to let you rest there.
Regardless, Neuvillette is very smitten with you and you with him. He's so happy, after centuries, to have finally found someone like him, with whom he is free to be himself.
Ughhhhh Neuvillette with a dragon S/O is so cute </3 I'm considering writing some HCs for different types of dragons, like pyro or cryo dragons. Thank you for reading all of this!!
Hii how are you?? I have a question could you continue the Pierrot/Jester/Harlequin x F!reader fanfic?? I love to read angst 😭(feel free to ignore this)
Here you go, hun :
art by @konknonbi
Pierrot/Jester/Harlequin x F!reader
"Did you know some animals eat their offspring when they sense danger...?"
Angst, hurt/barely no comfort
[Part 1]
You wake up in a gasp, breathing loudly, sweat rolling down your forehead.
You blink repeatedly, your eyes getting accustomed to the ambient darkness before taking support on your elbows, realizing with a moan of pain that you have a perfusion.
"Easy, (MC)" A deep growly voice resonates next to you.
"Doctor…" You gather your pieced mind as he checks your pulse and take off the perfusion gently. "Where…?"
"We are in a camp."
"A camp?"
"For our kind."
You gulp, lowering your gaze, guessing without too much difficulties that Jester must have made promises to allow you inside.
"I see…"
"Are you dizzy? Is your head spinning?" He asks, pressing a stethoscope to your chest, sitting on the side of the bed.
"Why was I…?" You don't even bother ending your question, you already know, "Jester."
"He thought it was for the best. Do not hold it against him, (MC). It was an urgent and perilous situation."
"I know." You push the cover off your body to raise in a sited position, head in your hand, "I feel like a truck run over me…"
"Do you want a little boost?"
You remain still for a short moment, appreciating the darkness around you.
Why did Jester put you to sleep?
You went to the Circus earlier, and…
And…?
"No." You giggle without joy, "I know about your kind of little boost, Doctor. I'll try without it first."
"Suit yourself."
"Am I free to leave?"
"I do not see why not, but return at the first sign of weakness."
"Okay, I-"
"Silence over there!" A pissed off voice whispers behind you.
You turn your head, only to realize the tent is way bigger than you first anticipated. A dozens camp beds are displayed, filled with adults or children. Some nurse are taking care of patients while other talk to another doctor with low voice.
"Doctor…"
"Yes?"
"Be honest with me. What was the price to allow me in?" You ask with a dry throat, your fingers curling over the bed bar you are sitting on.
He remains silent for a moment, looking through your soul behind his mask, arms crossed on his wide chest, before taking the floor.
"Jester refused to share the information. He told us he will handle it himself."
You look at his expressionless mask with a sigh, before shaking your head.
"I see…"
You stand up, almost sitting back down with vertigo, but hold on. Doctor offers his arm as support and you take it with an affable smile.
"Thank you, my friend." You murmur.
He escorts you to the opening of the large tent, releasing you at the entry.
"I need to look over the rest of our patients."
"Of course. Don't forget to rest too."
"Will do… Friend." He nods, "Your husbands are talking with the heads of the camp."
He opens the tent for you, making you squint in the harsh sun and you leave, hugging yourself.
Monsters and creatures look over their shoulders when you walk past them, some whispers, some hiss like snakes. You lower your head and keep walking.
You're not here to cause trouble.
You're only here because… Because…?
You stop, gaze on your shoes with a mute voice.
The point of your shoes are burned… Like…
And it returns to you like a punch.
The crowd of humans.
The circus on fire.
Bil who tried to pull you out of it
And
And…
Pierrot, Harlequin and Jester… And your babies…
And the blood…
You let out a whine, mouth pressed to your mouth, curling over yourself in the middle of the camp.
You did not imagine anything.
They… They ate them!
They ate your babies.
Their babies.
They dug their teeth into them and teared the flesh apart from the bones.
You gasp for air like you were back into that burning tent, at a loss for a breath. You feel your heart sprinting into a panic attack, as your legs wobble and your vision doubles.
You try to regulate your breathing, but your throat is so tight, no airflow can pass. You are panting in the middle on the camp, knees in the dirt, while the other monsters look at you with… Perplexity.
Some take a step to the side to avoid you, other stop to look at you with a modicum of worry. Other just sniff with disdain. Why should they care for a human anyway? None of your people cared for any of them before, after all.
You jump with a yelp when a large hand is pressed in your back.
"My Lady…" Pierrot softly says, kneeling next to you, "Are you alright?"
You look at him.
Your red clown.
Your husband in carmine.
Father of your son.
Eater of his offspring.
Your double vision placates his expression of that day on his face, the blood splattered on his chin and mouth, his garment soiled with fluid and entrails, his eyes so sad on you, discovering the truth about them all.
Of what they truly are deep down.
Of what they are truly capable of.
You gag instantly, feeling your empty stomach spasming, trying to physically expulse your ire and disgust for them.
He stays at your side, keeping your hair out of the way just in case.
"I… urgh…" You gag one more, slowly calming down, "I am alright… I think…"
You pant a little more, slowly building back control.
You stand up by yourself, without his help, hugging yourself tighter.
"I am okay, Pierrot. Stop looking at me like that."
"Like… What?"
"Like you…"
'Care. Stop looking at me like you care.'
"Like I am about to die." You prefer to say.
He stands back up immediately, his hand like he was about to hug you, but hesitates. Finally, he lets it drop, his expression uncomfortable and out of place.
"I am glad you woke up, my Lady." He admits meekly.
"I don't know if I share the sentiment, to be honest." You look away, arms crossed on your chest.
"I… Have no difficulties imagining why." He gulps, "But for all its worth, I am relieved."
"… Thanks. Where is Jester?"
"Over there." He points.
"Good." And you leave him there.
He starts following you with his long strides, but a sigh out of you makes him freeze.
"Pierrot… No."
He lowers his head in defeats, but do not take another step, letting you go.
You clench your jaw in silence. For now, you have to endure it.
Endure them…
You notice your purple clown from a mile away, discussing with two other creatures. He chose to discard his big hat, but kept his circus attire. He had the careful thought to clean it beforehand.
They notice and turn to you, and Jester has the presence of mind to not say a thing.
"Human." The tall female nods to you, "What do you want?"
"I want to know the bargain." You respond a bit dryly, on edge to be near the Jester. "Why did you accept me in?"
The male and female look at each other he takes the floor.
"You're not the only one who lost a baby here, human. We all share the loss of something."
You breath through your nose, feeling Jester's presence burning your skin.
"So? You did not accept me in just for that? What did they promised you?"
"I-" the Jester starts, but a glare from you shuts him up.
Usually, he would never tolerate such attitude toward his person. But he knows he is on thin ice with you.
"He said you could help us with some camp managerial tasks."
"Is that all? Just… Organizing things?" You raise an eyebrow in surprise.
They both sniggers.
"No human. We thought about armed negotiations."
You open your eyes wide.
"…What?"
"We will explain to you later, for now, I think you two have things to talk about, no?"
"…Do we really?" You hiss under your breath.
"Yes. We do." Jester interjects, a hand on your shoulder.
You resist the desire to flick it off, feeling your eye twitch at the contact as the two creature walk away to leave you some privacy.
"(MC)." He starts gravely, "You know we can let humans get their hands on the remains of our dead. Do you remember?"
"Yes." You spit, "But…! But… Eating them?!" You open your arms in a defeated fashion, "Jester…?"
He sighs, his stern expression and attitude quickly recovered after such an… event.
"This is who we are, deep down, (MC). The humans forced us to grow that instinct. For survival."
"We really are a convenient scapegoat, aren't we?" You growl, "Whatever faults you make, it is our doing. Do you take responsibility for any actions at all?"
He frowns, lowering leaning forward to be at eye level with you, pissing you off tremendously.
"Mind your tone, (MC). Your kind hunts us for sport. Do you know how it feels?"
"You kind hunts us for food. Do you want to know how I feel living among you?"
He hisses at you, baring his sharp teeth. You growl back, right in his face, high on your toes.
He straightens his posture with a sigh, combing his fingers in his hair.
"Listen, this is all too recent. You need to rest."
"I need to think. To make decisions. Radical ones." You lower back on your soles.
He considers you in silence, split between the desire to comfort you, and leaving you in peace.
He choses neither.
"Do you want to… See them?"
You raise an eyebrow at him, on the defensive, digging your nails in the meat of your arm.
"I… Yes." You reluctantly admit, "I want to see my babies."
"Come, dear."
_______________________________________
"Harlequin?" Jester calls.
You hear a pissed off growl before seeing your green husband, sitting in the dirt of the forest behind a huge tree, hugging black bags of fabric tight to his chest.
His eyes round up when he sees you and he immediately look away, shameful.
"She wants to see our babies, Harlequin. Could you give them to her?"
Harlequin growl again, finishing in a wine as he tightens his grip on the bags.
"Harlequin."
"Leave it, Jester. I'll handle it."
Your long haired clown looks at you with 'are you sure?' spelled in his purple pupils , but you just nod and signal him to leave you alone.
When he is far away, you sit down in the dirt, next to Harlequin. You press your knees to your chest, wrapping you arms around your legs.
"So… Do you intend to say something at all?" You demand, looking far away in the valley below you.
"… You must hate us now, don't you?" He asks, muffled by the bags.
"I did not decide yet, in fact." You admit, "I very well might."
"I see…" He gulps.
"Do you?"
"I do. I hate myself for what happened that day. I wished I noticed the flames sooner. I wish I was there in time for…" His sentences doesn't end, his voice cracking too early.
You gulp in turn, feeling tears rising again behind your eyes.
"When I held her from her bassinet and she was non reactive… I…! I… I lost my mind…"
You rest your chin on your knees, feeling your eyes getting wet.
"She was no more. She… She was dead, in my arms. My little doll."
Your heat pinches at his nickname for his daughter.
His cute little daughter.
His doll in green ribbons.
He presses his palms to his eyes with a shaky breath, letting a single sob escape his lips.
"You must think this is a pattern for us. Eating each other like that." He lets out a joyless snigger.
You hm in response. First Columbina, and now their own children…
Is it them? Is it a cruel joke of Fate?
You don't know and you're stuck between them all.
Isolated. From everyone.
You kind is far away and belligerent, the people here look at you like trash on the side of the road, and your husbands… You husbands look at you like they are afraid of you and your reactions.
And of themselves.
Only Doctor treated you like he always did. Neutrally.
Harlequin throws his head back with a long sigh.
"Here." He hands you the three bags reverently, "This one is-"
"I know who is who, Harlequin." You cut him harshly.
He visibly freezes, his eye twitching, but he remains silent.
"I mean… Thank you, Harlequin."
You take the bags, knowing exactly who is who with their weight and with your maternal instinct.
Even as just bones, they remain your little darlings, and you'd recognize them at first glances among any ossuary.
You hold the string holding the heaviest close, debating with yourself if you should opening it or not.
"Do not force that upon yourself, (MC). Those are ours, I didn't let go of them for even a second."
"I know… I know. I just…I do not know." Your shoulders lower, the weight of those little bags in your arms.
The weight of your children.
So light now.
"I just don't know what to do…" You sob, your entire body shaking like a leaf, hugging the little bags," Oh my god… My babies…! My sweethearts…! I don't know."
Harlequin remains still next to you, hands on his knees. Mute. Tired.
In fact, you feel like nobody knows what to do, not you, not Harlequin, nobody!
You just wind up here, all lost and without any baggage, stripped of all dignity, begging for help.
You had a life before them all! Couldn't you just return to it?
Reconcile with your family, move to a new city.
Restart anew. Fresh.
You snigger among your tears.
Jester would never allow you to be free of them after all that…
You leave with them or you leave in a coffin.
'Remember, pet. This is forever.' He whispered the night of your union.
And now you realize he was serious.
Whatever you do, you won't escape them.
It is them and you.
Forever.
"Do you want to be alone for a moment?" Harlequin asks.
"… Yes." You sob.
"I see…"
And he leaves you to your pain without any other word.
Summary: The unpleasant times have returned once again. Yet, no matter how much they dislike it, they can not get rid of it. However, even in misfortune, there's a silver lining: they know you can help them.
Note: I don’t care they’re monsters. I want them to be weak and desperate in heat, and the best part is— no one can stop me. But remember this is quite fanon and there might be a lot of ooc.
I have no intention to be disrespectful to the creator of TFC at all.
And also bad English in this post too.
Chapter 2/5: Harlequin
Warning: tentacles, implying yoyeur.
Pierrot,Jester,TicketTaker,Doctor
Harlequin
Because of his young age, the heat was a little more intense than others in the Circus. He might seem to be a playboy and all but he actually uncomfortable by physical contact. Flirting and affection aren’t the same thing— and he’s never good at the second one.
Not after haven’t receiving a genuine one for so long.
Every time he’s in heat…he will locked himself away until it calms down. He never trusted anyone to get close to him when he was vulnerable. So he doesn’t fully understand why his legs had led him to you.
Harlequin snatched you away so quickly you didn't even have time to protest. He'd never seemed so agitated before, making you wonder if something serious had happened.
He calmed down a bit once he entered his own area. You were slightly startled when he started taking off his top and hat. It's not like you've never seen his horn before. He’s just not seem like his usual self today.
He wrapped his arms around you before rubbing his head against you like a cat trying to leave its scent—and that's exactly what he was doing. Covering you with his scent. His body turned pink, not from embarrassment, but from his steadily rising body temperature. His cock felt increasingly uncomfortable. It’s getting worse.
Why he has to suffer like this?
And why you?
“Hughh…”
Harlequin groaned. Each move felt weaker and weaker. He didn't know why your hand patting his hair made him feel a little better. His tentacles wrapped itself around you no different from a child possessive of their favorite toy.
He didn't really like you; he was just enjoying the thrill of stealing the person Pierrot liked. That's how it should have been. That’s what he always tells himself, but he couldn’t lies at this moment. He needs you.
Harlequin whispered, almost too quietly. “I need your help, please.” He hates pleading like a child, but he'll use everything he has to get you to agree. And guess what? it did work.
You unbuttoned your clothes with red face, slowly one by one. It made him wonder if you’re secretly like seeing him suffer. Normally, Harlequin enjoys watching you changing (without you knowing it, of course) But now, it feels annoying. He wanted to ripped your clothes off so bad. Why does it took so long.
As soon as all of those annoying fabric disappeared, he used his tentacles to pull you onto his lap. His hands played with your breasts while his many tentacles caressed every part of you. He tells you to open your mouth then inserting his forked, snake-like tongue in without warning. He tasted you, using his tongue to play with yours like a hunter and its prey.
Harlequin wants to give you a sweet kiss, but he’s too drunk in lust to do that.
Each tentacle serves a different purpose in preparing you while its master is busy exchanging breaths with you. Some caress your thighs and slip under your toes, some gently rub your nipples. And you swear one of them is sucking on your clitoris. Your body instinctively twitches away, but both of his hands hold you in place, and…also squeezing your butt cheeks.
You flinch as a single tentacle suddenly slips inside you. It's thin, cold, and feels like jelly, so it doesn't hurt at all. It wiggles inside you before beginning to swell them move in and out, eventually reaching a size close to what you're about to be dealing with.
The lubricant on his tentacle reduced friction incredibly well, so well that you trembled. When he saw you’re ready, the thick tentacle were pulled out. A wet, lewd ‘Pop’ sound echoed, accompanied by a fluttering sensation in your stomach. Harlequin rubbed his penis along your wet groove, biting his lips as the way his foreskin rubbed against your clit.
He held you tighter before thrusting himself into your well-prepared pussy. He trembling harder with every inch his penis went in, until leaving no space between you and him.
Harlequin knows he won’t go to heaven when he dies, but who could know you can bring down the paradise to him.
It’s too good he ended up leaking cum before even moving. It’s embarrassing but he doesn’t care anymore. He moved his hips so wildly that you tried to tell him to slow down with broken sentences. He didn’t listen. He completely lost control of his body, not caring if anyone else was around or if anyone could hear, becoming a shameless beast. He thrust his tongue into your mouth again, cradled your head so dearly while tilting his face to kiss you.
If he can melted into you he would. He envious of clothes you wear for becoming part of you. Envious of the air you breathe for filling your lungs. Envious your hair for clinging with you to every where. Envious water for being the source of your life. Envious the star for having chance to watch you day and night.
Do you have any idea how much he’s jealous of you? How you mess him up without even realizing it?
But he’s get to hold you tonight. So he’s the real winner. You’re the prize no one can take away from him.
That thought broke down what he been holding in. He thrusted you one last time then let everything fall, satisfied by the idea of fulfilling you with his cum. His cock felt like it really melting into you. Every muscle tenses from the pleasure of ejaculation. He grabbed you so hard it leaves a handprints on your hip.
Both pants heavy from the overwhelming sensation. Harlequin still not letting go of you.
Then suddenly you felt his cock become hard again inside you. Harlequin’s grin widened as his tentacles creeping up your back.
“Come on. You don’t think I’m just gonna finish at one round right? My beloved?”
“Please~?”
Harlequin still hate pleading like a child. But if it allows him to spend the night with you, he will do it a thousands times.
And too bad you falls for it.
Note: I reread Pierrot’s chapter and it’s felt too short and wasn’t horny enough. So I’ll make it more horny and longer, pls check it out again in 1 or 2 days. Jester’s chapter will come soon so…pls don’t read it before I finish it okay? I’m nervous seeing people liking before it’s finished 👉👈
Hope y’all like my smut. I pour my horniness into it instead of studying for exams.
I chugged a margarita and had a wine cooler chaser on an empty stomach. (Don't worry, I had a bomb ass Italian sub in between). Fun fact about me is that I get extremely affectionate and flirty when I'm drunk, so here's some NSFW headcanons about our favorite circus boys.
Y'all are not ready for the level of monster fucker I'm about to out myself for.
If you see any grammatical errors, nuh uh, we're letting the coochie type this one. I'm also doing this all in one sitting and letting auto correct light the way.
The Freak Circus is an 18+ Visual novel Themes include but are not limited to: dark elements, strong language, sensitive graphic content. My works can depict similar themes and are not intended for minors.
One extremely Spicy Order Up!
Pierrot
Your sweet Pierrot's shyness goes out the window once love making is on the table. He'll often ask you what type of love you'd want in the moment, whether it be sweet sensual love making, or a primal mating session. He's always willing to accommodate his darling the best he can for as long as he wants. (Best to set up a safe word with him beforehand, for your body's safety).
It's no surprise he has a raging body worship and breeding kink. It doesn't matter if it's gentle, rough, primal, he will always sing your praises and show his devotion to your temple of a body whenever there's oxygen in his lungs. He'll smother you in kisses and lick trails across every inch of your body if you'll let him. Your skin under attack from his sharp teeth that gently scrape and nip at your sensitive zones. He always asks to bite you however, starting off with complete pleas but eventually devolving to a desperate "please". But once you give him permission one too many times he loses his self control.
You'd have to use the jaws of life to pry his mouth off of your core, this man will eat, suck, and tongue fuck you to tears nearly every time, and then some. He loves holding you in place as you writhe under him, his tongue explores every nook and cranny in your sensitive hole. The sweet sounds you make egging him on to see just how far he could push you before your complete and utter ruin. Your body is a temple he swore to worship, but sometimes a little desecration gives him even more reason to rebuild his devotion.
Pierrot also has a deadly breeding kink and a knot to match. His primal instincts take hold once feels his knot start to inflate, gutteral growls and pants filling the void of his usual praises, his petnames transforming into a slurry of possessive "mine's".
He purrs into your neck once his knot finally slots itself inside you, his cock pulsing rhythmically as he shoots his cum deep inside you. Sometimes even chasing the pleasure for both of you by pulling his knot out just to ram it back inside you, knot-fucking you, sinful squelches only encouraging him to fill you to the brim again. He yearns to leave his mark on you in every sense, including watching his cum seeping out of your abused hole.
Harlequin
His usual flirty banter seemingly hits new highs as sex becomes a regular occurrence for you. Often accompanied by sarcastic remarks about how long it takes for you to warm up enough for his tastes. Foreplay for him mostly just includes a hunter/prey dynamic that gets both of your hearts racing. His usual petnames change to prey items, "bunny, rabbit, lamb, and fawn" being common ones. He loves the thrill of a chase and the accomplishment of an easy catch. "Run, little rabbit, let's see how far you make it this time."
Without a doubt his tendrils come into play routinely. Restricting your movement, snaking their way under your clothes, teasing the sensitive flesh underneath. All while he has his way marking what is rightfully his, sometimes to the point of blood play, his personal reward for a successful hunt. His ropes often stretching your hole thoroughly before he even reveals his cocks. Yes plural.
Just like Pierrot, he enjoys seeing you squirm and buck against his tendrils in a pitiful attempt for a break. You're a sopping wet mess around him and he always reminds you of it. "My my, such a sinful little disaster you can be, little fawn~. Keep crying out, maybe someone can bask in your misery~." His dirty talk works better than most vibrators ever could dream of.
Harlequin is quite proud of his cocks, stacked on top of each other with the top having a dramatic curve upwards and the bottom being girthy. Although his favorite thing is to take advantage of your spent state only to push both of his cocks in you at once, using his ropes to move your weakened body like his personal fleshlight. It takes him a while to cum so be sure to make yourself useful, little lamb.
If you show him genuine affection and love it honestly takes him aback. Sometimes completely stopping the encounter with an utter of your mutual save word from his trembling lips. After enough talks and bonding he'd be more inclined to allow you to take the lead and show him the true side of intimacy. Gentle caresses, loving kisses, and slow rolls of your hips sending him to a whole new plane of pleasure, one that only you hold the keys to, treat him gently and he might get addicted to this side of sex, just don't mention his choked whimpers and groans as he tries to hide his face into his arms.
Jester
"Come pet, entertain me." He purrs as he yanks your leash closer to him, his hand trailing from your jaw to your chin, it's sharp claw cutting your skin ever so gently. You were nothing but a means for stress relief to him, and you will serve your purpose. Before any stress relief takes place however, you both have an extended conversation on boundaries, safewords, terms and conditions, he even went as far as to compile a contract for you to initial, and he will enforce any violations.
One of his favorite bonding activities with you is shibari. Seeing you tied up is one thing but seeing what kind of intricate designs he can place on your beautiful figure is an art form to him. He always offers his pet the choice of color. Sometimes you two talk about anything that comes to mind, others however you must be in your best behavior. "Good pets don't bark unprompted. Try that again and we'll have to refresh your training."
His dirty talk is an intoxicating combination of degradation and praise that keeps your breath in your lungs. "Such a sad little creature, I haven't even done much to warrant this much of a reaction from you. And yet, look at the beautiful mess you've become." Your moans are his favorite symphony and he is but a humble composer. Often using toys to bring you pleasure, vibrators strapped to your tied form, always being pulled away if you get too close to cumming. Blindfolds to keep you guessing what would come next, gags if you get too lippy for his tastes.
He absolutely is just in it to watch you come undone under his touch. Edging you for hours to the brink of tears, seeing how far he can push you before you disobey and act out of line. Often avoiding your hole and opting to tease the rest of your body, featherlight touches dancing around your eager body. Being a greedy brat is often met with a fierce reminder to your sensitive skin. His often marks your skin with a riding crop, although if you've learned your lesson he might honor your skin with his handprint.
"I suppose you've been good enough to warrant release, my sweet pet, do you wish for me to take you now? To finally ravish you? To claim you as my own?" He eventually pities you enough to ravage your hole with his Eldritch cocks, although a collection of smaller tentacles, he has complete control over each of them, often twisting them into one cohesive appendage. Every single one of your sweet spots inside of you thoroughly ravaged as he expertly angles individual tentacles to mercilessly bring you release after release. He only officially marks you right at the pinnacle of his release, sinking his fangs into the crook of your neck as his cocks pulse deep inside of you, pumping fertile eggs into your warm body, a few of the cocks slithering out to coat your body in his essence, smearing his scent around your claimed body.
Ticket Taker
It's not surprising that Ticket Taker will train you and train you well. After all, good humans earn their place with obedience. He will Pavlov you into behaving with positive reinforcement. "Tell me what you want and it will be yours, but I will not stand for silence." It's surprisingly a good trust building activity between the two of you, a sense of intimate closeness and fully exploring each other's open boundaries, and a confidence builder for any insecurities you may have.
"I want you to look at nothing but my eyes, my dear." Your glazed eyes flicking up to his as his mirror form splits you open on its phantom fingers. The stretch filling your eyes with tears as you tried to concentrate on the simple order he gave you, only to give into your body and shut them only for a moment. "Ah ah ah, you know the rules," he tuts as the feeling of being full seemingly vanishes, a desperate whine escaping your pretty little throat.
If you have body image issues he's just the monster to fuck some sense into you. He'll position reflections of every sinful angle so you can watch his grooved cock sliding deep within you, your stomach bulging out at the overwhelming curves of his smooth ridges. "Your beauty is marvelous, my dear, look at yourself," he firmly grabs you by your chin moving it towards one of the mirrors, the sight of your disheveled body something out of a fantasy. "I want you to list off the qualities that you like about yourself as I take you to the edge of oblivion."
Some nights when he's especially pent up expect his mirror doppelgangers to join in on the night's indulgences. Spit roasting, Eiffel towers, double penetration, even him just allowing his mirror images to turn you into a breathtaking sight as he finishes up his work for the evening.
When he does reach his limit he opts to claim you from the inside out, his ribbed cock inflating into multiple knots as he pumps his cum into you, often seeping out from your opening. He rarely ever allows his knots to deflate before gingerly pulling from you, opting for immediate aftercare, always praising you for your performance, even going as far to highlight his favorite parts to boost your ego.
Doctor
Doctor is immensely curious about every single facet of your body. It's no surprise that he'd make every instance into an experiment after the first time you had vanilla sex. (His control for future intercourse). Anywhere from watching how you squirm away from hot wax dripping on your warm body, to your startled gasp when an ice cube was pressed to your nipples. But his favorite so far has to be using you as his personal anatomical model. Taking a marker and intricately drawing representations of your internal organs where they lie beneath your delicate skin, annotating terminology accordingly. Using your body's curves as guides for muscle groups, tracing your pulse points drawing snaking lines where your arteries and veins lie.
Although if you bring up the obvious roleplay with him he'll not only find it amusing but also indulge your wishes, if that's what his sweetie wishes. Your arousal is intoxicating to him regardless of what you decide on. The way your heart races, the change in blood pressure, the way your body screams out its desires in its silent language he would spend centuries to decipher. If you turn the tables on him and try to run your own diagnostics on him for a change you'll hear a genuine chuckle, "my sweetie wishes to be my personal nurse? How can I object to such a tempting mutual learning experience."
It's not uncommon for the Doctor to accidentally nick you with one of his claws, the smell of your blood sometimes sending him into a frenzy. Licking at the wound, throwing away any chances of a meaningful experiment he allows his impulses to take hold. Gutteral growls and snarls replace his usual mutters of hypotheses. His frantic movements sometimes cause more scratches and more blood to rise to the surface. His cock straining painfully for any form of friction. His hands frantically try to prepare you for him, using whatever control he has left to not wound you internally with his claws. "Sweetie, I fear I cannot hold back any longer. I must take you as you are."
Normally he prefers a few hours to your preparation if you agree to penetration. His cock is the most well endowed of the troupe, fitted with multiple ridges that increase in thickness, the curve dangerously similar to a hook. Every ridge accompanied by a metal ball of his jacob's ladder, and a prince albert to boot. He always lubes himself and your hole to avoid any potential tearing, but when he gets this worked up he just squeezes a sloppy amount in his hands and gives himself a few strokes before lining himself up at your entrance. "I know, I know, sweetie. Just a little more." he gently lies to you as his cock stutters inside you, each ridge popping inside you stretching you to your limit.
Once he's fully seated inside you he allows you to accommodate only for a moment before dragging his cock out of you, his thrusts starting off as gentle before escalating to a brutal pace once he was confident you could handle it. His cockhead pummeling against your sensitive walls causing him to growl at the sensation. His hand snakes down in between your bodies to bring you further pleasure as if his overwhelming body wasn't enough. He simply just wants to push you to your limits and see your reactions, feeling your body's reaction to his was intoxicating enough. He always cums deep and hard, thrusting roughly in between pulses to guarantee any chances of impregnation, biology be damned. After a moment he pulls out to watch your body spasm, making mental notes of how his cum seeps out of you. Next time if he angles your body just right, maybe more of his cum will remain inside you.
Imagine playing an elaborate game of Hide and seek with them... But you're really determined not to loose
Not your fault that you're good at their game
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
A/n: an idea... Hehe enjoy
Oh btw, I think this will have a few endings... I'll post them separately but will try to link them once they're up. Hope you enjoy:)
Tw: mentions of reader being eaten, fear, some dark themes maybe, being chased, Harlequin being Harlequin, slight mentions of explicit things
Disclaimer: This is a work based on an 18+ visual novel, and even though there is not much explicit content here, it is not intended for those underage
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
"Looks like our little pet is getting agitated" Jester mused after yet again you tried to sneak out of the circus.
"You know, dear guest, this was unnecessary and out of line..."
"This is dumb. I'm allowed to leave the tents. I've left before"
"Not without informing us first" Ticket Taker says. What you hear is 'not without permission'.
"Darling, you know how easy it is to kidnap people," Jester's tone carries slight notes of mockery.
You sigh, "Seeing as I am practically kidnapped by all of you right now... Yeah, I do"
"We just worry for your safety, My Lady" Pierrot's head rests on your shoulder, so you have to turn to grab his face in your hands. A light blush coats his cheeks at your action.
"As much as I love you, Pierrot, and as much as I want to believe it, I'm afraid you're the only one who is actively concerned for my safety in this case. The others... just really like telling me 'no', for some reason"
That earns a chuckle from Jester.
The Doctor cocks his head to the side: "It is hardly our fault your reactions to refusal are so... intriguing. Ranging from bickering and giving a cold shoulder to outright disregarding whatever we say."
"Is that so? Maybe I should add rearranging your supplies to the range... Or running away from the circus and getting married in Vegas?" You cross your arms and pout, feeling even more outraged when Doctor takes out a notebook and jots something down.
"Perhaps your energy should be redirected elsewhere... How about a game, darling?"
"A game? What, like hide and seek?"
"Could be hide and seek"
★☆★
"You'll have an hour to hide... Anywhere, wherever you desire"
You bite your tongue tempted to ask if you could buy a plane ticket and leave the country in that one hour... If you timed it right and was very lucky you'd probably manage it.
"Once the time is up we begin our hunt"
"Weird word choice," you mumble
Their smiles widen.
"Be assured dear, this word choice is intentional" Harlequin leans into your personal space, curling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. He's making it hard to focus.
"Alright... And once you capture me..."
"Once you're caught... You're at the complete mercy of your captor"
"What?" This sounds absurd, so it takes for Jester to reiterate it, for it to trully sink in.
"Once you are caught... We'll do as we please"
"Oh..." You stare at your feet for a few seconds
They all wait patiently for you to say something else.
"Did- did you have dinner tonight? You're... Not hungry are you?"
It takes them a moment to process your question, before they laugh.
"Your worried face is adorable"
"There are different types of hunger, dear... And I'm already starved for you" Harlequin runs his fingers down the side of your face and stops at your pulse point. He presses lightly to feel it beneath his fingers
"My Lady, don't take him seriously, we won't eat you"
"Thanks..."
"It would do you well to remember, darling, that Pierrot can only promise for himself... The night is long... Who knows how we'll feel about devouring you by the end of it..." The whole situation seems to be highly amusing to Jester.
Your eyes widened again at this.
He grins, "I merely jest"
Despite yourself you let out a giggle. It's rare to have Jester in such a good mood... He must be thoroughly enjoying the whole ordeal.
"Be assured, guest, your death would inconvenience us, we shall refrain from harming you, as long as you follow the orders"
"Leave it to Ticket Taker to validate your feelings and make you feel needed" Harlequin laughs.
You send Harlequin a small smile, before asking a question that has been bugging you for half of the conversation:
"And if you don't succeed in getting me?"
"I wouldn't worry your pretty head with that improbability. We have the entire night"
"I don't think this is very fair. You guys have a clear advantage. I mean, there's five of you... And I'm only one"
"Ah, but here's where you're mistaken, darling... We do not like to share." There was a dangerous glimmer in their eyes. You realised they would not be playing as a team... No... For this night they'd be enemies, all striving to win. And you're the prize.
They savour your expression for a moment, before Jester gives you a little shove.
"Now run along little mouse. Hide. Run. Do what you like... We already know how this ends"
His words are enough to send you sprinting out of the tent and into the night.
★☆★
That was 40 minutes ago. Now you were wandering the streets. Still 20 minutes of protected time and you were keeping a steady pace, trying to put as much distance between yourself and them as you could.
You had to silence your phone 10 minutes into the game - it was going off incessantly with messages from Harlequin - brainstorming what he'd do to you once he caught you. Apparently waiting was taking a toll on him if he decided to bombard you with such very descriptive imagery.
At the 45 minute mark your phone rings. You automatically decline. Harlequin has tried calling you 10 times in the past 10 minutes. He really is getting impatient. Apparently just texting you his fantasies isn't enough anymore.
It buzzes with a text. With a sigh you take it out, fully intent on blocking Harlequin for the duration of the night. Will it make him more vengeful if he catches you? Definitely. But at this point you're willing to take your chances. Besides. Him catching you is only a 1 in 5 probability.
There are worse candidates to piss off. Like Jester.
The text is from Ticket Taker. Brief and to the point:
"It would do you well not to decline Jester's calls next time, doll. You wouldn't want to anger the one who could hold your fate in his claws by the end of the night..."
Ah... Guess you jinxed it.
You try dialing Jester again a few times. But apparently he's taking pleasure in declining your calls after you declined his. Great.
Instead, you call Ticket Taker. He picks up, bit it's Jester who speaks, "Darling, learn to pick up your phone. You have it for a reason"
"Sorry...I thought it was-"
"I'm aware. Which is why I'll let this one slide"
"Really?"
"No" there is laughter and mirth in his voice, "I'll consider it. The events of the night can sway my opinion," he muses, "speaking of...There is a slight change in rules"
"Midgame?"
"Yes. We'll start our hunt a bit early"
"How early?"
"Now"
"What? But- that's not-" you sputter.
"Unfortunately your lack of engagement made Harlequin really impatient. He has already started. And we can't have him get an advantage, can we? Besides... Pierrot is not taking the wait well, especially now that Harlequin is out and about"
"Of fucking course it was Harlequin" you mutter.
"I wouldn't waste your breath on curses, darling, now, run along, don't make the chase end too soon... Make it interesting"
★☆★
By the third hour you get an inkling that perhaps this was never meant to be a simple game. Perhaps they treated it as more of an elaborate foreplay than an actual competition. Perhaps you were meant to let them catch you. You debate searching for one of them. But quickly brush the idea aside. Then you debate calling Jester or Ticket Taker... Probably not Harlequin... To ask for clarifications... But you can easily imagine how that conversation would go:
"Hi, I'm a bit dense. Was this meant to be foreplay or something?"
No... You are not ready for that type of humiliation yet.
Besides. You've already made up your mind. You would really love to see their faces at dawn. After you have successfully evaded capture. You can practically taste the sweet flavour of victory... Oh that would be just marvelous... Simply exhilarating. The mere thought of beating those monsters at a game you were never meant to win fills you with adrenaline and it's all you need to keep going...
You always had a bit of a competitive streak. It made everything that much more fun...
★☆★
Four hours in and you get a call from Pierrot. You contemplate letting it go to voicemail, but begrudgingly pick up. He tends to worry more than necessary. And while it's endearing... It's probably not great for his state.
Besides, he should not suffer just because Harlequin annoyed you into not picking up calls (that already happened with Jester and you had no interest in expanding the list of people you ghosted).
"My Lady? Are you alright?" His tone is laced with concern, making your heart swell.
"Of course I am, why? Should I... Not be... Alright?" You laugh nervously.
"We haven't caught you yet, I thought something happened to you."
"Oh Pierrot, I promise I'm alright. I'm just really good at running and hiding."
"You are, My Lady, but I'd prefer you didn't. At least not from me. I miss you already."
"I promise, once the game is over, I'll give you as many cuddles as you want, deal?"
"But My Lady, you could tell me where you are now... And we wouldn't have to wait," he sounds so convincing you're tempted to give in.
You chuckle, "But Pierrot, that's probably against the rules"
You can sense him pouting through the phone. You're about to say something more comforting, when you notice a looming presence out of the corner of your eye. Instead, you say:
"Pierrot? I gotta go, unless you want me caught by someone else"
You turn towards the figure, stuffing your phone back in your pocket. Tall, broad shoulders. Would be very very intimidating if you didn't know him as well as you do, and even now in the dark, illuminated by the moonlight, he still sends shivers down your spine.
"Hey," you try for a casual greeting. You did not expect to be caught so quickly.
He nods in acknowledgement, his soft steps resonate quietly on the ground as he approaches slowly.
"Your little escapade is about to be terminated"
"Interesting hypothesis, I'd love to disproove it"
"I'm afraid you don't have a chance, sweetie, I do not like leaving my patients unattended for a long time" he smiles and approaches you, there is soft fondness in his demeanour, which goes in dissonance with his menacing figure.
"Ah, but tonight I'm more of a riveting experiment, you must agree... And experiments are not to be interfered with"
"I've had enough impartial observations for tonight, dear, I would like to move on to a more hands-on approach"
"How did you track me down?" You try to prolong the conversation, giving yourself precious seconds to find a way out. You can't have this end so soon.
"You will be disappointed, sweetheart, pure chance... Or perhaps good intuition of what my patient likes"
You hum noncomitally, a plan already half-formed in your head. It's only fair you use any and every means of escape you have, you reason. Especially considering you're not caught, yet...
Jester told you to make it interesting... And you will...
You begin your motion, careful not to alert him. Though you're already certain he clocked in that you're up to something.
"You do know me pretty well..."
In fact, you have an inkling he even knows what you're about to do... In vague details... But is letting you proceed, curious to where it may lead...
"Well enough to know you do not intend to give in so easily... Tell me, why is that?"
"A secret," you grin.
"You must be mistaken, sweetheart, a patient does not have secrets from their Doctor... I am disappointed my favourite one would forget such an important rule"
"That's fair... I suppose I just enjoy the thrill and the taste of freedom.. or maybe I just want to win."
The lights right ahead signal the approaching bus, you pay it no mind, afraid even a flicker of eyes in that direction might betray your intentions. No, until the very last moment you will not look.
"You look mesmerising... When your heart pounds in your chest and adrenaline courses through your veins," he observes, "It is a good look on you"
The bus stops.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I think I might have to reschedule my appointment," you say before making a mad dash for the already closing doors.
He watches the bus drive off with an almost fond smile. He was always one of the most lenient towards you, somehow.
You get a text message:
"Of course, sweetheart, the Doctor always wants what's best for their patient. But I do hope to rendezvous with you tonight once more... Perhaps you won't run off the next time"
You grin. His response makes your heart beat just a bit faster. That and how he always manages to clock in your every mood and craving - much how right now you absolutely need to continue the game (and to win, of course)
★☆★
You halt at the train station to catch your breath. The lit up sign says the next one out of town is in 10 minutes. Of course you weren't planning on leaving. That's not the point of the game. Which by the way, has really grown on you. But it was a very good opportunity to tease your favourite monsters.
You take a photo, posing where they could see the sign and the ticket purchasing machine.
And scramble to get some distance between yourself and the station before sending it to the group chat.
You: Jester told me to keep it interesting and the prices are low enough... Is that entertaining enough for you?
Pierrot: My Lady?
Jester: I didn't take you for such a fool as to give us a beacon of your location
Doctor: Such an unpredictable subject...
Ticket Taker: An inconvenience is more accurate. I told you she'd pull a stupid stunt like this
Harlequn's was the most concerning. It came a minute after the others and was a photo of the very station with a caption "Nowhere left to run... Since you can't escape anyway, you might as well review the texts I sent you while waiting"
Such a cocky text. It deserves an equally arrogant response:
You: dumbass. You'd think I'd send you a pic from my actual location? Try again:)
★☆★
The forest was a stupid idea after all... You'd think that they all would stick to the city... The actual place you'd most likely to be at... But somehow, Harlequin and you had both ended up in the forest. In the exact same spot. Cool...
His eyes glimmer a menacing green in the dark, like two emeralds. You take a step back, contemplating whether running back was still on the table. Probably not anymore... His agility was something to be envious of.
"Looks like I win, and I'm here to claim my prize"
You purse your lips.
"Technically, you still didn't catch me." You state stubbornly.
"Really? You still insist on not loosing? Hah... Let's wrap this up quickly and get to the fun part, what do you say, hm? What would you count as me catching you?"
If you were going to loose, you might as well make the loss fun for yourself, "You'd probably have to pin me down or wrap your arms around me."
His grin widens, "Oh how I love when you get so bold, my dear," he takes a slow deliberate step towards you, savouring the moment, no doubt, "Let's not make a technicality halt us then."
Neither of you get a chance to get much further, as Harlequin gets struck in the shoulder by a dagger. You yelp in surprise and look around in alarm before spotting a grim looking Pierrot. And he has at least a few more daggers on hand.
"Pierrot... Right on cue to ruin the moment... If I felt more charitable I'd have suggested you join in, but I don't share"
Before you can so much as blink Pierrot is on Harlequin. They merge into a blur of taunts and fists and maybe knives.
You take a tentative step back. They don't notice - too engrossed.
"I'll uh... Leave you guys to it" you give the two fighting figures a thumbs up before running out of the forest.
Technicalities fucking matter
★☆★
You halted only for a few minutes, to catch your breath, and on a rooftop, no less. How in hell did Ticket Taker manage to find you that quickly... You would never comprehend it.
He stood, hands behind his back, calmly surveying as you desperately intake the cold night air. Your whole body felt heavy and tired, so your rather less than graceful leaning on the railing could be excused. It took you embarrassingly longer than it should have to spot him. In fact, you only noticed his presence once he placed his jacket over your shoulders.
The sudden grounding heaviness of it startled you. Your legs almost gave out under you.
It was stupid to think you'd get even a few minutes of a reprieve. With shaking arms you pushed yourself from the railing, stumbling, but ready to run at a moment's notice, he nodded in acknowledgement.
"I wouldn't do that, dearest"
You frown, "Of course you wouldn't want me to start running. I'm easier to catch if I don't"
"You look too tired to even make it down the stairs. It would be advisable to rest"
You heart was still pounding in your chest - undecided whether from all the running, the jumpscare he gave you or from having his jacket over your shoulders, while he stood mere centimetres away from you.
He surveyed the night city, while you were still catching your breath. Now that the adrenaline and the constant anxious pounding in your skull over getting caught subsided, you were immensely grateful for his jacket. Only now did you notice how chilly the air was and how absolutely frozen you felt. You huddled the jacket tighter around your frame.
He glanced at his pocket watch, "Rest time is over. Now, we shall proceed with what I have planned for this eventuality" his lips stretched into a smile, as his gloved hand reached towards you.
Before he could touch you, you pushed off the railing, taking a few steps back.
"Tsk. Didn't I tell you that obedience looks better on you? I shall be disappointed if we waste precious time here because of you"
You were eyeing the exits, your mind running ten miles a second, coming up with escape plans and routes. But help and an opportunity of escape came from the least expected source.
"No need for such haste, Bil," a dark hand fell on Ticket Taker's shoulder. He seemed startled at it and at the silky words of the speaker.
You were already inching yourself towards the exit. Jester crossed the distance, halting your escape and blocking you from Ticket Taker with one arm.
"Jester? I thought we were above such petty squabbles, unlike certain other members of the troupe"
"Rest assured, dear friend, we are. Unfortunately, those very members of the troupe left quite a mess. It must be dealt with."
You take your chances where you can:
"Nice move, Jester, send him away to deal with the mess to have your way with me unobstructed"
Jester narrowed his eyes at you, but snapped his attention back to Ticket Taker:
"Really now, Jester? The girl was mine... And I do not appreciate my schedule being interfered with"
You leave them to discuss it alone. It'll buy you a minute tops - they really are above petty squabbles and can easily spot your attempts to sow discord... But you'll take what you can get... Besides, a busy street is right around here somewhere. Getting lost in the crowd is exactly what you need right now...
You feel two pairs of eyes burn into your back as you disappear amongst strangers and street lights.
★☆★
The two figures on the rooftop sighed at your departure into the night. The taller one clad in dark purple turned to the other:
"I didnt expect her to be so stubborn in her escape. One could think she'd be smart enough to recognise this game for what it is."
A beat of silence.
"You don't think she truly believes we'd devour her? She should know by now that we have no such inclinations towards her"
"Hmm, our inclinations towards her are..." Jester gestured vaguely, searching for a word, before settling on: "Different. That is true..."
"Perhaps your attempt at humour earlier frightened her" Ticket Taker ponders, a quiet jab at his friend
"I think we have simply miscalculated."
"Miscalculated? You?" There is incredulity in his tone
"Our darling Y/n is a bit more clueless and has a far deeper competitive streak than I imagined... Still, makes the victory that much more sweeter."
★☆★
You shivered as the sky slowly turned from midnight to a dark violet, soon to be rosy with sunrise. The jacket Ticket Taker so courteously lent you - what a gentleman - provided meager warmth as you huddled it tighter around you. You walked the empty streets, briefly wondering if the monsters have given up on finding you.
You shoot them a quick "given up yet?" text and see 5 typing bubbles. A few second later you receive your responses:
"Of course not, My Lady" - Pierrot, ever so sweet.
"No, but you should... If you let me get you now, I promise to be merciful~" - Harlequin, the flirt he is...
"Fascinating confidence for someone right within my reach" - Jester, his mysterious and thinly veiled threats that sent your heart racing just like his compliments and affection did. He truly had a way with words.
"No. I have quite a lot in mind I want to do which would require your assistance" - Doctor, ever so blunt, so forward with his intentions
"You have already taken more time out of our schedule than you ought to. Let's not prolong the inevitable, dearest. Now, be a good girl" - Ticket Taker, he can be so uptight... But just as charming when he wants to be
They were persistent. And you've had a lot of close run-ins throughout the night. They remained ever so determined to get you.
You smile softly at the memories. You are rather fond of them. Perhaps fondness is too weak of a word... With the cool night air and sky the colour of violets another word burrows it's way into your mind - Love. It startles you slightly... But settles in so naturally in your mind you can't refute it.
The game is coming to a closure. A shame. It was fun... It would be nice to maybe watch the sunset rise on some rooftop and then show up to the circus beaming with victory. Or maybe it would be more fun to... Let one of them catch you... After all, it's not a complete loss for you if you let them. And there just might be one who really deserves a win...
★★☆★★☆★★☆★★
A/n: let me know what you think and I'll start on some of the endings... Soon... Yeah
Hii how are you?? I have a question could you continue the Pierrot/Jester/Harlequin x F!reader fanfic?? I love to read angst 😭(feel free to ignore this)
Here you go, hun :
art by @konknonbi
Pierrot/Jester/Harlequin x F!reader
"Did you know some animals eat their offspring when they sense danger...?"
Angst, hurt/barely no comfort
[Part 1]
You wake up in a gasp, breathing loudly, sweat rolling down your forehead.
You blink repeatedly, your eyes getting accustomed to the ambient darkness before taking support on your elbows, realizing with a moan of pain that you have a perfusion.
"Easy, (MC)" A deep growly voice resonates next to you.
"Doctor…" You gather your pieced mind as he checks your pulse and take off the perfusion gently. "Where…?"
"We are in a camp."
"A camp?"
"For our kind."
You gulp, lowering your gaze, guessing without too much difficulties that Jester must have made promises to allow you inside.
"I see…"
"Are you dizzy? Is your head spinning?" He asks, pressing a stethoscope to your chest, sitting on the side of the bed.
"Why was I…?" You don't even bother ending your question, you already know, "Jester."
"He thought it was for the best. Do not hold it against him, (MC). It was an urgent and perilous situation."
"I know." You push the cover off your body to raise in a sited position, head in your hand, "I feel like a truck run over me…"
"Do you want a little boost?"
You remain still for a short moment, appreciating the darkness around you.
Why did Jester put you to sleep?
You went to the Circus earlier, and…
And…?
"No." You giggle without joy, "I know about your kind of little boost, Doctor. I'll try without it first."
"Suit yourself."
"Am I free to leave?"
"I do not see why not, but return at the first sign of weakness."
"Okay, I-"
"Silence over there!" A pissed off voice whispers behind you.
You turn your head, only to realize the tent is way bigger than you first anticipated. A dozens camp beds are displayed, filled with adults or children. Some nurse are taking care of patients while other talk to another doctor with low voice.
"Doctor…"
"Yes?"
"Be honest with me. What was the price to allow me in?" You ask with a dry throat, your fingers curling over the bed bar you are sitting on.
He remains silent for a moment, looking through your soul behind his mask, arms crossed on his wide chest, before taking the floor.
"Jester refused to share the information. He told us he will handle it himself."
You look at his expressionless mask with a sigh, before shaking your head.
"I see…"
You stand up, almost sitting back down with vertigo, but hold on. Doctor offers his arm as support and you take it with an affable smile.
"Thank you, my friend." You murmur.
He escorts you to the opening of the large tent, releasing you at the entry.
"I need to look over the rest of our patients."
"Of course. Don't forget to rest too."
"Will do… Friend." He nods, "Your husbands are talking with the heads of the camp."
He opens the tent for you, making you squint in the harsh sun and you leave, hugging yourself.
Monsters and creatures look over their shoulders when you walk past them, some whispers, some hiss like snakes. You lower your head and keep walking.
You're not here to cause trouble.
You're only here because… Because…?
You stop, gaze on your shoes with a mute voice.
The point of your shoes are burned… Like…
And it returns to you like a punch.
The crowd of humans.
The circus on fire.
Bil who tried to pull you out of it
And
And…
Pierrot, Harlequin and Jester… And your babies…
And the blood…
You let out a whine, mouth pressed to your mouth, curling over yourself in the middle of the camp.
You did not imagine anything.
They… They ate them!
They ate your babies.
Their babies.
They dug their teeth into them and teared the flesh apart from the bones.
You gasp for air like you were back into that burning tent, at a loss for a breath. You feel your heart sprinting into a panic attack, as your legs wobble and your vision doubles.
You try to regulate your breathing, but your throat is so tight, no airflow can pass. You are panting in the middle on the camp, knees in the dirt, while the other monsters look at you with… Perplexity.
Some take a step to the side to avoid you, other stop to look at you with a modicum of worry. Other just sniff with disdain. Why should they care for a human anyway? None of your people cared for any of them before, after all.
You jump with a yelp when a large hand is pressed in your back.
"My Lady…" Pierrot softly says, kneeling next to you, "Are you alright?"
You look at him.
Your red clown.
Your husband in carmine.
Father of your son.
Eater of his offspring.
Your double vision placates his expression of that day on his face, the blood splattered on his chin and mouth, his garment soiled with fluid and entrails, his eyes so sad on you, discovering the truth about them all.
Of what they truly are deep down.
Of what they are truly capable of.
You gag instantly, feeling your empty stomach spasming, trying to physically expulse your ire and disgust for them.
He stays at your side, keeping your hair out of the way just in case.
"I… urgh…" You gag one more, slowly calming down, "I am alright… I think…"
You pant a little more, slowly building back control.
You stand up by yourself, without his help, hugging yourself tighter.
"I am okay, Pierrot. Stop looking at me like that."
"Like… What?"
"Like you…"
'Care. Stop looking at me like you care.'
"Like I am about to die." You prefer to say.
He stands back up immediately, his hand like he was about to hug you, but hesitates. Finally, he lets it drop, his expression uncomfortable and out of place.
"I am glad you woke up, my Lady." He admits meekly.
"I don't know if I share the sentiment, to be honest." You look away, arms crossed on your chest.
"I… Have no difficulties imagining why." He gulps, "But for all its worth, I am relieved."
"… Thanks. Where is Jester?"
"Over there." He points.
"Good." And you leave him there.
He starts following you with his long strides, but a sigh out of you makes him freeze.
"Pierrot… No."
He lowers his head in defeats, but do not take another step, letting you go.
You clench your jaw in silence. For now, you have to endure it.
Endure them…
You notice your purple clown from a mile away, discussing with two other creatures. He chose to discard his big hat, but kept his circus attire. He had the careful thought to clean it beforehand.
They notice and turn to you, and Jester has the presence of mind to not say a thing.
"Human." The tall female nods to you, "What do you want?"
"I want to know the bargain." You respond a bit dryly, on edge to be near the Jester. "Why did you accept me in?"
The male and female look at each other he takes the floor.
"You're not the only one who lost a baby here, human. We all share the loss of something."
You breath through your nose, feeling Jester's presence burning your skin.
"So? You did not accept me in just for that? What did they promised you?"
"I-" the Jester starts, but a glare from you shuts him up.
Usually, he would never tolerate such attitude toward his person. But he knows he is on thin ice with you.
"He said you could help us with some camp managerial tasks."
"Is that all? Just… Organizing things?" You raise an eyebrow in surprise.
They both sniggers.
"No human. We thought about armed negotiations."
You open your eyes wide.
"…What?"
"We will explain to you later, for now, I think you two have things to talk about, no?"
"…Do we really?" You hiss under your breath.
"Yes. We do." Jester interjects, a hand on your shoulder.
You resist the desire to flick it off, feeling your eye twitch at the contact as the two creature walk away to leave you some privacy.
"(MC)." He starts gravely, "You know we can let humans get their hands on the remains of our dead. Do you remember?"
"Yes." You spit, "But…! But… Eating them?!" You open your arms in a defeated fashion, "Jester…?"
He sighs, his stern expression and attitude quickly recovered after such an… event.
"This is who we are, deep down, (MC). The humans forced us to grow that instinct. For survival."
"We really are a convenient scapegoat, aren't we?" You growl, "Whatever faults you make, it is our doing. Do you take responsibility for any actions at all?"
He frowns, lowering leaning forward to be at eye level with you, pissing you off tremendously.
"Mind your tone, (MC). Your kind hunts us for sport. Do you know how it feels?"
"You kind hunts us for food. Do you want to know how I feel living among you?"
He hisses at you, baring his sharp teeth. You growl back, right in his face, high on your toes.
He straightens his posture with a sigh, combing his fingers in his hair.
"Listen, this is all too recent. You need to rest."
"I need to think. To make decisions. Radical ones." You lower back on your soles.
He considers you in silence, split between the desire to comfort you, and leaving you in peace.
He choses neither.
"Do you want to… See them?"
You raise an eyebrow at him, on the defensive, digging your nails in the meat of your arm.
"I… Yes." You reluctantly admit, "I want to see my babies."
"Come, dear."
_______________________________________
"Harlequin?" Jester calls.
You hear a pissed off growl before seeing your green husband, sitting in the dirt of the forest behind a huge tree, hugging black bags of fabric tight to his chest.
His eyes round up when he sees you and he immediately look away, shameful.
"She wants to see our babies, Harlequin. Could you give them to her?"
Harlequin growl again, finishing in a wine as he tightens his grip on the bags.
"Harlequin."
"Leave it, Jester. I'll handle it."
Your long haired clown looks at you with 'are you sure?' spelled in his purple pupils , but you just nod and signal him to leave you alone.
When he is far away, you sit down in the dirt, next to Harlequin. You press your knees to your chest, wrapping you arms around your legs.
"So… Do you intend to say something at all?" You demand, looking far away in the valley below you.
"… You must hate us now, don't you?" He asks, muffled by the bags.
"I did not decide yet, in fact." You admit, "I very well might."
"I see…" He gulps.
"Do you?"
"I do. I hate myself for what happened that day. I wished I noticed the flames sooner. I wish I was there in time for…" His sentences doesn't end, his voice cracking too early.
You gulp in turn, feeling tears rising again behind your eyes.
"When I held her from her bassinet and she was non reactive… I…! I… I lost my mind…"
You rest your chin on your knees, feeling your eyes getting wet.
"She was no more. She… She was dead, in my arms. My little doll."
Your heat pinches at his nickname for his daughter.
His cute little daughter.
His doll in green ribbons.
He presses his palms to his eyes with a shaky breath, letting a single sob escape his lips.
"You must think this is a pattern for us. Eating each other like that." He lets out a joyless snigger.
You hm in response. First Columbina, and now their own children…
Is it them? Is it a cruel joke of Fate?
You don't know and you're stuck between them all.
Isolated. From everyone.
You kind is far away and belligerent, the people here look at you like trash on the side of the road, and your husbands… You husbands look at you like they are afraid of you and your reactions.
And of themselves.
Only Doctor treated you like he always did. Neutrally.
Harlequin throws his head back with a long sigh.
"Here." He hands you the three bags reverently, "This one is-"
"I know who is who, Harlequin." You cut him harshly.
He visibly freezes, his eye twitching, but he remains silent.
"I mean… Thank you, Harlequin."
You take the bags, knowing exactly who is who with their weight and with your maternal instinct.
Even as just bones, they remain your little darlings, and you'd recognize them at first glances among any ossuary.
You hold the string holding the heaviest close, debating with yourself if you should opening it or not.
"Do not force that upon yourself, (MC). Those are ours, I didn't let go of them for even a second."
"I know… I know. I just…I do not know." Your shoulders lower, the weight of those little bags in your arms.
The weight of your children.
So light now.
"I just don't know what to do…" You sob, your entire body shaking like a leaf, hugging the little bags," Oh my god… My babies…! My sweethearts…! I don't know."
Harlequin remains still next to you, hands on his knees. Mute. Tired.
In fact, you feel like nobody knows what to do, not you, not Harlequin, nobody!
You just wind up here, all lost and without any baggage, stripped of all dignity, begging for help.
You had a life before them all! Couldn't you just return to it?
Reconcile with your family, move to a new city.
Restart anew. Fresh.
You snigger among your tears.
Jester would never allow you to be free of them after all that…
You leave with them or you leave in a coffin.
'Remember, pet. This is forever.' He whispered the night of your union.
And now you realize he was serious.
Whatever you do, you won't escape them.
It is them and you.
Forever.
"Do you want to be alone for a moment?" Harlequin asks.
"… Yes." You sob.
"I see…"
And he leaves you to your pain without any other word.
A Shattered Illusion- A TFC x Ringmaster’s Child Reader Oneshot!
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≫ An idea I had at like 3 in the morning. This Reader/MC is portrayed as the lone child of the old circus ringmaster, one who learns the true nature behind the performances after spending too much time in the dark.
≫ This takes place an unspecified amount of time before the in-game events, but I wanted this to feel like it takes place in a distant past. How distant that past is, though, I’ll leave up to you.
≫ CWs include: Depictions of death, starvation, cannibalism, violence/cruelty/abuse in many forms, sexual harassment, manipulation, religious allusions relating to Christianity (use of bible verses), and themes of blasphemy/heresy/apostasy/moral corruption.
≫ Word Count: 29.8k words. I got carried away… (ᵕ—ᴗ—) This is also crossposted on my Ao3 of the same name!
≫ Mild emetophobia warning! Brief mentions of v* and nausea. Stay safe and happy reading!
Your father always told you about monsters when you were small. Terrible and godless creatures that hid in the shadows and fissures beyond human society. Beasts sent from hottest hell to test mankind with their words and their deception.
They are not of this world, you’d hear him say. They use dark and wicked means to prey on the weaknesses of men, women, children, it didn’t matter. They crudely mimic human faces, hide amongst neighbors. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light, he’d recite.
Those stories scared you, made you hide under your covers at night. Your father would chuckle at your childish fear, and then warmly reassure you while readjusting your blankets that such beasts didn’t actually exist. They were stories made by the generations before you to warn against much more deceptive dangers—your fellow humans.
And you believed him. Why wouldn’t you? Your father was a smart man. He knew many things that others did not, and was right about many things. He knew how to work around people, knew how to keep himself and his lone child afloat after the death of your mother.
Whenever you’d try to make your own childish impulsive and stubborn decisions, he was always there, waiting for you to come back to him and admit that he was right, your gaze averted and words mumbled. He’d just smile knowingly at your (sometimes painfully) learned lesson. So you learned quite early on to trust in his judgements and decisions.
You had no reason to doubt him. And so you didn’t.
He raised you to be diligent and honest in all you did, but always warned you that the rest of the world was filled with sin and deception, and it would swiftly and unapologetically eat any unsuspecting person alive for one wrong move, one wrong decision. He raised you alone in the home you shared, always brushing off any ideas of you going out and doing things like exploring the world or meeting new people.
Such things are trivial, he said. Inconsequential distractions. Your duty was to your home, to your only remaining family, to him. Besides, the rest of the world was filled with all sorts of danger for such a good and naive soul like yourself. Be alert and of sober mind, he’d always tell you. Your enemy the Devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.
You weren’t trapped, and your father was never once cruel to you, but he made it clear that he expected certain things from you. And you obeyed. For the most part. You couldn’t help but daydream of more throughout your life, a habit your father said you inherited from him. You didn’t understand that at first.
When he came home to you one day with a grand and wondrous idea, a circus meant not only to inspire awe and excitement but also meant to incite renewed faith, you were amazed. What would that look like? What would it be like? How could those two things combine to create something unique?
You wouldn’t know, because your father kept it very hidden from all, including you. He’d sit all day in his study to do unknown things, and then sometimes go out for days or even weeks at a time on “business trips,” leaving you to care for yourself alone. All you knew was that one day, he came back from a work trip with strange ideas and even stranger new plans for his circus.
“With this circus, I’ll reveal the true nature of the creatures of the night. All will come, all will wish to see the shows unlike any other. They’ll be afraid. But I’ll show them that nothing is immune to being bent by human will. By God’s will.”
You didn’t understand what your father meant at all. Creatures of the night? Like the ones in little children’s stories and nursery rhymes? What did he mean? When you asked, he only gave a cryptic response that barely passed as an explanation.
People would travel far and wide to learn the meaning of faith and fear, he’d tell you. Fear is one of the things that leeches from a person’s heart and reveals their true nature. It could make warriors into cowards and criminals into saints. But faith is a thing just as strong and just as powerful if one knew to refine and test it properly. That’s what the circus would be for.
Your father held your shoulder with a determined look in his eyes while explaining his plans to you. He would use his circus to make the world a better place, and to bring you and him good and happy lives. It seemed he was quite adamant on making his ambition a reality.
You were hesitant. Your usually calm and collected father was sounding like a mad man. But he told you to trust him, to stay with him to help make his circus a success. And you agreed. (What else could you do?) The two of you packed your things and left your hometown behind to establish the troupe in another place.
The circus itself started out small, just a humble few tents on the outskirts of the town the two of you moved to. Your father oversaw the careful preparation and operation of the entire place, guiding you through your new life with words of reassurance. And you believed in his words, however doubtful you may have initially been. He had never failed you before, why would he fail in his endeavors now?
You were the one who stayed at the circus threshold, welcoming people in and bidding them goodbye on their way out and handing out flyers during the day. You were too young to see and fully understand the shows, your father told you. You trusted in his judgement, though not without light complaint. He just smiled and told you that you’d one day understand.
Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
But you’d hear people come and go, hear their whispers of what they saw in the tents. Beasts unlike any seen before. Fearsome creatures born not of any God. You couldn’t even sneak a peek at the performances if you wanted to—hired men stood at every entrance to keep secrets in and non-paying strays out. Even you, much to your dismay.
Time passed. You were young, nearly on the cusp of adulthood when the circus first formed. But now you were grown, and so was the circus. The shows and performances proved to be irresistible and entertaining, unlike anything any person had ever seen before. Your father flourished in this new life.
And yet, you hadn’t caught even a glimpse of the shows your father oversaw. You saw the people he hired, saw handlers and other troupe members who managed smaller things, but you never saw even a single second of the actual shows that drew people in. You were horrifically curious.
He always seemed to know when you tried to sneak past the curtains to maybe just see a glance, as he would always be waiting, gentle chastisement already prepared no matter what time it was.
“I ask that you trust me, child. You are not yet ready for what waits behind the curtains. I will show you one day, but that day is not today.”
Father’s scoldings and chiding always made you scoff in frustration. You weren’t his tiny child scared of beasts hiding under your bed anymore. He asked you to trust him, but why didn’t he trust you? You desperately wanted to know the secrets behind the circus. Was it all just people in costumes? Was it a series of frightening stories being told? How did he manage to frighten visitors so thoroughly through his shows?
He never told you. Your father was a very closed-off man, one who acted as though the entire world were his stage to put on a show for. He never spoke of your mother after she died, never spoke of his own emotions, and yet he also never remarried. Sometimes you wondered if you knew the real version of him at all.
So many questions. So few answers, even after all this time.
Such questions lingered in your mind one night while trying to sleep after the shows had long since finished. You and your father both shared a private living space, but he was away doing who knows what so often that it was basically solely your space at this point. He slept in his private closed-off office area more often than not.
You didn’t resent that your father was often away for long periods of time, away and busy with the circus and keeping it orderly and running smoothly. This place, this circus, it was his dream to bring truth to light for many people. Except you, it seemed.
Well. Maybe you resented your father’s absence just a little.
That resentment wasn’t quelled by his warnings and promises of the future. Instead, it only festered and grew with time. It made you want to go against the strict rules surrounding the performances. Why did father have to keep secrets from you about the circus the two of you worked to maintain? Keeping show business secrets from the public was one thing, but his own child?
It was strange. After all this time, you couldn’t find a reason why he wouldn’t let you watch any of the shows, or why he wouldn’t even let you get a glimpse of what hid behind the scenes after the curtains fell.
Father tried to buy your understanding and complacency with things he knew you liked. He tried to keep you sated with the money he gained from the performances, gifting you books on topics he knew you liked or supplies for whatever craft you indulged in or expensive things in general that, while given with good intentions, had an underlying emptiness beneath them.
You couldn’t explain that feeling. But it felt as though he tried distracting you with the very worldly possessions he once warned you about in his teachings of sin and indulgences. You asked for nothing, only occasionally getting small and useful things for yourself with your own allowance.
But Father had changed. That much was clear. But you never said anything about it. He was happier now. He enjoyed being the ringmaster of his circus. Wasn’t that a good thing? Why weren’t you completely happy?
Of course, you didn’t want to seem ungrateful or spoiled, so you thanked your father and refrained from asking so much about the shows for as long as possible, suppressing that aching curiosity as best you could. But you could still hear the performances and the crowds from across the entire circus, and even caught brief snippets of the horrors within them from the whispers of guests as they arrived and left.
All signs pointed to beasts and creatures that you hadn’t thought of since childhood. Your father always told you that those old tales were metaphors, warnings about plain things like speaking to strangers at night or remaining wary of the dangers in many other things. But could the performances really just be stories? What was it that visitors spoke of so often?
Something wasn’t right. Or at the very least, your father wasn’t being fair in keeping you from knowing about the nature of the shows for so long. You had been obedient and dutiful your whole life, surely you were owed just this one answer.
You sat up in your bed that night, thoroughly unable to sleep with all of your questions and aching curiosity. Father couldn’t keep you in the dark your whole life. He couldn’t keep you caged like this for the rest of your days. If he wanted you to be loyal to him and the circus, then you at least wanted to know the ins and outs of it.
The longer you thought about it, the more ridiculous it became. Not only did your father keep you in the dark about his circus that you worked at, but he did that for years! Keeping showtime secrets was one thing, but it was all just a series of acts at the end of the day. A series of acts that you had no idea about even after all this time.
For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.
Your mind was made up. You were going to find out just what made this circus so secretive, even from its own workers. It was highly unlikely the hired men who guarded the tents even knew what they protected. Just how important was this secret? You had to know.
Father wasn’t watching you now.
Tiptoeing past your private area and towards the main tent with a thin blanket draped over your shoulders to protect you from the night’s chill, you waited and watched from a hiding spot for the men guarding the entrance to switch their shifts. Surely they couldn’t stand outside the opening forever.
Lo and behold, you were right. The two men both walked off to meet their replacements and switch their shifts, and you quickly dashed inside the large tent as quietly as you could, grabbing the ends of your blanket to prevent any sort of excess sound or creating a tripping hazard.
The inside of the tent itself was obviously dark, rows upon rows of empty seats filling the large space. It felt incredibly eerie to see the stark difference between a place you usually heard so loud and crowded be so vacant. You walked around past the seats and towards the center, not entirely sure what you were looking for.
The cold and unwelcoming quiet was starting to get to you. Shadows moved in ways they shouldn’t and the emptiness seemed eager to swallow you whole if you stayed still for too long. You clutched your blanket tighter, yet you still felt unbearably cold. You bit back a shiver to reduce as much noise as possible, even if there was technically nobody present to hear you.
That was what you assumed until you heard a sound of scratching against metal, and hushed low voices accompanying it. Your first instinct was to hide from anyone who could potentially discover you here, but the way the voices sounded made you take a few steps towards the source.
At the rear of the center performance ring was an opening to a smaller area that you assumed would be for showtime props and equipment, but that smaller area was where the voices were coming from. The voices were quiet and weak, and you could detect a handful of distinct ones. But what really intrigued you were the sounds of lightly scraping metal and…chains?
“How long has it been now…?” A light series of taps against metal accompanied a hoarse voice.
“Too many moons to count.” Another voice, this one less hoarse but much more hushed.
“How much longer? Until it ends?” That voice was gravelly, almost tearful sounding.
“I don’t know.” The first voice again.
Your curiosity was almost painful now. What was happening with these strange sounding people? Why did all of their voices sound strained, raspy, or otherwise pained? Were these people in need of help?
Your unquenched thirst for answers was a sinfully tempting and dangerous thing, you knew that. But never before had you remembered that harsh lesson so vividly than when you pushed the curtains aside to investigate the voices behind the stage.
The first thing you noticed was how thick and stale the air was. Even in the near pitch-blackness you could tell that the room was squalid and stifled with filth. And then your eyes adjusted.
There, in the dark, inside a series of tall metal cages, were five pairs of unnaturally glowing eyes, each of them a different color. There was a golden yellow pair on the left, then violet, then green, then cyan, and then a mismatched white and blue pair. In the center of the dark room—uncaged—was a pair of light pink eyes.
Every single one of those eyes stayed glued on your own.
Your heart stopped. Theirs did too, evidenced by the way the entire world seemed to go silent and reduce to just that single room, that single moment. Your lungs halted, breath still caught in your throat at what you were seeing.
These people, these…things, they weren’t natural. You watched as the creatures remained still as statues, watching you with bright eyes and huddled forms, though you could tell just from a glance that they were far, far larger and taller than you, than any human for that matter. There was no way these were where those voices were coming from. Those voices sounded like people’s voices.
But these things could only be described as monsters. Unholy abominations. The things that go bump in the night.
Even in the darkness, you could just barely make out the outlines of their unnatural forms, horns and claws and other animalistic features that made your heart sink down to your stomach with every second you remained paralyzed there.
A shuffling sound in front of you made you finally snap out of your terrified daze, and you saw that the smallest beast—the most human-looking one—had inched away from you on the floor. It was feminine in initial appearance, but a glance down at its furred cloven hooves for legs proved a harsh reminder of the truth.
And yet, even with its apparent beastly form that was surely taller than you, it seemed to cower at your presence. It slowly backed away from you on the ground, chained wrists making just the slightest amount of noise in the dead silence. It was shivering, though whether from the cold or fear, you couldn’t tell.
Pink eyes stayed fixed on yours, awaiting movement from you. But you didn't move, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe or even think. This was all just too much to process. You were only able to take a single silent step back.
And then you suddenly rushed out of that back room behind the circus stage, unable to get the feeling of those eyes watching you out of your head. You just stayed there in the darkened performance area, unable to comprehend what you saw.
Monsters. Monsters were real. Your father knew the whole time. And he kept several of them chained and in cages as forms of show business. How did he manage to even procure such beasts? Why would he keep such creatures? Didn’t he say they were horrible and godless and hell spawned?
You clutched a hand on the fabric of your shirt over your heart, trying to calm it in any way you could. Your father told you that monsters were wicked and twisted beasts. Just from looking at their unnatural eyes, you saw hunger. Hunger and simmering anger waiting to boil over.
But you could have sworn you also saw fear in those eyes…
Their hushed words from before you went into that darkness were scared and full of sorrow. It couldn’t have been a trick, they didn’t know you were listening…did they?
None of this made sense. You had to get another look, had to make sure you that you weren’t seeing things or being deceived by some twisted trick.
All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing.
You slowly turned back to that curtain, and held your breath as you pushed it apart once more. Those bright eyes all bore into your own again, and you felt chills crawl across your nape. You tried not to look at any of them for too long, but it was the beast with pink eyes that drew your attention the most.
The beast, it…she seemed the most visibly afraid of them all. Unlike the others, she wasn’t behind iron bars. If someone else were to come in here, she would be the most vulnerable. The easiest to hurt.
You looked down at her shivering form, seeing how she tightly squeezed her legs together and curled into herself as if to cover and protect as much of her body as possible. Subtle, almost silent whimpers came from her throat. She looked and sounded afraid in a way you were sure couldn’t be faked. She looked terrified of being approached, of being touched, of being…
Your heart sank to your stomach.
Without a word, you knelt down to the cold floor, a series of chills traveling up from where your knee touched it. A low rumbling growl was heard from your left, and you turned slightly to see that the large golden-eyed beast was glaring at you, almost daring you to approach the monstress in front of you any closer.
Even though the creature was behind thick metal bars, you still felt like one wrong move would get you killed. Any stupidity here would swiftly be rewarded with a sobering set of deep gashes from long and brittle claws, or perhaps a brutal bite from sharp fangs. The possibilities were seemingly endless with these creatures, but you didn’t want to find out if that observation was accurate.
You slowed your movements, carefully and silently peeling the blanket around your shoulders off and placing it on the ground in front of the pink-eyed beast. You lightly pushed it towards her. She continued to look at you with fear in her eyes, so you didn’t move any further. Just raised your hands up in a universal harmless gesture that you hoped she understood.
You stood up slowly and carefully then, palms still facing the beasts to show that you meant no harm. Step by step, you walked backwards out of that pitch black room until you pulled those curtains shut. It was understood—or at least you hoped it was—that this would not be spoken of to anyone.
And just like that, those twelve eyes were piercing into you no more. You were alone in that dark performing tent, head buzzing with adrenaline and now shivering from the night’s chill without your blanket around your shoulders.
You couldn’t begin to imagine how cold it must have been on that dirty floor for that girl…beast…lady? You weren’t entirely sure.
A shiver went down your spine as you snuck back out of the large tent through a smaller hidden exit you barely managed to notice due to the moonlight shining through it. You rushed back to your private sleeping area, trying to forget what you saw in that darkness. Monsters. Creatures most foul and unseen by god.
Their eyes reflected nothing but hunger.
But you also couldn’t forget that look in those eyes. That look of primal fear. That look of frightened dread. Especially in that pink-eyed beast…There was no way that look in their eyes was mimicked or a simple trick. That fear was real. But so was that hunger.
An ache in your head and your heart made itself known that night. It made you toss and turn in your bed, unable to get rid of that feeling of being watched. Was it a twisted trick by those creatures? Was it your own mind and heart being affected by what you saw? You didn’t know.
All you knew was that you couldn’t tell anyone else about your late night venture into that secluded room. Not the other circus workers. Not any visitor. Especially not your father. You didn’t even want to think about what your father would do if he found out you saw the secret behind the curtains.
It was all just too much. It was too unreal. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if your mind was too clouded with the thoughts of those beasts. An idea came to your mind then, and you sat up in your bed again while fumbling around to find one of the journals your father gifted you a while back.
You found a pen as well, and with only the light of the full moon shining into your room, you began to write. You wrote down everything you saw, everything you felt. You even doodled what little you could see in that darkness in the margins of the pages.
You drew those creaking iron bars. Piercing sharp eyes that shone even without a light source. Claws and curved horns and pronounced bones beneath thinned flesh and skin clinging to them, evidence of starvation. Or were they naturally so grotesque looking? You didn’t know.
Your writings and drawings were messy and rushed, and you hadn’t realized just how hurriedly those thoughts spilled out of you. You took one last look at the scrawled words and pictures before shutting the journal and shoving it and your pen beneath your pillow.
Now that you had written out what you had done and how you had reacted to it, you were left with your lingering and conflicting thoughts about those creatures. Were they really as devilish and dangerous as your father and all his stories told you? Were they worse?
They didn’t look cruel or particularly violent, just…hungry. Afraid. Angry. Exhausted. You heard them speaking beforehand, surely they were intelligent. Did they only pretend to feel? Was this all part of some elaborate trap to tug at your heartstrings and lure you in to swallow you whole?
Your mind went back to that one pink-eyed beast. It…she didn’t seem as scary as the others. She surely wasn’t human, but perhaps there was a reason she was the only one who wasn’t behind thick iron bars. Maybe…
Maybe you should go back again and visit? Not tonight, that was far too risky. But maybe you could get some more answers some other night. But what were your questions?
You didn’t know. All you knew was that you couldn’t just move on from that. From them. Those unnatural creatures…Shadowed and sharp and no doubt dangerous in some form, but they still made your heart ache. They certainly felt protection for their own, didn’t they? That golden-eyed one reacted to you getting just a little closer to the pink-eyed one in a protective manner. Perhaps…they felt care?
So many thoughts swimming in your mind. It was a miracle you were able to sleep that night at all.
You dreamed of sharp teeth and piercing eyes. Beastly claws and broken voices and the stench of rusted iron.
————
Two nights had passed since that first encounter, both of them restless and filled with an inner turmoil you had to hide from all those you knew. It was hard to keep things from your father. Not only because you had never lied to him about something like this before, but because he was extraordinarily perceptive. But luckily, he was rather busy these days.
Busy doing what? And what was he doing with those caged beasts? What was he doing to them? Sinners or not, what right did your father have to keep them? How did they end up this way? How many of the other circus workers knew? None of this felt right.
That was why you quietly returned to the hidden room inside the large tent long after the sun had set and the other circus members had gone to retire. The moon’s light had waned, and it was harder to navigate your way into the tent, but you managed to sneak inside without being caught.
So there you stood outside the darkened room again, no less dreading how eerily quiet it was. But you shoved that hesitation down. You couldn’t show fear. Just in case these creatures really did prey on it.
Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil…
Fingers clasping the curtains that closed off the area, you took a deep breath and parted them like you had done two nights prior. It felt as though a wave of cold air had washed over you as you did that.
There they were. All six pairs of eyes looked into your own again. Gold, purple, green…they were all in the same order of cages as the other night. And the downturned pink eyed girl was still chained to the floor in front of you. Your eyes adjusted a little to the dark to see that the blanket you had given her was not present.
No. It was there. But it was shredded and torn to pieces, frayed scraps littering the ground beneath her. You noticed that there were similarly small remnants of your blanket lining the floors of the other beast’s cages. Your mouth opened slightly upon realizing what they had done.
They had split the cover among themselves and used the pieces to give themselves just echoes of warmth and softness in their cold metal prison.
It was dead silent for what felt like ages. You stared at each of them, just as they all stared at you. A heavy and instinctual fear began to gnaw inside your gut, and you contemplated just leaving. But you swallowed thickly, forcing your mouth to move.
“…You can understand me, can’t you?”
They said and did nothing. Just stayed hunched and cowering in their cages, appearing smaller than they were. But you knew better than to believe they were docile. You decided to try a different approach.
“Please. I want to know what…who you are. I want to know how you ended up like this.”
Still nothing. You looked down to the smallest beast lying on the ground in front of you. She wasn’t cowering as much from your presence, furred legs not squeezing together and trembling nearly as badly. A good sign? You felt your heart ache just a little at her frightened pink gaze, and you knelt down similarly to how you did the other night. You spoke softer this time, just above a whisper.
“I won’t hurt you. I want to understand.”
“Understand this: Go back.”
You nearly gasped at the raspy words spoken from one of the cages, and your head snapped to the direction it came from. It was from one of the cages in front of you, the one that housed the violet-eyed creature. Its eyes were far sharper now, evidently very disturbed at your presence. You were slightly too caught off-guard by the sudden words spoken from the beast that you failed to fully comprehend what it…he had told you.
“So you can speak. I knew you could.”
Your ever-so-slight enthusiasm at getting an actual verbal response was quickly followed by a low chittering hiss from one of the other cages, and you flinched at the unnatural yet vaguely serpentine sound. The green-eyed beast moved closer to its bars, almost as if waiting for a moment to strike if you dared to approach.
“Yes. We can speak. How unfortunate that you cannot listen.”
You frowned. You weren’t sure if they could even see your expressions. But something told you that they could see better in the dark than you ever could in any light. You took another deep breath.
“I’m not here to hurt or study any of you. I just want to know…” You trailed off for a moment. “What are your names? How did you end up here?”
Another low animalistic sound, but it came from the violet-eyed creature’s cage again. He sounded vaguely angered, shining eyes slanted in a way that made it apparent he was even more disturbed with your insolence.
“We already know who we are. Leave us be, wretched thing. And do not return.”
Before you could say anything to try to reason or protest, a deep and distorted trill came from one of the cages to your right. It sounded like a warning, a thinly-veiled threat. It was short, but it rattled in your chest for a long time.
“We can smell your fear. You would be wise to follow it. Do not indulge your curiosity.”
Your brow furrowed at that. But then a sudden and slightly spiteful surge of something dangerously close to confidence fueled you to respond.
“Well…maybe I wouldn’t have any fear if I knew who you are, if I knew your stories. I don’t know what you’ve gone through in this circus, but…”
You knew that your fear wasn’t entirely gone, and you didn’t pretend otherwise. But if you could just-
“Temper that naive thinking. Or we will do it for you.”
You angled your head downward at the blue and white-eyed beast closest to your right knowing what you would think, shame making your heart sink to your stomach. That’s right. These creatures owed you nothing. You were the one who could walk free, and they had no choice in whether or not they were disturbed.
“Forgive me. I just…People speak of demons and monsters and other creatures of the night, but I don’t want to live in that fear of the unknown. I want to learn. From you.”
Surely these beasts couldn’t have committed crimes awful enough to warrant this kind of imprisonment. But even if they did, you wanted to know why your father took it upon himself to cage them. What gave him the right when these beasts seemed to be able to reason?
A low breath came from the first cage from earlier, the one containing the purple-eyed beast. You saw the way his head slightly moved in a way that made his four long horns ever-so-slightly glint with nonexistent light.
“Look upon us. We can’t exactly stop you, can we? So go on. Live out this childish fantasy of yours. Your death waits in these cages. And we have no choice but to hear you.”
Your heart sank even further. Guilt and shame drove you to shift yourself backwards and away from the cages and slightly bow your head down in apology. You involuntarily remembered the way your father would always talk to you as if you were still a child unknowing of the world. Perhaps he was right, even as you defied him.
But now was your chance to prove both him and yourself wrong. Your voice turned low and remorseful as you continued to speak with your head held low.
“No, I’m sorry. You do have a choice here. Tell me to leave and I will. I won’t come back. But…I just want to know the truth. Your truth.”
It was quiet. The only sounds heard within the darkness were the occasional shifts of the metal chains the pink-eyed beast was shackled to on the floor. She had said and did nothing this entire time. Whether she was unwilling or unable to speak, you didn’t know. Pity clung to your heart at the thought of the latter possibility.
The other colored eyes in the darkness shifted slightly, almost as if each of the beasts were trying to gauge your reaction to the stillness just as much as you were trying to gauge theirs. Were they trying to see if you were lying just as much as you were trying to see if they were?
The golden-eyed beast to the left of you then spoke for the first time, and a chill went down your spine at its hoarseness and depth.
“Prove it.”
You couldn’t help but be somewhat confused at that. Prove that you were sorry? Prove that these beasts had a choice? Prove your resolve to learn? You weren’t sure which one he meant exactly.
But then you noticed how the beast clutched a scrap of torn fabric from your blanket beneath its…his claws. Prove that you were serious about what you meant. Prove that you weren’t a liar. Prove yourself by helping them, aiding them. A single blanket given to them meant nothing in this prison when the cold seeped into their very bones. Words meant nothing when actions could be taken. You nodded then, understanding what you had to do.
“I’ll do what I can.”
A frail and painfully naive sense of resolve formed in your heart right then. A resolve to learn about these creatures, these beings. It was your duty to help those less fortunate than yourself, after all. And though the violet-eyed beast made an unsubtle threat to your life earlier, you didn’t want to fully believe that these individuals were as ravenous and violent as they may seem.
And so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
You slowly stood up, knees beginning to ache from the cold and hard floor. The caged creatures all narrowed their bright-colored eyes at you. Step by careful quiet step, you backed out of that darkened area, fingers eventually brushing against the curtain that separated it from the main large tent.
“You have my word.”
————
At your very next late night visit to the cages, you had stuffed a satchel full with foods you hoped would be able to nourish the beasts. Remembering their claws and sharp teeth gave you something of an idea of what they could eat, but you packed a wide variety just in case. You packed enough for six of each item, enough for each caged beast to get a portion.
When you went back into that darkness, you said nothing, just offered them the items you had gathered with a promise to bring more. It wasn’t much for large creatures like them, you’d be the first to admit, but you’d try to bring more next time. One of the beasts let out a sound similar to a scoff upon hearing that.
“Next time? A bold thing, you are. Or gone mad. You must be, or you wouldn’t have returned.”
You didn’t say anything back, unable to argue with the fact that any sane person would probably run away screaming from this place if they were to steal even a glance at these creatures. You didn’t—couldn’t—deny that they still gave you chills with their paper-thin voices and unfamiliar sharp features.
But you didn’t want to let that fear become a law in which your life was governed by. You were already so isolated from the world by your father’s doing, and in a way—though you’d never dare voice it—you felt somewhat like a caged beast yourself. But at least your cage was gilded, and its bars were not nearly as cold as these ones. Guilt started to gnaw at your stomach.
You realized that you had yet to leave the beasts to their feeding, and you quickly rose to stand from the cold floor, not realizing that you had kneeled down to present the food to them. You asked if there was anything they needed in particular to regain their strength, anything that they strictly couldn’t eat.
It was quiet. You noticed the way their eyes darted to one another through their iron bars. It seemed like they were debating on whether or not to tell you something. Worry and concern flooded your veins. Had you offended them somehow?
Still nothing. It was the pink-eyed beast who had broken the silence, much to your surprise. It was the first time she had ever spoken. No, you did not offend them, she said. But it would take a long time for them to regain any strength. There was, after all, a rather especially nutritious source of food that was not available, one that you wouldn’t be able to procure.
She told you not to worry of it. That crucial means of nourishment wouldn’t be available in a place like this, let alone for one such as you. What she meant by that, you had no idea. But her pink gaze turned to the other colored ones in the cages, almost as if silently telling them something.
You decided not to meddle with their business. Not any more than you already had. You left after that, though not without several questions that you couldn’t bring yourself to ask anyone but yourself as you wrote in your journal like you did after the last two visits.
The next late night excursion into the darkness within the tent was two nights after the last, this time with more food and a small unlit lantern with matchsticks to light it. Your lantern did not go unnoticed, and the beasts questioned, as you realized they tended to do.
“Do you intend to behold us? Are you certain your fragile mind and heart would be able to handle it? Even the most decorated of soldiers have run screaming upon seeing us.”
You hesitated then. Was the green-eyed beast exaggerating? Surely they couldn’t be so frightening as to cause even soldiers to run away in fear. Curiosity was truly such an alluring and terrible thing. It fueled you to open the lantern and prepare to light one of your matchsticks. But before you could scrape one against the hard ground, a low groaning rumble came from one of the other beasts in the cages.
“Do not be so cruel as to grant us a sliver of warmth and then leave with it. Do not bring us light only to snuff it out.”
You were confused for a moment before you realized what the dual-colored eyed beast meant. It was kinder to leave them in cold darkness than to bring only flickers of light, of dangerous hope.
A subtle stinging pang of guilt made itself known in your chest. Not pity—these creatures would probably find insolence in that. Instead, it was a surprisingly familiar feeling of knowing heartache.
You knew what it was like to give up on any chances of freedom. Your father would keep you inside your childhood home, like a bird whose flight feathers had been clipped. Had you always been so agreeable towards your father? Was your curious and adventurous nature outgrown, or simply suppressed in order to please and appease him?
You remembered the moments of when your father would go on those long business trips, leaving you to fend for yourself while you were still a child. You were left all alone to educate yourself, to feed and clothe and clean yourself. You remember looking out your bedroom window and out towards the other children your age in the streets.
It would have been easy to go out and make a secret friend, to even have a secret lover. But you never once left your home. Your father placed his trust in you to be diligent and do what is right for yourself. But looking back, that trust felt more like a burden than a gift. A set of shackles binding you to your home. But even despite those thoughts and feelings, you never did disobey your father.
There was a sense of security, you realized, in staying in an unpleasant routine. It was predictable. Taking a risk and finding brief sparks of hope was terrifying for many reasons. The main reason being that there was a chance those sparks of hope would never become embers or flames, would never become anything more than fleeting reminders of what you could never hope to have. So why bother? Why bother when it would bring only pain?
You felt like you understood the beasts just a little more after that, though you didn’t voice it. Just nodded your head solemnly and put your matchsticks away, putting your lantern to the side. A silent display of understanding, though you weren’t sure if they realized just how much you understood.
Though perhaps you truly didn’t understand a thing about these creatures. They weren’t human, after all. Who’s to say they experienced emotions and feelings the same way you did? And you were always called dreadfully naive by those around you, including your own father.
Despite the thoughts of your own lack of knowledge of how the world and other people really work, you couldn’t help but think that the way the monsters released just the slightest bit of tension in their bodies reminded you of relief. Gratitude, perhaps, that they would not be seen by you. Or that they wouldn’t be given warmth only for it to be taken away.
Maybe this darkness, however cold and suffocating and miserable as it is, is a sort of sanctuary against the light of day for them. You still had no idea what they did during the performances. But you had a sneaking suspicion that the overhead lights of the stage were nothing short of suffocating.
You shouldn’t intrude on whatever chance at solace these beasts have. Not any more than you already have. You left without a word after that, unlit lantern and matchsticks clutched tightly in your hands.
It was probably a good thing that you didn’t light any of the matchsticks, you thought. Someone probably would have seen the light from within the tent, and you would have been caught sneaking into a place you weren’t supposed to know about.
…And you might have seen things you would never be able to forget.
————
The next visits, the fifth and sixth, played out very similarly to the previous ones. You brought food for the caged beasts, watching the thin flesh clinging to their bones fail to fill their skin. But they didn’t wither further away, either. It seemed the pink-eyed beast was right in her words about needing a great amount of time and effort to meaningfully gain any semblance of healthiness.
Internally, to nobody but yourself and your scrawled recounting of your visits in your journal, you had given the beasts names…Of sorts. They were really just titles so your words wouldn’t take up so much room in your diary’s pages.
The one with violet eyes was called the Leader in your diary. He spoke the most, yet he seldom spoke of just himself and his own opinions. He always seemed to speak for the others as well when they had no words to give. An admirable quality, you wrote. But he was also the harshest in his words, something you found yourself not exactly surprised or offended by. You would be far more unsettled if he were welcoming and kind.
The next was the sharp green-eyed one, and you dubbed him the Knave. He had a mischievous look in his verdant eyes, and he seemed the most determined to live up to the descriptions of monsters and night creatures that other people spoke of. He was unpredictable. Barbed in his words and even more pointed in form, though you never saw his full body. Every now and then there seemed to be an extra rope-like limb slithering from his spine...
And then there was the Sentinel. The golden-eyed creature was deeply protective of his fellow beasts, especially the pink-eyed girl perpetually chained to the floor in front of their cages. Though you never once made a move to approach any of the creatures beyond bringing food and leaving it for them to distribute among themselves, you were sure that if you were to try, he would swiftly and violently correct you in either word or claw—whichever was easier.
The girl chained to the floor, the one with downturned pink eyes and cloven hooves in place of feet was who you referred to in your mind as the Lamb. She was smaller and noticeably less imposing than her caged companions. She didn’t speak much, but when she did, it was with a sad and worn voice that reminded you of a young sheep’s soft bleat. The only reason she was chained and not caged was because despite her beastly nature, she was still weaker than the rest of her kin.
The one with mismatched colored eyes and an asymmetrical horn on his head was the one you internally called the Oblique. You could have sworn that he never looked quite the same as whenever you last lay your eyes upon his obscured form. Yet despite that, he remained stalwart in his convictions—which included his distaste for you intruding upon him and his fellow prisoners every couple of nights.
And last was the tallest of them, the one you penned as the Erudite. Though he also rarely spoke, it was always with words and phrases that you had gleaned from your studies. He was observant, never taking his cyan eyes off you whenever you parted the curtains to the darkness in which he and his kind were caged in. He made observations about you that you never would have been willing or able to make yourself.
But just as the beasts never gave you any names to address them, you never gave them your name either. You doubted they would bother to use it if you did. They always called you “human,” or “creature,” or “beast,” or some other term like that. It always reminded you how you were likely just as much of a strange thing to them as they were strange things to you.
Every interaction between you and them was brief and rested upon a gossamer-thin sheet of tension that threatened to tear with every minute thought, word, and deed. Yet still, you didn't look away from their sharp eyes, didn't bristle at their sharper words calling you a foolish naive thing or prey with no regard for your own survival. But they never outright rejected your gestures. Likely because they had no choice.
It was clear as day that they loathed their circumstances. Not just being imprisoned in bitter cold cages and surrounded by darkness and filth, but also having to form a shaky dependency with a human. Sometimes one of them would tell you not to bother trying to help them. Unless you came bringing their key to freedom, they wanted nothing from you or your presence. It was simply in your nature that you would quickly lose interest in bringing them transitory and fleeting balms for their pains. So why keep up the charade?
Your first instinct was to deny their words, affirm that your efforts weren't a charade of consideration or a way for you to feel better about yourself, but you held your tongue. You were here to prove your intentions with your actions, not your words. So you stayed silent most of the time, occasionally offering a couple sentences here and there.
The one word that was never even whispered from your or their mouths was “friend.” You were not so naive as to think of them as such. And you knew better than to dare to think for even a moment that they thought of you as anything but a method of survival.
But you didn’t seek to help them just so you could have a form of company in your lonely life. You didn’t help them in the hopes of becoming some sort of savior or benefactor. You helped them because it was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it? Your father always talked about diligence and duty, about not trusting appearances and helping those less fortunate than yourself.
So, you decided that you wouldn’t trust the appearances of these so-called monsters. And they were in quite a sorry state. If anyone had bothered to learn from them, to try to see who they were instead of what they are, maybe there wouldn’t be a need for living lives like yours—sheltered lives full of fear and uncertainty.
Well, this was the one thing you would be certain of, if nothing else. These creatures were not what they seemed.
————
It had been almost a month after initially meeting the beasts, and on this certain visit, you had brought a small paring knife with you. You decided to do so after catching just a brief glimpse of the beasts struggling to eat what was given to them. Their teeth must be brittle and weak, likely sore from a lack of nutrition and opportunities for hygiene. Perhaps you could cut up their food just to make it a little easier to chew and swallow.
When you explained your reasoning upon being questioned, the Knave had hoarsely scoffed as you began cutting a fruit into pieces, thin rope-like tendrils emerging from behind his shoulders in a display of what you recognized as indignation.
“What next, then? You’ll hand-feed us? Pick between our teeth? Brush our hair and wash our claws?”
You narrowed your eyes at his emerald gaze, slightly frowning at his words, but didn’t stop cutting while looking away. It didn’t take a genius to pick up on what he was implying. He thought you were being foolish in your attempts to aid them.
“No. I’m just offering to help. You asked me to prove my resolve, did you not?”
“Then perhaps you should show your resolve in more helpful ways than cutting up our food like we are children.”
You were going to respond to his insinuation that you weren’t helping, but stopped yourself. He was quite right, actually. You were bringing the beasts food, but there was only so much it did for them. They were rather large creatures, after all, and there was only so much you could carry. Their bones remained visible, their teeth weak, their claws flaked. A sigh escaped your lungs as you began to mutter to yourself, though you knew they could hear you perfectly at this point.
“…I know. I’m sorry. I’m still trying to think of a way to-“
A sudden pain made itself known in one of your fingers, a sharp and stinging sensation that made you immediately hiss and halt your actions. The small knife and the fruit fell from your hands, and you held in a curse as you realized what had happened. You weren’t paying proper attention to the slicing of the fruit’s flesh, and the blade had nicked your own soft flesh just on the tip of your finger.
Small beads of blood had begun to emerge from the tiny gash after a couple seconds, and a couple of droplets had fallen to the cold floor. The only reason you noticed was because it was eerily silent enough for you to hear the tiny patters of the dripping.
From your peripherals, you could see that every pair of eyes was on the cut on your finger. The smell of copper only got more pronounced as you squeezed your palm over the wound, unable to keep yourself fully quiet due to the stinging pain.
It took everything in you not to swear or use the Lord's name in vain. But damn did this hurt.
You weren’t sure why, but this wound was more painful than expected. Perhaps it was because of the chill in the air. You knew that it was rather childish to react so outwardly to a small cut on your hand—a hand that knew almost nothing of being skeletal or scarred or weakened. Your gaze looked back towards the beasts in their cages, and you froze.
Each one of them was staring intensely at your hand, fixated by…what? The blood? The smell? The sounds you made? They were still as statues. It wasn’t out of any sort of real concern for your wellbeing, you knew that your injury was just a minor cut. No, it felt like…
“I…think it best you leave, human.”
That brought you out of your daze. You looked to the Lamb kneeling on the floor in front of you, already holding the small knife out for you to take. Her eyes looked strange, unlike you had ever seen them before. Her pale pupils subtly flickered between being slitted and round, between predator and prey. A tightness coiled in your stomach.
“What? I…I’m sorry, did I do anything-“
“You must tend to yourself. The air here is choked with rust and filth. Your flesh…it will fester quickly.”
Something changed in her voice when she mentioned your flesh…
Did your injury trigger something in them? But what? And how? Did the sight or smell of blood disturb them? Your mind was flooded with all sorts of thoughts when you snuck your way out of that tent and through the night, careful not to make any noise despite the pain you were in.
You stayed up especially late that night, not fully knowing what had happened once your blood dripped onto the floor in that dark place. A sinking dread pooled in your stomach at the thought of…no, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Could it?
————
There were several more late-night visits like that, each one beginning with you unpacking your bag and leaving food for the creatures to split among themselves. They never gave you any complaints or suggestions about what to bring—which would be slightly strange if they did, considering they weren’t exactly in a position to do so—so you always brought basic inoffensive things.
You never approached their cages to hand out the food, not even once. It was an unspoken understanding that they would swiftly correct any display of overfamiliarity on your end. And those corrections would not be kind. Not that you expected them to be, nor that you ever tested that silent agreement.
There was only one time when you dared to inch your way closer to one of the cages. It was to inspect the integrity of the bars, and to see if there were any locks that you could do anything about. You found a large lock on the side of one cage and inspected it in your palm, to which the (usually silent) Sentinel had sighed a mournful sound.
“These locks cannot open without the key. They cannot be picked even with claws as sharp as ours. And we are too weak to bend our bars.”
You realized that this was a mere glimpse at just how long these creatures must have been like this for them to know the ins and outs of their prison—and just how inescapable it was. It left a pit in your stomach to think about. How many prisons have they known?
But you didn’t get much more of an opportunity to speak when each of the beasts noticeably perked up in their cages, not in any sort of positive way but in a way that meant they heard something. Something important. Something that made them freeze.
You had little time to question what was happening before you felt large unnaturally thin hands wrap around your shoulders and shove you somewhere, and you realized that the golden-eyed Sentinel had grabbed you and pushed you so that you were behind his cage. Cold and bony fingers were placed over your mouth to suppress any sound of confusion or discomfort you would make, and you initially panicked.
It was impossible to suppress the yelp that came from your throat out of instinct. But that was why the golden-eyed creature had covered your mouth with his large skeletal hand, brittle—and now retracted—claws just ghosting over the edges of your face. Your breathing quickened, eyes widening in anticipation of being torn apart.
But there was no tearing of your flesh, no claws digging into your skin. Instead, you saw the Lamb in front of the Sentinel’s cage place a skeletal finger over her mouth, and then you finally heard it. Footsteps. Heavy and quickly-approaching ones. The beasts must have heard them long before you did.
You looked back to the golden eyes staring into yours, and you nodded. You understood. The Sentinel had grabbed and hidden you behind his cage to prevent you from possibly being seen by this approaching threat. The dark and clawed fingers left your face, and you watched as the beast turned around to face the opening of the room where the footsteps were coming from.
A man’s silhouette appeared. He was tall, and before now, you would have thought a figure like his fairly non-threatening. But why would a man be here, especially this late into the night? He could only have ill intentions.
Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the way he almost stumbled into the darkened room, body swaying slightly as he scanned over each of the cages until his gaze remained on the pink-eyed Lamb chained to the floor. Your stomach sank, and you could tell hers did as well.
“It’s you. The Damsel. You’re quite a pretty one, aren’t you? Not like the rest of these ugly things.”
He spoke to her in a mock-attentive voice as if she were a dog or other creature incapable of fully understanding what he was saying. Even from your spot behind the cage, you could still see him crouch down in front of her, and the way she curled away from him. You could recognize the stench of alcohol from his clothes. It made your stomach churn uncomfortably. You heard the Sentinel in front of you growl a low sound.
“I paid quite a bit to get an extra little glimpse at you after everyone else left. I saw the way you moved in the show. You know what I thought?”
He leaned towards the Lamb, and she flinched away, whimpering and trembling. Her chains were pulled taut, and she was unable to move any further to escape from his filthy words and hands. A couple of the other caged beasts began to growl low sounds, already able to smell his disgusting licentious intentions. Bile began to bubble at the back of your throat.
“A pretty thing like you…shouldn’t be left so alone at night.”
His filthy fingers went to stroke at the fur on her legs, and the creatures growled even louder, especially the one in front of you. You watched as his digits combed across her trembling leg and started to push the hem of her long dress up…
Your heart started to beat harder than before, hands moving on their own to feel for something to touch, to grab. Some unknown hard and heavy thing was soon gripped in your palm, and your legs moved on their own.
Shifting to silently move away from behind the cage and a few feet behind the man, you gripped the hard and heavy object in your hands. With only a moment of hesitation and a mind screaming to just do something already, you swiftly and harshly brought the object down to the back of the intruder's head, thoroughly rendering him unconscious. Or so you hoped.
It was dead silent for what felt like eons. You stood there, breathing quickened and legs trembling. The adrenaline in your veins had quickly gone, and it was like a veil was lifted from over your face.
It was then that you fully realized what you had done. You had caused deliberate harm to another, possibly even killed a man. Your stomach lurched, twisting itself into knots.
"Oh...Oh God."
It was all you could shakily mumble out, using the Lord's name in vain not even a brief thought in your mind. You glanced down at what you were holding in your hands. It was a brick, one that must have been used to keep the tent's interior in place. There was a dark wet stain upon it now, and you gasped upon noticing it. The only reason you didn't drop it was because it would have made a loud noise.
"Is he...?" Your voice wavered and trembled as you asked the single question you weren't sure you wanted an answer to.
"No. The intruder still breathes."
The Oblique and the Erudite were staring at the fallen man, mismatched and cyan eyes narrowed in what must have been disgust. You breathed a sigh of relief. Though you still caused the filthy man harm, you were at least glad you hadn't made yourself a stained murderer.
But now there was the question of what you would do. You couldn't just leave the intruder here. He may wake up and wrongly accuse the beasts of harming him and exact vengeance. He may harm them. He may get even closer to the Lamb than before...
The black-haired beast in question was staring up at you, downturned pink eyes widened in what must have been shock. She was still trembling, still frightened, but not nearly as much as before now. The building tension in your shoulders had released just the slightest bit. You slowly moved to place the brick in your hands back where you found it, angling it so that the new stain on it wasn't visible.
But the problem of the man was still present. What would you do? What could you possibly hope to do now that you had done what you did? It wasn't like you could just stay still and let him touch the Lamb. She had no way of stopping him, no way of moving away or fighting or pleading without possibly being hurt or worse...
"Go now, creature. Leave him. We will...handle this."
You didn't realize you had begun to pace until you stopped dead in your tracks. What did the Leader mean, "handle this?" They were caged, unable to even reach his unconscious form if they tried. But then you saw that look in their eyes. It was a look of focus, of intent, but of what?
"But what are you going to...?"
"We will ensure you do not take the fall. Go now, and do not return tonight."
The Sentinel’s words weren’t reassuring. You didn't want these creatures to risk themselves. But what choice did you have? What else could you do? Stay here and proclaim yourself a new bestial resident of the seventh circle of Hell?
So you hesitantly left the darkness like you had before, stomach churning and eyes stinging with tears that you didn't dare let fall. You knew that if you let even one escape, you would never cease your subsequent sobs and cries.
What had you become? What would God think, seeing and knowing of you hurting another human to save a monster, a supposed unholy and most foul creature? What would the beasts do to the drunk man? Would someone walk in, see the intruder and assume it was the fault of the monsters?
You didn’t know what to think. Your worldview was white where it was once black, black where it was once white. Your father told you that the world and its creatures were separated between pure and impure beings. It was easy to stain a pure white fabric, but impossible to reverse the process. It was the same for sins, he told you.
You could cover the stain as much as you wished, but you would know that it would always be there. When the Heavenly Father unfurled your life and its sins, those stains would be there for Him to see and judge. The only option left for a ruined white fabric was to discard the whole thing, regardless of how beautiful and pale and spotless the rest of it was. That was how life and vices worked. That was what you had been taught.
But now, you had no idea what to think, what to feel. It wasn’t the fault of the beasts, this you knew. They didn’t ask you to help. But you couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. The Lamb would have…
But you also could have possibly done something, anything else but hurt another being. Why was it your first instinct to harm? Were you born an inherently violent sinner? Was your soul damned before you took your first steps? Did God create you only to cast you away despite your loyalty and diligence before this?
There was no church nearby to go to confession. How many prayers would redeem your soul? How would you have to repent? How could you hope to repent if you didn't truly regret what you did? No matter how much you panicked and feared for your soul, you couldn't change your lack of regret. You could already imagine the boiling rivers of blood and fire that awaited your arrival, the place within the Phlegethon reserved for only violent souls.
Because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.
Your journal entry was blank that night. The fingers on your hands didn’t feel like your own. The hands attached to your body didn’t feel like your own. The body your mind was caged in didn’t feel like your own.
————
You visited the cages again the very next night. It was no surprise that you weren’t able to sleep, and you had spent the whole day afterwards in a daze. You needed to know what happened to that man. You needed to know what happened to the beasts.
You had half a mind to never return again, to forget about the creatures and spend the rest of your life repenting and atoning for your soul’s corruption. But the other half of your mind, that wicked and desperate need for knowledge, it somehow outweighed your fear and dread.
It took everything in you not to rush behind those now familiar curtains, but you stayed as calm as you knew how to be in circumstances like these. But of course, you had never nearly become a murderer before.
Your hand pushed the curtain aside like so many times before…
And there was nothing. No sign of the man. No sign of…anything. It was as if he had never intruded at all. The Lamb sat on the floor as she always did, knees tucked close and chains rattling with her every little move. Dare you even think it, she looked almost relieved at you being present and not some foolish drunk.
But despite that, the silence was tense, almost unbearably so. You hadn’t brought any food like you usually would in your bi-weekly routine, and it was clear that the beasts hadn’t expected you to return only a single night after the last visit. But you paid all of that no mind.
“What happened to him? The intruder?”
Even more silence. The air stayed thick—even despite the biting chill—as you just stood there in front of the cages and the chains. That was, until the Knave spoke up with a rattling chitter that sounded like a forced serpentine laugh.
“Oh, him? He awoke, confused and sick from his drunken stupor, only to see our faces. We scared him off and away, and back to whatever hole he crawled out of, never to return. He’ll think twice before drinking his weight again, no doubt.”
You couldn’t see the Knave’s face, but you could tell there was a sort of smile in his rasped voice. There was a noticeable amount of energy in his words that wasn’t present before. His recounting sounded like a sort of childish fairytale lesson, too unbelievable, too…false. Was he telling the truth? Was this just a story he crafted to avoid explaining what really happened?
And even if that was the truth…it didn’t make you feel any better about causing another person harm, even if you thought he deserved it for his disgusting actions the night prior. You had no authority to hurt him in such a way, had no right to make him bleed like you did.
But did you regret it?
Your intestines twisted into knots, and you wrapped your arms around your abdomen in an attempt to feel secure, to feel like a better person than you are. But no. You did not regret knocking that man unconscious to keep his filthy hands off of the Lamb. Not in the slightest.
It didn’t feel good to cause that pain, to shed blood that wasn’t your own, but you couldn’t just sit there and do nothing while the beast was being touched in a way that made your own stomach churn. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt.
The Leader must have been able to sense your deep disturbance with what had happened the night prior. His low and scratchy voice broke the silence and made you turn your head towards him.
“You worry about what you’ve done.”
You hesitated to meet his gaze with your own. Though you couldn’t see his face, you heard his mild contemplative tone. A shaky nod was all you could reluctantly respond with. You didn’t regret what you did, but you worried for your soul being forever tainted, forever stained. You saw his head tilt at your apparent moral dilemma.
“If it is any consolation…If your God is half as good as your kind claims, then He would likely understand.” He scoffed a rough and ironic sound. “But then again, what would we know of God?”
That made your mind still. His words made you think, made your breaths even out. What did his kind know of God? You hardly considered the fact that they likely didn’t believe in a Heavenly Father, or at least didn’t believe in one and the same way you had been raised to.
The way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t heretical, but simply unfamiliar. It made your moral questioning feel as though it were distant, almost unreal. For a fleeting moment, it even made your beliefs feel like childish stories. It was a strange feeling, one that you weren’t used to.
It somewhat reminded you of your childhood memories of when you would watch people from your bedroom window and sigh, secretly daydreaming of going out and meeting them, of making friends, enemies, it hardly mattered to a sheltered child such as you were. You just wanted connection.
But then your father would always approach in his knowing way and quietly tell you that the people outside your home were heretics and blasphemers, non-believers who relished in sin and indulgences. They didn’t cherish their relationship with the Lord like you and he did. They would only lead you astray.
But you looked down to those people from your window and didn’t see them relishing in their supposed vices. They looked uncaring, perhaps, but they looked happy. Free. What did your father see that you didn’t?
The memory left a bitter feeling in your heart now. Was it being weighed down by your sin and corruption? You didn’t know. You just didn’t know what to think anymore.
You found yourself sitting on that cold floor in front of the monsters, legs tucked to your chest and knees situated beneath your chin, just…thinking. About your father. About God. About the lines that sometimes blurred between the two. A distant yet ever-watching presence, arms encircling around you but never quite touching. It was love, but it was the kind of love only given and received from a distance.
Was it so bad to want raw connection in any form? Passion. Hate. Desire. Companionship. Tragedy. It didn’t matter. Just something that made you feel like you mattered not in the grand scheme of things, but in the moments when you were actually alive and present. Were the beasts any different in their connections?
Thinking about it now, you wouldn’t be surprised if they despised the idea of God. What good would faith and belief do for them in a place like this? If the entire rest of the world was convinced that these beings weren’t made in His divine image, that they deserved to be struck down, why have any reverence for Him?
“What do you believe in?”
The question left your mouth before you could stop yourself. It was invasive and you knew it. You flinched back and pressed a palm over your lips like your mouth had released hot embers instead of uttered syllables.
It was dead silent once again. You likely crossed some sort of boundary. Shame and embarrassment flooded your face in waves as you uttered out a quick apology and started to move to loosen your position and leave the darkened area, prepared to never to speak of the matter again. But a voice just above a whisper made you stop.
“You really do wish to learn…Don’t you?”
The Lamb’s low voice made you freeze in your actions, and your gaze met her pink one. You nodded only once very slowly. You wanted to know what their lives were like, wanted to know if this life—your life—was really your truth. You wanted to know by learning their truth. Did they know of a God? Did they love and hate and suffer and find meaning without one?
“…Your curiosity will only bring your end.”
You couldn’t argue with the Oblique’s hushed words. He was probably right. But you still sat there in front of the cages, cautiously waiting. For what, you weren’t sure. Would they reject your attempts to listen? Would they send you away? Would they only call you a fool like they had so many times before?
You remained quiet and still. You were in no place to be impatient when you were the one who asked the question, after all. Bright and sharp eyes stared into your own, but you didn’t avert your gaze. The air was heavy, but not with tension, and you knew instinctively that the words they were going to share were going to be spoken once and only once—whatever those words would be.
"...Listen. Listen well."
To your slight surprise, the beasts slowly exchanged whispers of their belief in connections, how they maintained their bonds in times of hardship. Their practices were so very different from what you had known. Your faith, your relationship with your father, every last detail of your own life was sterile, bound by learned rules and practices of formality and pretension.
It was shallow, you realized, though you had never dared to even think it until now. You were raised to believe that love was meant to be formal, proper, clean. Transactional. Conditional. It was all you had ever known, and you had very few examples of it outside of your father’s care while raising you.
There were small and fleeting memories of your mother, but they were more impressions than concrete recollections. The smell of linen and skin. Golden sunlight filtered through pale, nearly diaphanous curtains at dawn. A voice that murmured like a trickling river and tickled the shell of your ear as it sang a song you had long forgotten the words to. You missed that bond, that connection. Missed her.
You knew you had something akin to a deep connection once. You knew that you wanted it again. But your father was not your mother. His love was in sparse words and acts. It wouldn't be proper for him to attempt to be your mother, he once told you after you attempted to hold his hand while walking down a street.
An aching emptiness in your chest had made itself known after that.
But the creatures in the cages hoarsely spoke of openness among their own kind. Deep bonds of scent and marks and displays of purest connection rather than mere implications. Your father would probably consider those things licentious, filthy, unholy. But you were fascinated, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but ask a couple of extra questions.
Did their kind have any practices like humans did in the way of ceremonies and rituals? No, you learned. They did not. Not exactly, anyway. Humans had quite a tendency to over complicate things, you were told. You found yourself internally agreeing.
How do beasts keep promises and maintain bonds without contracts or formal agreements? Easily, they answered. Again, your kind felt an insatiable urge to make simple matters endlessly complex only because humans were incapable of implicit trust. It was instinct for beasts to trust each other. There were far fewer of their numbers than humans, after all.
You got a distinct feeling that speaking of their kind’s low numbers was a poor idea. Naive though you were, you were not stupid. Not entirely, anyway. You wanted to ask more, learn more about other things, but you were stopped by a low avian sound that rattled your insides. It wasn’t aggressive, just corrective, and you turned to see that the Erudite was tilting his head towards you, eyes changing colors from cyan to bright red for just a split-second.
“You have asked us enough, creature. Leave us be and return on some other night.”
It didn’t take a genius to know that you had overstayed your welcome. Not that you were welcomed in the first place. But still, the Erudite’s wording made your eyes slightly widen. It was the first time any of them had spoken of any sort of “other night.” A “next time.”
You couldn’t fully hide your eager anticipation to learn more when you nodded and moved to leave. They actually expected you to return. They were willing to share more. The Knave had scoffed a low sound upon catching your expression, but it didn’t sound like it came from a place of being genuinely insulted.
“Have some shame, will you? If that twinkle in your eye were any brighter, we would have no choice but to snuff it out.”
Your face flushed hot with embarrassment at that, unable to refute his words. Goodness, you were getting far, far too familiar with these beasts. You then heard the Lamb release a short huff that sounded dangerously close to a hoarse attempt at a chuckle upon seeing your face.
“Off you go now, creature. You must rest.”
You just nodded again, swiftly and quietly bidding them farewell.
That night, you feverishly wrote inside your diary across several pages. You wrote of the things you learned, the things you still didn’t fully understand. But it wasn’t the beast’s words you didn’t understand—it was your own life’s lessons, the things you had been taught by your father and your society that you no longer fully understood.
You still felt unmeasurable guilt for what you had done to that drunk man who tried to touch the chained girl. But you remembered the Leader’s words, the idea that maybe God would at least understand why you did it. Would He forgive you? You didn’t know. The answer in your heart seemed to shift and change like the moon. But strangely, the thought didn’t strike as much fear in your heart anymore.
You asked not for any consolation from the caged beings, but they offered it to you anyway. Perhaps they pitied you and your—dare you think even just briefly—fantastical beliefs in a God and damnation for your immortal soul. They believed not against God in blasphemy, they simply believed that the tangible bonds made on earth were of more importance. God had no factor in their lives, something that was strange for you to comprehend.
It was fascinating and terrifying to think about in equal measure. Was that why they were considered monsters? Not just for their forms but for their practices? You were guilty of this as well, thinking them to be foul devils at first. But your mind had changed much since first encountering them.
Those caged creatures were beasts, yes, but you no longer believed the whispers that called them depraved fiends. These beings spoke of strength in care, protection, trust. True demons knew nothing of those things, didn’t they? It would be quite hard to fake the nostalgia and longing in their voices, like each of them had lost so much before ending up in this circus.
You wanted to know how your father ever managed to come across such beings. It wasn’t like he simply found them in a street and asked them to perform for his circus. With the way they were imprisoned…
A distinct pit of dread formed in your stomach when you thought about the possible circumstances of how those creatures came to be caged in a circus. But you couldn’t just ask them, heavens no. You weren’t that stupid and mindless. No matter the circumstances that brought them here, they were suffering, and you were determined to aid them however you could.
And even if they had done anything wrong, it was not anyone’s place to bestow punishment and vengeance upon them. Wasn’t it imperative to help those in need? Care shouldn’t be conditional. Maybe it was your naivety, but, sinners or not, humans or beasts, nobody deserved to rot in cold rusted cages and die a slow painful death.
No. You were going to help them. Even if it was the last thing you’ll do.
————
Visit after visit, you brought more things for the creatures. Their forms remained thinned and starved, but at least they weren’t skeletal, meaning that your efforts actually managed to stave off death, however temporarily. You had a suspicion that you were the only one consistently offering food to them. If you weren’t, would they have wasted away by now?
Every now and then, you’d try some new method to pick the locks on their cages or even try to study the integrity of the bars on their cages—or chain links, in the Lamb’s case—to no avail. Whatever metal their bonds were made of, it was nigh impossible to break, bend, or find any exploitable weakness in. For you, anyway. You were a mere human, weak in many ways compared to these starving beasts.
You always left those attempts feeling more and more frustrated, but the beasts never seemed to react much to your failures. They knew their prisons far better than you did, after all. But you never gave up, something that they believed to be both pointless and useless, and they made sure you knew it. Of all the things they’d tell you, that was the one thing you didn’t listen to.
But now, after every failed attempt, before you would leave their darkness, they would start to speak. You never failed to stop to listen to whatever they had to say. Sometimes, it was merely a couple sentences. Other times, they spoke of a shared memory they all had. They very rarely mentioned their separate families and homes.
Rarely, when you were feeling especially curious—or perhaps stupidly brazen—you’d ask them questions. Rarer still they’d ever answer them directly. You didn’t mind that. Their words always made you think, a dangerous thing to do during the day while you worked at the circus.
But there was one thing that ate away at you more than you thought it would. How old were the creatures? They often spoke as if each of them had lived through generations. Did they have a different sense of time? Were they older than they appeared?
It was this line of thought that prompted you to ask them at the next late-night visit, after the Leader had sparsely spoken of things he and the others had seen “some time ago.”
“You live for much longer than us, don’t you?”
His violet eyes turned to gaze fully into yours, and you maintained the contact. His sharp purple eyes didn’t unsettle you nearly as much anymore, and you watched him turn his head as if noticing how your perception had heightened since first meeting the beasts. He hummed a half-animalistic sound, and you could hear a couple of the others do the same.
“We rarely get to do so…but yes. We do. What of it?”
You slightly shrank at the implication of his kind rarely getting to live full lives, but didn’t cower or avert your gaze. Instead you tilted your own head slightly in a respectful gesture of questioning.
“What is it like? Living for so long?”
“What is it like for you to have such a short life?”
You opened your mouth to respond to the Knave, yet the proper words to explain such a concept remained lost to you. This wasn’t something you thought about often enough to easily talk about. How does one explain such a thing to someone who will outlive them? The green-eyed serpentine beast seemed amused by your inability to articulate the concept.
“Not so easy to sum up with words, is it?”
You hesitantly shook your head. A deep and resonant humming came from one of the cages on your right, from the Oblique.
“It’s simply our way of life. Nothing more, nothing less.”
But what was that way of life like? What did they do with such long lifespans? You refrained from asking such questions, recalling the Leader’s earlier words about their kind rarely getting to live full lives, a fact revealed so casually as if it was normalized in their society. It didn’t sit right with you, but you dropped it nonetheless.
It wasn’t all that surprising that creatures like these seldom got to live to become old, now that you thought about it. If any of the rare words about their homeland were true, then this group was lucky to have made it to where they are today without starving or being killed. You could already imagine hunting parties for these beasts, or perhaps even their own kind turning on them out of hunger-driven insanity.
Your stomach sank a little at just the ideas of what these creatures could have gone through. And even away from their home, they were still starving. Perhaps even worse than when they were in their homeland. And on top of that, they were cold and treated like animals now.
The days passed on. It was hard to perform your assigned duties as usual while pretending you had no idea what went on in the shows. The shows your own father oversaw. You didn’t know what actually occurred in them, but if any of the attendees' hushed whispers were anything to go by before and after the shows, it was sickening to say the least.
Every time you handed out a flyer during the day, it felt as though you were maintaining a lie that only resulted in harm to the creatures. It made you sick to your stomach to think about. When nobody was looking, you’d crumple and pocket some of the papers so you wouldn’t have to hand out as many. You even began learning to fold them into smaller shapes to keep them more discreetly, repurposing them to create something else.
One time, you realized that there was even a crumpled flyer tucked away in your sleeping attire while visiting the caged beasts. It seemed you couldn’t escape from the papers, not even at night. Just the sight of them made a foul and bitter taste form on your tongue. But instead of tearing that small poster to pieces, you idly folded it into a different shape while quietly explaining what you did with other flyers.
Your fingers moved on their own to pinch and tuck and fold the paper into a simple flower-like shape, nothing very impressive. But the Sentinel in particular had looked upon your craftsmanship with great curiosity. He said nothing, but you had learned to read the creatures’ eyes just as they had learned to read your body language.
The sight gave you an idea.
During a later visit, you had brought your diary to present to the caged beasts. They initially eyed the journal suspiciously, but when you told them about how you wrote down everything you learned from them, everything that stuck with you and made you think from different angles and perspectives, they didn’t seem to believe it.
It confused you at first, but you later realized that these beasts likely never met a human who bothered to learn about and from them. You showed each of them your sketches of their sharp eyes and obscured silhouettes, to which they only tilted their heads at how your drawings evolved over time.
Your initial drawings were loose yet sharp, pointed and undefined. They were sketches of what you thought were monsters, foul and wicked creatures that go bump in the night. But as the pages of your diary filled with more scrawled notes and stray illustrations over time, the nature of those depictions changed.
The creatures themselves never changed, but your perception of them did. They were still pointed, still dangerous. But the drawn lines now had form and purpose. It was more than fear and dread in the ink behind them. It was now curiosity, respect, a sense of neatness that wasn’t there before that only came from getting to know the drawing subjects better.
The sketches in the present were still only of silhouettes. You hadn’t seen their full forms, hadn’t seen their faces—they were always in deepest darkness, after all. But the figures weren’t exaggerated or overly rooted in your fear anymore. They were simpler, more accurate to what they appeared as. Creatures so similar yet so different from you and your kind.
The Lamb had tilted her head when you held out your journal with a loose impressionistic drawing of her. She seemed almost intrigued by your depiction. Faceless and sharp, but not menacing. Not entirely human-like or soft either. Just…different. A bony and clawless hand trailed against the page.
“We’ve seen so many of your kind now. Your faces blur together, sometimes. Like this.”
A single thin finger pointed to your drawing, to the faceless figure held up for her to see, and you pondered her words. You hadn’t considered just how outnumbered beasts were by humans. How many of your kind existed for every one of theirs? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand?
The Lamb then peered closer at the page in your diary, moving her chained hands to her head as if to compare the details in the drawing to her own features. It was mostly guesswork that made you draw certain things, as you always drew them after your visits—and it was nearly pitch-black and impossible to see their finer details in the first place.
From what little you could make out of the Lamb’s features compared to your drawing of her, her cloven hooves were slightly too small, and her fingertips were just a little too sharp in your rendition. Tiny details like that became more apparent the longer you stared at your inked sketch.
It was then that you realized with horror that you drew a certain crucial detail inaccurately—the Lamb’s horns. You could just barely see how the small horns atop her head curved in a different way than how you drew them initially. What other details did you get right? Which ones were wrong?
You didn’t know. It wasn’t like there was a good light source in their secluded tent area. Still, she appeared almost…pleasantly surprised by your diary’s pages? You couldn’t suppress the confusion in the way you tilted your head at how captivated she was with your drawings.
“This world and the humans in it…they tell us that we are horrid. Wicked things with foul forms and faces that mimic the beauty of their own. But here…”
She pressed her fingertips to the page with the drawing again.
“You make it seem so natural. Make us seem natural.”
She flipped through the pages worn by ink and pressure from scrawled writings, tilting her head at the latest set of your sketches. They were of the others, not in their cages, but simple silhouettes of what little you could make out of their forms. Despite having no color but black ink, it was still obvious which one was which just by their horns and most distinct features.
You obviously would have drawn them far more detailed and accurate if you had any idea what they actually looked like. The skin on the inside of your cheek was lightly chewed in thought, though you didn’t voice any of them for obvious reasons. Still, even your most idle and subtle actions were no match for the beasts’ perception, even in this near pitch-black darkness.
“You’re thinking again.”
A slight wave of embarrassment washed over your face, and you felt your spine go rigid for a moment. Truly, nothing went unnoticed by the Erudite. He was always observing, always studying you as if you were the strange creature and his kind weren’t.
“You wish to see us, don’t you?”
The Sentinel’s words made you avert your gaze downward in slight shame at being caught in your secretive desire. There was no point in pretending your curiosity wasn’t eating away at your soul.
“…Yes.”
You didn’t ask to see them. Just told them the truth. They would have been able to practically smell it anyway.
It was quiet for a few moments, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It was better described as cautionary, like both you and the beasts were carefully navigating a slippery path. One wrong move and what little semblance of trust between you and them would shatter. But then they seemed to look at each other, almost as if communicating without saying a word. The Leader’s violet eyes narrowed.
“…Very well. If you are sure you won’t regret it…Bring your light once more.”
Your light? Did he mean the matchsticks you had brought that one time months ago? You were so surprised by his response that you almost didn’t comprehend it for a second. But you caught yourself before you looked too much like a fool. You quickly nodded, scooping up your things and making your way out of that darkness like you always had, leaving the beasts alone behind the curtains.
But just before you left, you tore out a few pages of your diary and handed them to the Lamb. She seemed to like your drawings quite a bit, and she appreciated them more than you ever would—especially since you now knew that some details were quite inaccurate. She didn’t mind, though, and gave you a quiet hum of gratitude upon being handed the pages.
For the first time since meeting them, you smiled just ever-so-slightly.
You allowed yourself to wonder that night. What did they really look like? Were they as loathsome and unnatural as the visitor’s whispers claimed? You stared at the pages in your diary, wondering what the dark inked silhouettes really hid.
But another thought came to your mind then. What did the caged creatures really think of you? Did they think of your words and actions the way you thought of theirs? It wasn’t wise to assume anything. Besides, how could a naive human like you hope to understand beings who weren’t human? You couldn’t even understand your own kind.
Your father’s voice appeared in your dreams that night. It was patronizing and condescending, and it lingered in your mind the entire day after you awoke. There was a certain heaviness in your heart that also lasted the entire day, but it was the kind of heaviness that only came from dread. Something wasn’t right. Something was going to happen, but what?
The next late-night visit was one that had a paper-thin layer of tension hanging in the air, like this single interaction rested atop a thin sheet of glass. You said nothing while taking a small handful of matches that had been tucked away in your sleep clothes. The beasts all narrowed their eyes in what you now recognized as them trying to pry into your mind and see your thoughts.
“This is your last chance, creature. Once you learn something, you cannot unlearn it.”
You turned to the Oblique, gaze resting on his. You had already learned of their existence, of at least part of the truth behind your father’s circus. Even if you didn’t see their faces, there was still no going back. And besides, it would be extraordinarily cruel to try to forget about them now after everything you’ve done for them…and everything they’ve done for you.
You kneeled on the cold ground in front of the Lamb, taking a single matchstick and preparing to scrape it on the rough floor. You hesitated for only a fraction of a moment. And then you pressed the match down and sparked it.
It was dead silent save for the crackle and slight hiss of the tiny flame in your hand, and you slowly moved the match in front of you to look upon the Lamb’s unobscured form.
She was…you didn’t quite have the word. Pale grey skin, sunken cheeks, cracked lips in a neutral, almost tense expression. Downturned pink eyes as usual, but now surrounded by long dark eyelashes. Her long and brittle hair was equally dark as night, almost absorbing every bit of light the match produced.
Then you noticed her other features. Pale pupils that became slits when taking in the light, small curved horns atop her head, slightly pointed ears, and then you noticed the…fur? Your eyes traveled downwards to her limbs, seeing that there was grey fur along her arms that darkened and thinned near her clawless hands. Her legs had longer ashen fur that covered her goat-like cloven hooves.
She seemed to shift a little the longer you looked at her limbs, evidently getting slightly uncomfortable with your silence. Wordlessly, your gaze went back to her face. You just stayed like that, staring. Your mouth opened to speak, but then a sharp pain traveled from your fingertips where you held the match in between them, and you quietly hissed. The matchstick had burned down and caught you off guard.
It was dark again, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t light another match, not yet. There was really only one thought on your mind.
“…You look so much like us.”
It was true. The Lamb’s face looked almost uncannily human-like. You obviously knew that the beasts had humanoid forms—five fingered hands, hair and eyes and proportions and senses mostly like your kind’s—but it was somehow strange seeing just how similar yet fundamentally different she looked.
But she was not frightening. Not in the slightest. You would even dare to think her quite lovely by your kind’s standards. No, by your standards. But the Knave evidently took issue with your observation, chittering a slow sound that you recognized as slight annoyance.
“We are nothing like your kind, naive thing. You trust your eyes far too much.”
You turned to meet his sharpened emerald eyes, moving to position yourself to now be in front of his and the Leader’s cages. The Lamb was next to you now, but her chains were not pulled taut, and you gave her plenty of room to move away. She didn’t.
“If I trusted my eyes any more than I already do, I would have run away screaming from this place a long time ago.”
It seems the beasts weren’t entirely expecting your response. You had learned a lot from them these past few months, and that included speaking your mind just a little more. The Knave huffed a little.
“…Perhaps so. You seemed scared enough when you first thought us to be mere shadows.”
Another matchstick was held between your fingers at this point, and you waited for either of the caged creatures in front of you to object to being seen in light. Neither the Knave nor the Leader said anything. So you created your light once more.
Another set of crackles. The shadows of the cage bars danced on the tent walls behind as you stared into the gaps between the iron prisons.
Dark grey skin, darker than the Lamb’s. Absence of fur on their limbs, instead only black limbs that ended with sharp claws. Equally sharp purple and green eyes stared into your own. The Leader had a set of four horns while the Knave only had two. Long and dark violet hair cascading past one face and short black curly hair resting atop another’s.
Their faces were less human-like, but they weren’t exactly frightening, just…different. You couldn’t help but tilt your head at the shapes of their jaw hinges, the way the sharp lines of their faces looked so similar yet so different compared to yours. Without any comparisons, they looked just as much a part of the earth as any other creature.
A longer glance at the green-eyed beast revealed his extra limbs, thin rope-like appendages that sprouted from his spine and pressed against his body. For warmth? Security? You couldn’t quite tell. You saw them writhe sometimes, but it was different to see them in the light now. It made you wonder what he would possibly use them for.
Returning your gaze to the violet-eyed beast gave you a closer look at his impossibly sharp teeth. Lengthened canines and wide pointed molars. Incisors that were longer than your fingertips. Only a few flat teeth for consuming what you assumed would be an omnivorous diet. You didn’t really want to ask the kinds of things they’d had to eat in the past.
It remained quiet as you stared at their faces, and you eventually noticed the vital difference between them and the Lamb’s face. Where the Lamb had an almost perpetually downturned expression, theirs were sharpened. They looked restless, resentful, hardened and embittered. It wasn’t exactly a shock, but it still made some part of your heart ache.
But even still, you didn’t tremble at the thought. You didn’t shy away from the cages, didn’t break your gaze. You just looked back into their bright-colored eyes.
“You’re not so scary.”
It was the truth. You expected worse, honestly. Other people whispered of vicious monsters, beasts seen only in nightmares. These creatures weren’t harmless, obviously, but neither were humans. The four-horned creature in front of you only tilted his head while narrowing his eyes, skeptical of your words.
“We can smell when you lie, beast. Don’t bother.”
The match in your fingers was about to burn down to your hand again, and before you could move to drop it to the floor or lightly wave it to be rid of the flame, the Knave in front of you reached a sharp black hand between his cage bars and simply pinched it between his claws, throughly extinguishing it. You watched it fall to the ground before turning back to that deep purple gaze.
“No, really. Your forms aren’t so frightening. You’re just…angry.”
“Angry. Hungry. Dying. All by the Ringmaster’s design.”
The Sentinel’s thin voice had reached your ears, and you turned to see his slumped form resting on the far side of his cage. Slowly, you walked over to his prison to hear him better, to know him better. Yet another matchstick was clutched in your palm, but again you didn’t immediately move to strike it.
There was a sorrowful look in the creature’s golden eyes. He didn’t move to stop you when you kneeled in front of his cage. The match in your hand was struck, and you couldn’t hide the sorrow in your own eyes upon seeing his form illuminated by the small flame.
He had long ashen white hair, and it fell over part of his face—which you realized had a slightly more pronounced snout compared to the others, almost like a canine’s or some similar creature. Scars littered his dark grey skin, more visibly than the others. He had been hurt in the past. Horribly hurt. They all had been hurt.
You said nothing, but the beast seemed to understand the look in your eyes, and he moved to sit up straighter, dark hands wrapping around a couple of his cage’s bars. You could see the way his black claws retracted, though for his own sake or yours, you didn’t know.
“Wait and hate. Wait and die. That is all we can do in a place like this.”
By design, you recalled from his earlier statement. They had not always been like this. Something led them to end up this way. But what? And how?
The golden-eyed beast didn’t answer, though you were sure he could see the questioning in your eyes. He simply tilted his head down, almost like he was admitting defeat. It was terribly sad to witness, and you released a shaky breath. These creatures were broken.
The match in your fingers fell to the cold floor, burning out after a few moments. It was quiet once more. You saw how the Sentinel slumped in his cage again, like sitting up for you to see had taken what little energy he possessed. You turned around, not wanting to face the sight for too long. It was all just so sad.
You carefully took small steps towards the last two cages, the ones holding the Oblique and the Erudite. Instead of sitting like you had for the others, you stayed standing, matchsticks in hand. You didn’t say anything. Neither did they.
Do not be so cruel as to grant us a sliver of warmth and then leave with it. Do not bring us light only to snuff it out.
You remembered the Oblique’s words as if they were spoken only yesterday. You looked down at the bundle of matchsticks in your palm, then back up into those mismatched white and dark blue eyes. Then you held out the bundle for him to see.
Make your own light, you wordlessly told him. You wouldn’t leave with the matchsticks tonight. Instead, you would give them the chance to bring light for themselves. They deserved warmth. The beast in front of you visibly stiffened. But slowly, he moved his larger palm out for you to pour your matches into, and you did so.
It was so quiet a pin could have been heard dropping to the ground. The only sound heard was you shifting back to allow the creatures some space, and then a faint scrape against one of the rough metal cages. One of the matches held by the Oblique had been lit, and you watched as both his and the Erudite’s features became visible with the tiny glow of the flame.
Dark grey skin just like the others. Sharp teeth and long claws and areas of raised skin where scars had formed. Some were faded and old, but others looked much more recent, still pale against their darker skin. Both of them had shorter hair than the others, which allowed you to see their pointed ears better.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think these beasts to be no different from some of the folkloric creatures you had read about—before your father forbade you from reading of such things. Perhaps that was where such stories came from, you realized. People of the past not understanding what they had seen.
The Erudite had a dark pointed crest descending down his entire face, feather-like quills of varying sizes sprouted and neatly patterned beneath his cyan eyes and below his ears. His hair was a blood red, a striking color against his eyes—which were staring into yours with just as much curiosity. It seemed he was taking advantage of the brief light provided by the matchstick to take in your appearance as well.
“You’re a strange one. Your face is almost…familiar.”
You didn’t quite understand what he meant. The Lamb had mentioned that human faces tended to blur together over time. Did these beasts perhaps perceive faces differently than you thought? Was your face perhaps like a stray cat’s patterning to them, indistinguishable and generic unless learnt and memorized?
The creature in front of you had tilted his feathered head, and you mimicked the action—A testament to how much time you had been spending with these beasts to have subconsciously understood and copied their habits. You could have sworn you saw something like the slightest and briefest twitch of the corner of his mouth in an upwards direction.
You turned back to the Oblique, seeing that he was quite different in appearance. His dark skin was almost completely smooth, almost pliable-looking save for a few small scars here and there. His single dark blue eye reminded you of the night sky just after dusk, and his white eye a pale full moon.
His expression was one of waiting. Maybe scrutiny. But you didn’t quite know what he was waiting for, or what he was watching so carefully for. Of all the others, he appeared to be the most rigid, like he was constantly concerned about something. It was almost jarring how he and the Erudite appeared to be polar opposites in terms of mannerisms.
But, like all the others, you didn’t ask any questions. It was a miracle you had been allowed to see them at all.
The matchstick had burnt out by now, and you instinctively knew that it would be the last. You had seen all of the creatures, all of their features deemed unsightly or monstrous, and you didn’t flinch away, not even once. They weren’t infernal demons. They were quite strange and sharp and different to you, but not inherently evil. Not worthy of any of the whispers they garnered.
It was silent for a long moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not to you. Not anymore.
You opened your mouth to say something, but stopped when you saw the beasts perk up as if hearing something in the distance, just like that night that other intruder came for the Lamb. The blood in your veins turned cold.
A couple of large hands wrapped around your midsection, and you nearly yelped like last time, but managed to clamp one of your own hands over your mouth this time. It was then that you realized that the Erudite and Oblique had each used one of their thinned hands to lightly push you into a gap hidden behind both of their cages, and you quickly nodded to affirm that you would curl up and hide as much as physically possible.
The large bony hands left your form, but you didn’t move your own palm away from your mouth. You stayed completely quiet and still as you tucked yourself even further away from the entrance, even as your curiosity burned. But now wasn’t the time to indulge such feelings. Someone was coming.
You could eventually hear what the beasts could—footsteps. It never ceased to briefly stun you how different the creature’s senses were compared to your own. The footsteps weren’t staggering or heavy, but purposeful. It sounded as though this person wasn’t worried about being caught or seen.
Every last muscle in your body tensed upon seeing a shadowed masculine figure emerge from behind the curtain entrance. Your body only got more tense when the person didn’t say anything for a few moments. It was unbearably quiet.
And then, the man sighed in a way you recognized. Your eyes widened.
“So, beasts, tomorrow is your last chance. Your last chance to prove your worth to me.”
That voice. You knew that voice. It was the voice of fear in your heart. The voice you associated with the Lord and His words.
Your father.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your slovenly performances. The people here have grown tired of your kind. And you have proven to be quite difficult to keep.”
You watched as the beast’s eyes all narrowed, some in barely contained resentment, others in quiet fear and sorrow. It was hard to retain what your father was saying. It was hard to believe those cold and calculating words were in your father’s voice in the first place.
“So, there are two choices for you to make, monsters. Either you prove your worth to me alive, and this circus will relocate. Or…”
The air in your lungs stalled. You couldn’t breathe.
“You will be left here to die a slow and painful death. The choice is yours, beasts. I do hope you make one that you won’t regret.”
And just like that, your father left, footsteps eventually fading away. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Was that really him? How could he be so cruel, so uncaring? There was too much dissonance between who he was in your eyes before and now, it hurt your head to think about.
You briefly wished you had covered your ears instead of your mouth, just so you wouldn’t have had to hear such words in your father’s voice. A shaky breath finally emerged from your mouth, but it brought no relief. Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, if the creatures didn’t do as your father wished, they would be left to die long and miserable deaths. They would rot away in these cold cages in the dark, never knowing of warmth or a sated appetite or comfort. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.
With trembling legs you forced yourself to stand and move to the center of the darkened room to face all of the imprisoned creatures. They didn’t appear distressed or frightened or even angry, just…exhausted. They didn’t appear nearly as affected as you knew you were. The Leader slowly began to speak in his hoarse voice.
“He torments us. They all do. All for the performances. And their creativity has yet to wane.”
It took every last bit of effort in your body not to allow your eyes to water. The casual admission that your father and the other circus members were cruel torturers made your intestines twist into all sorts of knots. You’re not sure how your voice remained somewhat leveled when you finally spoke.
“I…I didn’t know that. I know the Ringmaster. Or at least…I thought I did. I never would have thought him to be capable of such…”
Malice? Spitefulness? Barbarity? Machiavellian acts? No single word seemed to be enough. A chill started to travel across your sweat-dotted nape at the thought of where those recent scars on the beasts’ bodies came from. Your mouth was dry when you asked the sole question that had gone unanswered since you first met these imprisoned beings.
“How did did this happen? How did you end up here?”
Your fingers trembled the longer your question went acknowledged but not answered. This was the only way to get the full story. You didn’t want to hear your father’s version. You wanted to know the truth. Their truth. The Leader’s head tilted downward in defeat, teeth lightly gnashing together. And then you heard his gravelly voice utter low and exhausted words.
“…We were starving in our home. The desolate valley where our kind’s cries went unseen and unheard by any God.”
The violet-eyed beast’s voice thinned towards the end of his sentence, form slumped and eyes dimmed. He was too exhausted to continue. Or perhaps the memory was too painful. But when his voice faded, the Knave’s suddenly emerged from the dark.
“And one day, a man entered the valley. He found us hungry and sorrowful and desperate. And he saw an opportunity.”
When the Knave’s serpentine chittering came to an end, another voice replaced his. The others came together to weave the whole story of how they ended up in the circus, and your head nearly began to spin from the rasped voices all around you.
“The man told us that he would feed us if we worked for him. A set of shows, he said, to incite fear and curiosity and faith.”
“We were dying. In our desperation, we went to him and agreed. We thought that this would be a chance for us to survive and live together.”
A pause.
“We were wrong.”
“In the beginning, we were given many things. We had warmth. Food. Shelter. We were even allowed to wander within the circus so long as we weren’t seen.”
“The Ringmaster told us that we had to stay hidden. To protect ourselves from those who would fear our nature…or those who would seek to claim it.”
“Funny, then…that when the other humans came to watch us, they wanted us to hurt. They wanted to see our pain. And the Ringmaster was nothing but a slave to the crowd’s desires. And he was a slave to his own ambitions. He wanted more…always more.”
You swallowed a leaden weight down to your stomach, already knowing where this story was leading. You had played a part in it, after all. Unknowingly, but a component in this twisted circus all the same. The back of your throat tightened as though you had downed a mouthful of glass as the beasts continued to speak.
“So he tortured us. Forced us into crude and twisted performances. Beat us. Prodded us like cattle. Tore at our flesh. The crowds found joy in our pain, and the Ringmaster felt nothing but his desire for more.”
“And so he got more. And we were given less. We were forbidden to wander. Then our strength was slowly sapped. Then our warmth was stolen. And then we were forced into cages like animals. And now…we are here.”
“We came to him starving and hopeless and dying. And now, after all this time, he has everything. And we are still starving and hopeless and dying.”
Another pause. This time, you released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. It nearly became a dry heave. An ironic and breathy scoff came from your right.
“Pathetic, is it not?”
You didn’t respond, eyes burning and hands shaking. With short breaths you suddenly moved to grasp one of the Lamb’s chains and pulled as hard as you physically could against their linked bond to the floor, though obviously to no avail. Your efforts were useless and both you and the beasts knew it. Still, you didn’t stop trying.
You then moved towards the Knave’s cage, grasping one of the thin horizontal bars that supported the vertical ones and pulled as hard as your body would allow. Nothing. Not even a budge. It was too dark to see if the iron bars were simply bolted to the cage or welded, but it didn’t matter either way. If the creatures were too weak to make any impact, what hope did you have?
“No use, creature. Do not attempt to control something you know you cannot hope to. Our time grows nearer.”
You stopped your action upon hearing the Leader’s voice again. He sounded exhausted, defeated, utterly devoid of energy. He and the others would just…give up? No, not give up…they simply had nothing left. They were starved and hurt and broken beyond aid. Beyond your aid. Your eyes involuntarily wetted.
“But…but you’ll die.”
“Many of us have. Many of us will.”
The Knave behind the bars in front of you moved closer to your face, and you didn’t back away. Instead you searched his eyes for any shred of ambition, any sort of scrap of will to keep trying, keep living.
“We are no different from the game they hunt or an infestation to be purged. So they will get their extermination. We will get our freedom.”
Your hands remained clenched around the metal bars in front of you despite the Sentinel’s words. This couldn’t be it. Not after all this time, all your efforts. Did all of it mean nothing? Was this only an inevitable outcome? A song that never ends is no song at all, only senseless noise that is destined to fade and break. But this just can’t be how their story ends. This can't be all there is.
“Go on now, human. Leave us to our final performance. Grant us this last dignity.”
Your eyes squeezed shut. Your forehead came in contact with the cold metal bars in front of your face, and you could even feel the sparse warmth from the beast’s body inside it. There has to be something. There has to be another way. Your fingers gripped the iron bars even harder, so hard you were sure you’d get blisters if you held on for too long.
“…No. No. There has to be something I can still do. I can still-“
“Don’t you dare make promises you know you can’t keep, creature. Give us this one chance for peace.”
You should have listened to the Erudite’s warning, you really should have. Especially considering the Knave’s dark face was right in front of yours, emerald eyes sharper than ever before. But something in your heart refused to fizzle out into ash. It fueled you to speak just a little louder than before.
“But you’re not at peace! You want to live, you all do, I know you do! If I can just-“
The Knave suddenly gripped the bars of his cage, large and thin fingers grasped just right above where yours were clinging to the metal. The sudden metallic rattling made you flinch. You had never seen any of the beasts so quick to move. His form towered over yours as he rose up, tendrils along his spine writhing over his broad shoulders with his outburst of energy.
“Of course we wish to live. But there is nothing any of us can do. And there is nothing left for you here.”
Silence. You couldn’t argue with his pointed words. There was really nothing you could do. They would choose to die rather than continue to be hurt over and over again, and you couldn’t blame them. But it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. They didn’t deserve this.
Your eyes searched and searched for something, anything that could be done. Though your sight was blurred from the water building up in them, they landed on the heavy lock near the top of the cage. Only a key could open it, this you knew and even tested with all sorts of other items.
The key…if anyone would have it, it would be your father. No other circus member was allowed to go near his personal area. But maybe…maybe you could. Maybe you could distract him, or even go into his private space if he wasn’t there.
“The key. I know where to look for it. I can find it. I’ll find it and I’ll-“
A series of hisses and low pitched animalistic noises came from nearly all of the cages, especially the one whose bars you still held onto.
“Have you learned nothing? All this time and you still cannot listen. Don’t you dare give us hope. Not in this place where it’s stamped out and turned to ash right in front of our eyes.”
The tears gathered in your eyes finally slipped down your cheeks. It was unbearably distressing to hear such a profound loss of hope. But what was worse was that you knew these creatures wanted to live so badly, but they didn’t have a choice. The most damning part was that their livelihoods had not been taken from them. The beasts had willingly given them to the circus with the hopes of living better than they had in their valley.
You couldn’t just stand and do nothing, no matter how much the creatures wanted you to. They wanted to live, to stand in the sun once more, to be able to do all of the things they spoke to you about from their lives. Your voice trembled as you just slowly shook your head.
“I’ll try my best to get you out of this place, I can promise you that. I know it isn’t much, but…it isn’t fair what was done to you. It just isn’t right. I’ll do everything I can to make this right.”
“Fair, beast, does not mean equal in this world. It means that one end of the bargain got what they wanted…and the other side can’t complain of it. You would be wise to remember that.”
You continued to quietly let your tears fall. Eventually your knees became too weak to support your body, and you sank to the floor. You recognized the Oblique making a sound that indicated he was going to chastise you in his slightly condescending way.
“If we wanted your pity, we would have asked for it. But this is simply how things are.”
But things are just wrong. Why were they acting so content when they clearly weren’t? It was almost like-
“That’s why you let me see your forms.”
The words left your mouth just as you made the realization, and the Knave in front of you nodded solemnly.
“Indeed. Is it so wrong to wish to be seen not as hell-spawned devils but simply as what we are?”
The Lamb had slowly moved to sit beside you at this point, the chains on her wrists pulled taut. She said nothing as you placed your palms on the floor in front of you helplessly. The Erudite warbled a deep sound.
“For what it’s worth…you have been good to us. Naive and foolish as you are, you proved us wrong. But we are out of time. And so are you.”
You hiccupped slightly, unwilling to accept this. That likely only proved that you were, in fact, naive and foolish. And stupid.
“But I haven’t done anything! I…”
A hand touched your back, and you flinched only to realize it was the Lamb’s. It was the first time any of the beasts had touched you outside of trying to hide you. Her eyes were even more sorrowful and downturned if possible.
“You have done everything you can.”
It certainly didn’t feel like it. These bound beings, these creatures…you dared to think of them as dear to you. They were frightening and sharp at times, but they taught you many things. They were the only bonds you had formed other than with your father. Just as the Erudite said that you were good to them, they were good to you. Not gentle, and certainly not kind, but good.
But what did someone like you know of goodness? You were just a sheltered human who knew nothing of the world, one who never had to starve or be deprived of warmth or loathe your nature simply because it was different from others. Your father made you think that spiritual purity was pivotal, but he was now revealed to be a minister of torture. What did he know of goodness?
You just held your head low, the Lamb’s hand not leaving your spine. But then the Leader spoke to you just above a whisper.
“Go on. Return to the light where you belong. Leave us to our darkness. And do not look back.”
None of the beasts said anything else. You sat there until the Lamb slowly removed her hand from your back, and you recognized that it was time for you to leave. But you wouldn’t just give up. You said that you’d do everything to try to help them, and there was still a way to possibly free them. You needed to find the key. There was no point in wasting time crying and despairing about things you were told couldn’t change. You’d see for yourself if your efforts were wasted.
A tiny bit of strength returned to your body, just enough for you to stand up and walk out of the tent and not look back as you dried your face. You wouldn’t go back until you had the key in your hands, this you swore to yourself. With clenched fists you navigated through the dark with a mere sliver of the moon lit to guide you, but you made your way to your father’s private area.
His study was much like your personal quarters, secluded from the rest of the circus near its outskirts. Now that you actually stood in front of the off-limits area, you hesitated—but only for a moment. You shook your head quickly and entered your father’s personal area.
Papers were strewn everywhere, business reports and contracts and all sorts of documents and whatnot. It overwhelmed you for a moment, but you quickly began to search for the key to the beast’s cages. But where would it be?
Minutes passed with no results, and you began to grow worried. How long until your father inevitably found you? He always seemed to know when you were getting into something you shouldn't be. Luckily, you had an excuse ready. But thoughts and actions were very different things. Sure, it was easy in theory to talk to your father, but...
You nearly jumped out of your skin and froze upon noticing a figure at the entrance. Your father, to be specific. He stood there with an almost...knowing expression. Your heart sank to your stomach. No, your feet.
"Father! I..."
Your words caught in your throat and rotted at the tip of your tongue. The part of your mind that held all of that resolve and desire to act was sidelined, replaced by an unfamiliar fear. Or perhaps it was familiar and you simply didn't recognize it for what it was until now. Father just smiled how he always did ever since you were little, not moving from his spot by the entrance and not acknowledging what you were just doing.
"It's very late. You've been sleepless these past few months, haven't you?"
You swallowed thickly. It felt as though you were just about to walk into a field full of tripwires while blindfolded. Was there a right and wrong answer here? Did it matter? You had to try anyway.
"I...I wanted to talk to you."
"Is that so? About the monsters?"
You stiffened. He couldn't know. How could he possibly know? He had to be testing you somehow. But you couldn't risk revealing that you knew about them, not when it could mean possible consequences for the caged creatures. You made a poor attempt at taking a deep breath.
"Monsters? I don't understand what you mean."
"I think you do."
Your eyes involuntarily widened when you saw something your father took out from an interior coat pocket. It was your journal, the one you shoved beneath your pillow every night. The one you wrote and sketched in after every late-night visit to the beasts. Your chest tightened. What little confidence you had gathered was crushed to dust.
"T...That's for my dreams. I've been having night terrors for months now."
Your father hummed as he idly flipped through the pages and scanned their contents, eventually coming across the series of ripped sections where the pages were torn out. Where the most recent drawings of the creatures had been before you gave them to the Lamb.
"Hm. Is that so?"
You just nodded slowly, unable to look your father in the eyes as you lied right to his face for the very first time. Your stomach churned, and you could only focus on trying not to let your fingers tremble. Father dropped your diary to the floor with a simple tilt of his hand, and you flinched at the loud noise it made when it hit the ground.
"Oh, my child. Hasn't anyone told you that you are a terrible liar?"
He began to step towards you, and you couldn't move. You bit the inside of your lip as you realized that he had no anger in his eyes, no worry or fear or anything like that. Just gentle admonishment as though you were small. That was somehow worse than anything else you could have imagined.
"Did you really think it was just that easy to sneak in, night after night?"
You weren't able to hide your trembling anymore. Father was within arm's distance now, and though it felt almost impossible to think, you realized that you were afraid of what your father might do. It was unsettling to think about just how much power he held over you, the caged creatures, the circus as a whole. Your father sighed a disappointed sound, and you shrunk away from him.
"I planned to let you learn on your own. But it appears that those loathsome things have seeped their influence into your mind. They have made you think that they are deserving of your pity and sympathy."
He brought his hands up, and you flinched away, swiftly turning your head and squeezing your eyes shut. But there was no harsh strike to your face, no painful grip on your chin. Instead you felt his warm palms press against your cheeks as he turned your face to gaze into your eyes. The action alone was enough to completely disarm you. You hadn't received affection like this in a very long time.
"My poor, sweet, naive child. You may be grown, but there is still much for you to learn. It is only natural that those demons would seek to corrupt your goodness."
Your eyes stung. Father was lying. He had to be. Those creatures were beasts, but they weren't demons. They spoke of connection, of love, of...
"You have lied to me. You tried to steal from me. You turn a blind eye to sins, especially your own. I no longer recognize you."
You didn't realize tears had begun to trail down your cheeks until they were gently wiped away by your father's thumbs, and then with a handkerchief you knew he always carried in one of his pockets. The gesture was far more nerve-wracking than if he were to strike your face or shove you to the ground in retribution for deceiving him.
But he was not angry with you. Only disappointed. The thought of it made your entire body shudder with deep dread. Yes, that's right. Despite your hidden resentments, despite his secrets, despite everything...you loved your father. You depended on him. He raised you, guided you, molded you into who you are today. Where would you be without him?
The thought alone made a peach pit-sized lump form in your throat. Your father hummed as if reading your thoughts and continued to speak while wiping your tears.
"Their hearts are black and empty. They know only to eat or be eaten. To hide in their shadows and lure you in to taint your precious light."
But…the creatures weren't like that. Were they? They told you to leave when you first encountered them. They didn't lure or seduce you into the darkness, you walked willingly into it. Father stared into your eyes as though he could see something that you couldn't, like he could tell there were still conflicting ideas within your mind.
“Dearest child. Don’t you see? They pulled on your heartstrings and strung you along to think against what I have taught you.”
You felt impossibly small beneath his gaze. When you were little, you might have considered that feeling to be comforting, knowing that your father was watching you and shielding you from the rest of the world. Like how he would guide you through your nightly prayers to God and His angels to protect you while you slept. But now, it only felt like he would crush you beneath his shoe, like he was looming in the hopes of smothering and suffocating you.
Perhaps that was just how it always felt.
You wiped your eyes with one of your arms, trying to suppress your hiccups and sobs as best you could—and trying to reject his gesture of care. You loved your father, but you had just learned that he was willing to let the beasts you dared to care about die painful and slow deaths. He was a cruel tormentor, but he was also drying your tears and cradling your face in his hands. You just didn’t know what to think anymore.
When you looked back at your father, he was holding something in his palm for you to see. Your gaze traveled downward to see that it was a slip of paper. No, it was a ticket. A front row seat for the grand performance tomorrow evening. A sharp pang of dread pierced through your heart as you realized what he was doing.
“See for yourself what your kindness would have brought upon you. See those beasts for what they truly are. Do that…”
He reached his other hand into a coat pocket, and you heard a light metallic jingle. Your eyes widened upon seeing your father take out a single metal key on a ring.
He knew.
He knew this whole time why you were here. But how? And when did he learn of you visiting the caged beasts? How much of the past few months had occurred only because of your father’s discretion? Had he really known this whole time? Your stomach started to hurt even worse.
“And I will let you decide for yourself whether or not you would wish to see them again.”
————
Everything felt like an awful dream after that. You couldn’t sleep that night, and during the day when tasked with passing out flyers for the grand show in the evening, your father would always watch you from a distance, acting as though nothing had happened the night prior.
It was an unspoken acknowledgment that he knew you had been trying your best not to pass out the papers in the past few months. He knew you hid them, crumpled them, folded them into different shapes to avoid letting people see them. His watchful eyes forever followed your movements, and there were no opportunities to be rid of the flyers now.
You constantly felt like you wanted to spit up the contents of your stomach right then and there in public—not only because there was an aching emptiness in your gut that never once subsided, but also because you wanted any sort of excuse to evade your father’s gaze. But time passed too slowly and too quickly all at once, like a hazy dream forgotten upon waking. The sun had eventually set as it did every day, and you found yourself loathing it. The time for the performance was soon. Too soon.
You watched a long line of people begin to form at the circus’s entrance, all of them eager to see the horrors the tents held. All except for you. You stayed there, frozen at the entrance, unwilling to get into the line with your ticket but also unable to simply refuse. You couldn’t just run off into the horizon and disappear along with the sun.
But you weren’t curious about the very thing you had desperately wanted to see just a few months ago. What happened to that innocent person who knew nothing of monsters outside of childish bedtime stories? What happened to the dutiful and diligent Ringmaster’s child? This circus and its shows were now the sole things you wanted no knowledge of. But this is what you longed for, is it not?
Pins and needles traversed every inch of your body as you took step after heavy step towards the end of the line into the circus, your small ticket held in your hands as though it were a set of iron shackles. The line shortened, and all too soon you were at the front, hands trembling as your ticket was taken and torn, the man—who you knew as one of your father’s friends who helped with the circus—behind the counter wishing you a good time at the show.
You took one last look into the sky as you trudged slowly past the circus threshold. It was a moonless night, and though you had walked this exact path more times than you could count, it felt foreign and unfamiliar with all the people surrounding you, especially the lights inside the tent you approached.
You walked slowly into the main tent, but unlike all those times before, the lights decorating the interior were glowing, providing an atmosphere that would be ideally welcoming and atmospheric but only felt hollow and foreboding to you. Inching your way towards the front row, you spotted a seat that had your name written neatly on a pale card with dark ink. It was in your father’s handwriting. A sour and acrid taste coated the back of your tongue upon reading it.
Reluctantly, you sat down in the spot reserved for you, feet constantly shifting and palms sweating. The world itself seemed to tilt side to side the longer you waited for the show to begin. It was too loud, too bright, too warm—even though you knew everyone else around you thought differently.
Every last muscle in your body tensed as if trying to turn themselves inside out and escape, a fundamental rejection of being here in this place at this time. A heavy weight in your gut kept you seated in your spot as though you had swallowed a mouthful of lead.
But just then, a single spotlight had been turned on, and at the center of the ring was your father. The Ringmaster. He spoke of fear and faith and something else, but his words went in one of your ears and out the other. You were too distracted with sheer anxiety and dread to fully pay attention to what he was saying.
But when he finished speaking in his charismatic cadence, when you and the rest of the audience had leaned forward in your seats with anticipation, he finally motioned to six small pedestals equally spread out behind him.
One by one, he introduced each of the “performers” to the audience by a title, and each one emerged from the darkness behind that familiar curtain shambling in heavy chains on their wrists. One by one, each beast was forced beneath the bright lights and onto the small pedestals. They all wore circus-like attire that clearly wasn’t comfortable nor made for them, colorful markings painted onto their dark faces.
It was strange and almost unsettling how much you could see of their forms in this lighting. The matches from before illuminated just enough, but not too much to where it was invasive. But these bright lights were merciless in making sure every last sharp edge and beastly feature was on full display. They likely felt no different from surgical overhead lights, unforgiving and far too exposing for prying eyes.
Your father briefly explained each of the creatures’ (likely fabricated) origins and their supposedly otherworldly abilities, and you only got more and more angry the longer you watched. The air in your lungs became thicker and harder to breathe in, but you couldn’t look away, not for a second.
The crowd behind you gasped and cried out and made all sorts of reactions upon seeing how “tame” the creatures appeared to be, but you remained completely silent as the show went on. Your eyes stung as you watched your father force the beasts through acts and stunts and routines that clearly strained their already weakened bodies. But the crowd urged for more, and so your father did too.
It was all just too much to take in. But the worst had yet to come.
The worst was when your father narrated how these beasts were children of deepest Hell, creatures of the night that stole the faces of humans and spread sin among proper society. The crowd became ravenous for cruelty, chanting and yelling out for the beasts to be punished and sent back to their infernal realm. Your breathing became shallow then as you finally turned your head around to look at the crowd. Were these people insane?
The man who blatantly lied about the “sins” of these creatures was not your father in your mind. He spoke of the one he called the Damsel—the pink-eyed beast—being a seductress and licentious spreader of lust, and of the one he called the Marionettist—the violet-eyed Leader—being a prideful manipulator of minds. One after the next, he spread lies only to spur the crowd on and make them scream out their desires for violence.
You flinched when the Ringleader and a few other men began to “punish” the beasts by either using nearly medieval methods of torture or forcing them into acts that only granted them further pain when their bony bodies obviously eventually failed them. The crowd couldn’t get enough of it. You felt sick to your stomach.
At some point one of the men had brushed a hand over the Lamb’s shoulder in a way that made you want to retch. When the golden-eyed Sentinel moved to try to protect her, he was harshly stabbed in his shoulders with a blade of some kind. The other beasts noticeably panicked and tried to move over to aid him, but they were stopped with wordless threats of worse punishments.
It wasn’t until you noticed their bright-colored eyes had met yours that you finally began to cry. Their faces were so unfathomably pained, so exhausted and desperate, and when each of them realized that you were in the crowd, their eyes widened briefly before squeezing shut in pain. You put a palm over your mouth to unsuccessfully contain your subsequent sobs. It was all just too much.
“Stop.”
It was just a whisper from your lips. A plea from the very depths of your heart.
“Father, please.”
You knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t hear you. And even then, you knew he wouldn’t listen. The look in his eyes was something you had never seen in him before. Greed. The look of a slave bound to his own desires.
“Please…please, don’t…”
What did your words mean against the entire rest of the crowd’s? What did your experiences and thoughts mean against the hatred shared by the rest of the entire world?
“Leave them alone.”
You had removed your hand from over your mouth, voice gaining just the slightest bit of volume. But it wasn’t enough.
“STOP!”
Your voice, as sob-filled and injustice-driven as it was in that moment, was drowned out. Why wouldn’t it be? What could you hope to achieve with your own voice that had never known speaking above a conversational level? You, who had never once stood up to your father, would now attempt to do so in a circus crowd.
It was pathetic, really.
You were just short of contemplating running directly into the performance ring to force your father to stop the shows, but the torment had finally come to an end. Exhausted and beaten nearly beyond recognition, the beasts were forced back into the darkness, dragged by their chains. Your father bowed and also stepped into the curtained area, into the dark, all while cryptically giving one last speech about deception and faith and whatever other nonsense he claimed to care about.
And just like that, it was over. The crowd seemed to return back to being consisted of normal people instead of crazed lunatics, and every last person quietly made their way out of the tent as if they hadn’t just witnessed horrible abuse. Did they rationalize it? Or did they simply not see anything wrong with it in the first place? Or did they truly believe it all to be fake? How did these people sleep at night knowing what they had chanted and cheered on for?
You were still left sitting there in your seat, heart hammering in your ribcage and lungs struggling to keep up. It took everything in you not to follow your father into that darkness and scream all sorts of profanities and insults at him and his godforsaken performances. Eventually, the idle after show chatter had faded away, and you were the only person left in the seats. But you still didn’t move, head held in your hands in sheer shock at what you had seen.
You weren’t sure how long you sat there. But judging by the way the entire area slowly became quiet, you would guess a couple hours at least. Eventually though, you heard footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to stare at the boots near your feet to know that your father had approached you, no doubt waiting for your admission that he was right all along like when you were young and impressionable.
“So you’ve seen them now. You’ve seen what I promised to one day show you.”
He spoke in that way he always did when he was waiting for you to admit that you were wrong and should have listened to him. Did he really think you to be that stupid? Did he really think that you had gathered that he was the one in the right after the show? After what you saw in his eyes? In his actions?
You began to tremble, but it wasn’t with fear this time. It was with sheer anger. Remembering his question, you nodded only once to answer it, head raising to meet his gaze with eyes unclouded by your previous misplaced trust in him. Yes, you indeed did see those creatures for what they truly are. But more importantly, you saw your father for what he truly is, too.
“Those beasts…they’re hurt creatures who were tricked and forced to perform! You’re the only real monster here! You went to them and you lied!”
Your words started out hissed and nearly mumbled, but they rapidly gained strength and volume as you continued speaking. You stood up from your seat, movement fueled by pure rage at father’s audacity to believe himself untouchable. But your father cut you off before you could continue, which only angered you further.
“I gave them an opportunity. But I realize now that there’s no point in negotiating with unreasonable beasts. They have failed me. Just as you have.”
The veins in your knuckles were white-hot as you clenched your fingers impossibly tight into fists as your father kept speaking. You knew your face had twisted into something ugly and furious because his had done the same upon seeing it.
“I raised you to be diligent, dutiful. Instead you defy me like a shallow sinner and succumb so easily to the temptations of those foul things.”
You were surprised your molars didn’t crack from the pressure you put on them from the anger channeled in your jaws. Pure fury roiled within your chest at what you now realized was just meaningless jargon about God and sins and demons. You pointed a single finger at your hypocrite of a father, and it was clear he never expected such sheer outward expression from you by the way his face reflected shock for just a moment. It was the most unsettled you had ever seen him in your whole life.
Good.
“The only one who succumbed to sin is you with your greed! You know what those creatures are. You always have. They’re not demons or monsters, they’re just different from us! They love, they fear, they hunger! They were starving. They were starving and dying and desperate, and you took advantage of them!”
The air became thick, but you didn’t care. It was a miracle you were able to get all of that out without a single stutter. You panted heavy breaths between clenched teeth, the sides of your head aching just above your temples where your jaw hinged. One of your father’s eyes twitched, another sign of him being completely unsettled by your outburst. He looked at you as though you were a foul fanged beast foaming at the mouth in need of chains.
But then his eyes darkened as he tilted his head upward. He refused to allow his ego to be hurt by his own child, that much was apparent. You briefly wondered if he would finally drop the “pious refined man” act once and for all.
“And that advantage has faded. Even starved and caged and beaten, those filthy creatures are still too troublesome to keep.”
You were confused, and you were sure your face reflected that. What did he mean? There was no way the creatures are of any threat with how thoroughly hurt they are now. Your father narrowed his eyes. He knew something you didn’t. He angled his head in a way that you recognized as condescending, a small smile creeping onto his face.
“You don’t know, do you? The basis of their nature. Their reason for living.”
Father stepped closer to you, but you refused to back down. He seemed to take that as a challenge.
“What do you think allows them to do such things that we can only call black magic or otherworldly? What is it you think beasts of their kind feast on? It isn’t any livestock you can think of.”
Your stubborn resolve was shaken for only a moment, but your father saw it. He always did. You momentarily took your eyes off of his to think. Was he just lying? He had to be. You fed the creatures yourself. Granted, it was meager portions of subpar nutritional value, but it kept them from dying. Your fiery gaze went back to his patronizing one.
“You’re lying. That’s all you do. That’s all you’ve ever done!”
“Am I? Those things, they’re never truly sated, are they? There is only one thing their appetites are satisfied by. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? Their eyes. Their twisted hunger.”
You involuntarily remembered that time you cut your finger in front of the beasts, how they all went silent and fixated on your blood. You could tell father could see the gears turning in your head, and you rapidly shook your head to be rid of the memory. He was just getting into your head, trying to give you reasons to give in to fear. Trying to shatter your resolve. No, you couldn’t let his words seep into the cracks of your mind. You wouldn’t.
Upon seeing your face and your refusal to listen to him, father’s gaze had darkened. It was almost enough to catch you off guard, but you caught yourself first. You didn’t remove your gaze from his face as he reached a hand into one of his costume’s pockets, and you heard that light metallic jingling again. His fingers dangled that single key to the cages in front of your face as if you were nothing but a dog outside a butcher shop.
“Very well. Go on, then. Give those creatures the freedom they seek. Learn for yourself what their truth is.”
He then dropped the key, and you quickly caught it in your palms and held it close to your chest like it would be taken away at any moment. He took one step back, then a few more, then he turned around to walk out of the tent, arms held behind his back as he did so. You stared daggers into the back of his head.
“Just don’t ever say I didn’t warn you. I’ll be waiting.”
You wanted to yell after him, to curse under your breath or even spit at his heels, but you refrained. Somehow. What mattered now was that you had the key that would free the beasts from their dark and cold prisons. That was why you did this, why you went to the show in the first place, why you defied your father at all.
And now, father truly wasn’t watching. Nobody else was here. This was your chance.
Though the walk itself to those curtains was short, it felt especially foreboding on this moonless night, likely because of how much you had done just to get the key. But none of that mattered in this moment. You repeated that over and over again, not letting yourself think too much about the future. You promised to help, and now you would help. That was all that mattered.
You slowly approached and parted the curtain like you had so many times before and stepped into the darkness, being extra careful not to make any sudden movements. The caged creatures must be especially vulnerable after those brutal acts and during the performance. You clutched the metal key in your hand tighter, making sure that it still existed in your grip. You had sworn not to return unless you had it, after all.
But as your eyes adjusted in the dark, and as you utilized the sliver of light from the performance lights behind you, something became overwhelmingly apparent. The imprisoned beings were no longer imprisoned. The green-eyed Knave stood in front of one cage, its iron bars bent in different directions to allow for him to escape.
The sight was so jarring that you simply stood there and blinked for a long moment. But no matter how many times you checked if you were seeing things correctly with eyes adjusted to the shadows, the sight remained the same. The Knave was no longer caged. As a matter of fact, none of the others were caged either. They all stood outside of their bars, having freed themselves.
But…how?
How did they gather the strength and energy to go so far as to bend the bars of their cages? And after such a brutal performance? It just didn’t make sense. How were they all out and about?
Wait. No. Not all of them.
Where is the pink-eyed beast? Where is the Lamb? You saw her get dragged back here just like the others. Your gaze traveled downward to see if she was sitting on the ground, but there was nothing. Nothing but broken chains and pried shackles and…tattered cloth? Torn ribbon and scraps of stained fabric and shiny dark splotches on the floor…
No, you recognized those ribbons, those scraps of cloth, the unmistakably coppery and sickeningly warm smell you only now realized was hanging in the air.
It was then that you also noticed a distinct dripping patter. The source of the sound was revealed to be from the sharpened claws and wetted chins of the beasts, and the liquid was the same dark color as the stains on the floor. They had just eaten something. They had just eaten fresh meat. They had just eaten…
A sudden heavy weight settled just inside your ribs, making the surrounding air feel too thick and too thin at the same time. Either way, it was nearly impossible to pull anything into your lungs. That acrid and bitter taste at the back of your throat returned tenfold, bile threatening to trickle at the very end of your tongue.
You looked back up only to realize that all of the bright and colored eyes were staring directly at you. No, staring directly into you. You didn’t even realize your fingers had begun to shake until the metal key in your palm fell to the ground with a resounding clatter that sounded far too loud and echoed for far too long. Whatever scraps of resolve you had salvaged earlier were nonexistent now. The words that somehow came from your mouth were whimpered at best.
“You…You…”
A couple of them shifted, and you flinched. Why you didn’t move to run or scream or do anything, you had no idea. The Erudite then noticeably tilted his feathered head as if observing something like he used to during your late-night visits. You almost didn't recognize his eyes. They were a bright crimson instead of that usual cyan.
“You are the Ringmaster’s child.”
Your breaths became shallow. The fact that the beasts now knew and acknowledged your connections to the circus leader only made your fear unimaginably worsen. Would they have found out one way or another, their senses more keen than yours ever would be? Did they already know and simply waited for you to admit such important information yourself?
The words you tried to muster up clogged at the back of your throat. But there was a palpable sense of something being fundamentally wrong about the creatures stood within the darkness. Something different.
“How is it that such a cruel man raised and taught one such as you, the opposite?”
It was hard to pay attention to the Knave’s words when he sounded completely out of it. He didn’t sound as if he was all there, like he was in a deluded and dazed state. They all seemed to act like that, actually, forms slightly swaying side to side like they weren’t used to standing upright. It was a deeply disturbing sight.
But just to make sure they wouldn’t misunderstand you for being the child of their tormentor, you tried to reason, tried to tell them that you had no idea about what was happening in the shows. But of course, your mind was too flooded, thoughts and feelings and impressions all swimming together and leaving you hardly capable of stringing up a single coherent sentence.
“I…I didn’t…”
“You didn’t know. You didn’t know until tonight. Your face says it all. And we don’t resent you for it.”
The Leader’s unexpectedly considerate words put you slightly more at ease. But that would prove to be a terrible mistake to make around monsters when you heard what he said next.
“But now you must know that we do not do this out of malice. Not towards you.”
Confusion was written all over your face, and you didn’t bother hiding it. What did they mean? What were they going to…
You tried backing up to regain some level of control over your body, but ended up bumping into a large form behind you. On instinct, you tried to turn around, but one long, beastly arm wrapped around your midsection, and another large pointed hand clamped around your wrists to prevent you from moving. By process of elimination of the beasts in front of the cages, you realized that it was the golden-eyed Sentinel that had snuck up behind you and was now silently holding you still, not reacting in the slightest to your struggling. You started to panic.
“Wha-What are you-“
“We are free, but not safe. We can only hope to survive if we manage to live among your kind. But to do that, we must become human ourselves. And to become human…”
The beasts stepped closer and closer to your struggling form, and you were going to yelp or cry out or just say or do something, but a dark clawed hand had pressed over your mouth. The Knave emerged from your blind spot, having moved closer to you faster than you thought he could. He had a demented look in his emerald eyes that made your eyes water.
“We must know your flesh.”
You attempted to scream, to bite, to struggle, to cry, to reason, anything. It was all useless. The Sentinel noticeably trembled behind you, but his grip didn’t loosen even a little. If anything, it only got tighter. Hushed and rasped whispers came from everywhere and nowhere.
“Quickly. Use your poison. Numb the pain.”
The others had fully approached you now, forming a loose half-circle around you and the golden-eyed fellow beast who held you against your will. Your eyes widened when you fully comprehended what the Oblique had said, and you began struggling as hard as you could when you saw the emerald-eyed creature lean towards you with the claws on his free hand lengthened. You struggled for your life.
But before you knew it, there was a sudden warm and wet trickling on your neck, and then a prickling burning sensation that traveled from the wound directly into your veins. You began sobbing at this point, already knowing what had been done. The Knave’s cold and skeletal hand remained firmly placed over your mouth, though whether for the beast’s sake of not being caught or some attempt to console you, you didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.
The Leader had stepped forward and trailed the claws on one hand against your forehead in a way that reminded you of how a farmer consoled its livestock before being slaughtered. Gentle and mildly considerate, but not remorseful. Especially since you and everyone else knew exactly what was being done to you.
You were being murdered.
It only just now fully hit you. You were going to die. This was it. You were being killed by the very beings you wanted to set free. You were going to be eaten. But worst of all, you were being betrayed. You sobbed even harder if it were possible at that, and the violet-eyed beast in front of you swiped a thumb under one of your eyes in an attempt to cease your endless tears.
“Be still, dear human. We grant this last kindness in her name. She who considered you a friend despite your nature as a human.”
Despite the fact that you knew your lungs hungered for air, no amount of breathing could satisfy that ache. Your heartbeat didn’t quite match the primal panic you knew you felt. Your lungs were impossibly heavy, and it felt as though every last vein in your body from the very top of your head down to the ends of your feet was on fire. But your blood felt cold as ice. Your fingertips started to tingle. A metallic taste started to form on your tongue.
Oh no. No no no no no no no no
“Wait until the light leaves the eyes. Wait until the blood goes still.”
No no no no no no no no this isn’t happening you can’t be dying this can’t be real this has to be a nightmare
“A painless death is one rarely attained by your kind from ours, and our kind from yours. Our gift to you, as you were good to us when the rest of the world wasn’t.”
You’d hardly consider this to be a kindness or painless or a gift. Perhaps a cultural aspect among monsters that had simply gone unmentioned by them in your late-night visits. It became harder to breathe now, and your pulse had slowed even more, forcing you to become dizzy. The room began to spin and blur together as your strength was rapidly depleted in the span of just a couple of minutes. You couldn't feel the ground beneath your feet. Then the paralysis reached your ankles. Then your shins.
The monsters continued to watch you struggle and fight in a way that reminded you of a cat watching its prey struggle beneath its paw. You wanted to ask them why. Why would they do this to you? But you could barely form sobs, let alone words. And you could feel deep within your heart that these creatures wouldn't hear them anyway. There was something present in their eyes that wasn't there before. A veil of insanity draped over their minds that made them hardly right in the head. Hunger-driven lunacy? A psychotic break triggered by the threat of death?
It didn't matter.
“In this way, you will be remembered as you were. You will not have the chance to become cruel and empty as all humans inevitably do.”
Had your knees buckled at some point? You didn’t notice you had lost sensation in them, and the same thing had occurred to your fingers. You didn’t fall to the ground, though, instead the grip on your midsection shifted as you were slowly and gently placed onto the floor as though you were merely about to fall asleep. You struggled to keep your eyelids open despite the fact that your mind screamed at you to stay awake.
“You will stay as you are. Naive. Unknowing. Good. And we will regain our strength from you. Strength enough to take our freedom by force.”
The hand that was held over your mouth wasn’t there anymore. When was it removed? You tried to scream to no avail. You tried to mumble but failed. All you could get out was a strained whimper. You were scared. Despite your deceptively slowed heart rate and shallow breaths, you were terrified. But your body was no longer yours.
You couldn’t move any part of your body. Not even your lungs fully obeyed. They only got slower and slower, as did your heart. The ends of your arms and legs were completely numb. You watched with spotted and blurry vision as your arms were gently held by the other beasts, though the gesture didn’t appear to be comforting. No, it looked like…
Like they were studying and inspecting your flesh. It was no different than a piece of meat at a market for them. You let out another strained whimper, quieter and weaker this time.
The Leader had trailed his clawed fingertips against your hairline this time, the gesture not even vaguely similar to any kind of consolation. He and the others were murdering you, and a quick touch was supposed to be a comfort? It was the equivalent of putting a single suture on a deep and gaping wound. He began to speak again, but to who? The others? Himself? It was impossible to tell at this point.
“We will reclaim our roles. We will form a new life. A new circus. A new home, just as she wished. One built on her sacrifice…and now yours.”
But this wasn’t…
Was he telling himself that this was a sacrifice on your end? Was this genuinely how he viewed it? Was this simply what he saw as the truth in his manic lust for blood and consumption? The way he worded it made you briefly wonder if all this was at least partially your fault.
Was there something you had missed? Was there another way this all could have ended? Were you just too stupid to see it? Too naive to think that there was any other way? Too stubborn and foolish like your father to consider any other option?
Was this life of yours a waste? Were you destined to have such a short and unfulfilled existence? Why did you have to be so dependent on your father? Why did you have to become so involved with these inhuman beasts?
Tears continued to slide down your face, thought the sensation was distant and numbed now. You wanted to laugh an ironic and empty sound at your circumstances. What else was there to do upon reflecting back on your pitiful life with only your father and these creatures as the bonds that gave your life any semblance of meaning?
Thinking about it now, both your father and the imprisoned ones thought you to be naive and foolish, a mere child in the grand scheme of things who had never known profound struggle or a desire so desperate that it split your very soul apart at the seams. But they are both right and wrong. You realized that now.
Within the truths of your father and these creatures, you realized your own. You were unknowing of the world, sheltered, kept locked away your whole life, yes. But you still knew pain. You still knew what it meant to want. You knew struggle not in physical needs but emotional. You desperately wanted to understand and be understood in turn. You wanted to be seen. You wanted to be seen and loved and wanted despite your flaws. Even though you knew you were naive. Even though you were stubborn. Even though you were weak.
You just wanted someone to care for you unconditionally just a fraction of the way you wished to care for others. Like your mother. But she was dead now. And the only person you had left was your father.
But your father’s love, your god’s love…it was conditional. One wrong move, one action deemed wrong or irredeemable, and you were cast out. A pale fabric stained and spotted and thrown away as mere garbage.
What would it be like, you once wondered, for someone to see your stains and spots and imperfections and love you anyway? What would it be like to be able to show your faults and flaws and fears?
You didn’t know. And now you never would.
And yet, even as your heart beat slower and slower, as your hands grew cold and numb, you couldn’t hate the beasts who would do this to you. You just couldn’t bring yourself to harbor any true resentment towards them. In your foolishness, you had let them become dear to you. For it, you were dying. For it, they would consume you. For it, you didn’t have any of the rage or grieving despair you knew you wanted to have.
You really only felt such things towards your father…and yourself.
Why did you and that cruel man have to meddle with things neither of you fully understood? Why did that greed-driven man have to try to contain and control starving beasts that ate humans? Why did you have to go into this tent on that fateful night all those months ago?
Perhaps that is what your father meant all those years ago about your insatiable curiosity and desire for knowledge coming from him.
Perhaps that is what the monsters were hinting at when they spoke of how you wouldn’t have the chance to turn cruel and empty like your father, like all humans.
But even still, you didn’t want to accept any of this, not even now. Just because you didn’t hate these beasts didn’t mean that you were completely fine being killed and eaten by them. And just because these beasts rightfully deserved their revenge after all the injustices they faced doesn’t mean that you wanted to be the catalyst for it.
Your vision was finally starting to fade now. Black spots dotted your vision as you continued your struggle to cling to your life. But there was simply nothing else you could do. Sharp eyes of different colors—now devoid of pink downturned ones—stared down into your own. The last words you would hear would be from the golden-eyed being who you just now realized was cradling your head in his lap, sharp claws slightly digging into the sides of your head.
“Sleep.”
His voice was impossibly distant despite the fact that his face was just above yours. In your delirium you briefly thought it to be the bone-dry hushed voice of Death beckoning you. Or was it the ancient voice of God calling out to you only now when you met your unjust end?
What a cruel Father, you thought as your vision narrowed and the world itself seemed to bend and warp and fade away. If Heaven was where He or your father would be, then you would sooner face both of them head-on and walk backwards into Hell. You decided with the last shreds of your supposedly gifted free will that you had no god. And you no longer had a father.
A deep and slow breath left your lungs and escaped between your lips. It was not followed by a breath in. Your heart faintly thumped in your chest for what would be the last time.
Everything went darker and darker, until there was no light, no warmth, no sound.
Only emptiness.
——————————————
≫ GOD this took forever to write holy shit. I did not expect it to get this long I swear. Would you believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a short list of headcanons??? >.>
≫ There was also an additional scene that I ended up CUTTING, believe it or not. It involved the reader’s father proposing for them to become the new owner and ringleader of the circus, to which they’d be horrified and vehemently reject said offer and go off to meet the monsters in their cages.
≫ I ended up cutting that scene bc I thought it would have been a little slow for what I was going for. Womp womp ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
≫ I also had a tiny scene of what happened after the reader meets their fate. A little epilogue of what happened to their father, the monsters, the circus...lemme know if y'all wanna see that as a little add-on or tiny bonus part!
≫ Also originally I was gonna have the reader actually come up with the Commedia Dell’arte names for the monsters, but the longer I thought about it…it just didn’t make sense. So I came up with the other nicknames.
≫ The bible verses referenced in this work are, in order: 2 Corinthians 11:14, 1 Peter 5:8, Romans 12:12, Luke 8:17, Ecclesiastes 1:8, Psalm 23:4, 2 Corinthians 4:18, and James 1:20. All in the NIV for consistency!
≫ I am not currently religious (though I was raised catholic) so please forgive me if any of these verses are misused or otherwise quoted in a manner that could be considered poor taste. Religious trauma amirite (may or may not have deconstructed my childhood for this uhhhhh)
≫ Feel free to use this work as a baseline for any of your own AU’s, OC’s, etc! I’ve got a few ideas of my own floating around. Just spitballing here, maybe this Past!MC could be another restless ghost lingering in the circus like Columbina, or maybe the Present!MC is a reincarnation of them or maybe a distant descendant of the Ringmaster…go crazy! I’d love to see it all!
≫ This work was made entirely without the use of AI. I do not consent to any text from this work being scraped to use in any sort of character-based AI or other LLM.
≫ Thank you SO much for reading this, it means a lot! :)
just imagining each and every segment (even the original zandik) playing the piano for you and each having a unique song made for you.
you, his muse; are his inspiration.
i literally wrote this under like 3 hours.. so it will be terrible, i’m really bored so i’m doing this to pass time and because i still need to think about what to do for the pierro one. i haven’t written like this since i was like 15 and was bad at it (im literally still bad at it it’s just so much less cringey) so apologies are due.
┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈
8: you can’t help but comfort the segment as he is still new to the piano, trying to make a song for you and making many mistakes but he still tries his best to his ability. he would often look up at you with teary eyes even after being comforted, hoping you appreciated his effort
↳
for someone like 8, he had no care in the world of what others thought of him, you on the other hand were an exception.
“a-am i doing okay?” he whispered in hopes he wouldn’t disappoint you, knowing you would never be upset at him.
“you’re doing wonderful my dear, you’ve made so much progress in so little time! i’m so proud of you!” you exclaimed at him while smiling sweetly, in return he showed you his bright smile as he sniffled and wiped away his tears. “i’m happy to hear that.. i will make you a song that shows my love for you!” he beamed with his eyes closed, you could help but smile ear to ear; your adoration for him as clear as a sunny day.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
18: although he is not new to the piano, he isn’t exactly number one when it comes to skill, above average but there is room for improvement; although you’ll never hear him admit to it
↳
you sat next to 18 as he played the piano listening to the words that came out of his mouth. “at the akademiya, i never had time for the piano; i was rather occupied with pursuing my own goals..” he recounted as the notes swayed with romantic allure. “for someone who rarely had time for such futile things, you sure do know how to play like a professional.” you mused with a closed smile. “are you mocking me?” he scoffed playfully and you couldn’t help but laugh, even if he sounded annoyed, you could still see the adoration in his eyes.
two people of different backgrounds enjoying the notes being played in the air, as the song he made for you filled up the room with nothing but admiration.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
25: the only time you’ll ever hear 25 play the piano is when there is free time and when he notices you’re feeling down, which unsurprisingly isn’t uncommon due to what tends to go on in the laboratory.
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it was one of days where things just weren’t going your way, which led to 25 basically kidnapping you by throwing you over his shoulder since you refused to move from your bed. “you truly can be a headache at times, are you aware? you should feel honored that i’m taking time out of my day to amuse you.” he muttered as he arrived to the music room
“then why not keep doing that?! you could’ve let me stay in bed, but yet you chose to do this” you huffed as you kept smacking his back and kicking your feet in hopes he would drop you, to no avail he sat you up next to him as he started to play the piano, an unfamiliar tune entering your ears. you perked up, the tune sounded romantic and it was all you could focus on. “i will indulge you this once, so pay attention to this new melody i have created.” he said, and you did exactly what he asked you to do, 100% of your attention was on his fingers, the way he played without hesitance had you in awe. he smirked seeing your face light up, it seems like he accomplished his goal.
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35: the last segment you expected to ever show such trivial emotions, the last to make you a song. he was not one to indulge you, in fact he would laugh at you if you even suggested it, so imagine your surprise when he told you he made you something
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“so are you gonna sit down or what?” he grumbled even after you were in the middle of doing just that, you never understood him and you have a feeling he didn’t understand himself either, but you would rather be struck down by the heavenly principles than say it out loud. “is there a reason you made a new melody?” you mumbled. “i want to see the results of how you will react to this small experiment.. think of it as some minor research.” he gleamed, he would never admit it but he cares for you as much the other segments did. he just showed it in his own way.
he played the piano, he took notice of how your heart rate went down, your shoulders dropped, you leaned closer, your muscles became less tense, your breathing became slower.
the signs that you were relaxing, the sadness within you being forgotten, mission accomplished, he smirked.
you closed your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulders, the tune continuing to play.
the experiment was a success.
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45: a rational man who knew what you liked when it came to music, he knew you were a sucker for the sounds of a piano playing.
he told you he wanted to show a new song he wrote for you. excited, you dragged him to the music room, eager to hear what he wrote
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“come on! i can’t wait to hear what you wrote this time!” you jumped as you led him to the seat in front of the piano, the man chuckled at your eagerness, something he loved about you. “mama prema, your never ending energy will always surprise me.” he chuckled as you blushed at the nickname, his fingers pressing the keys as you watched intently, different from 8, he was skilled and was able to play the piano without looking down, not even a blindfold would make a difference.
you couldn’t help but smile, the man in front of you was the light of your life and would drop anything to attend to you, the way he smiled at you lovingly was something you will never get tired of, it was one of the only times you would see this specific segment without the bird like mask.
you both were caught up in the moment, it felt like it would never end, and you were thinking that you never wanted it to end.
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65: the most quiet of all but very gentle when it came to you, he has been teaching you how to play the piano and wanted to see if you were able to play the song he made for you, so he took you to the music room to try it out… it went better than expected
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“am i doing it right?” you asked as you slowly played the piano, afraid to make mistakes. “you’re doing fine, relax… i’m not gonna get mad if you make a simple mistake.” he chuckled, standing behind you slightly jumped as you felt him place his fingers on top of your, guiding your fingers on the keys. “i recognize these notes.. it’s the love progression, you wrote me a song?” you whispered, your face slowly becoming warmer; the realization that he made this for you and wanted you to hear it by playing it yourself. your breathing hitched and you looked at him in awe. “you made this..for me?” you said as he nodded. “it is not often you get shown appreciation, it is deserved” he mused as he sat down next to you.
both forgetting why they were there originally, chatting idly as time passed by.
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Zandik/85: the original, the one who’s been there since day one, he was a hopeless romantic and it wouldn’t the first or last time he made you a song
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as he played the keys, you swung your legs as you sat on top of the piano. “zandik, the way you play the piano will never fail to amaze me.” your face beaming as he smiled. “these songs are all inspired by you after all, my muse.” he teased.
you hummed in response and focused to the tune of the song, stealing kisses from zandik once in a while,
the music room has become the place of comfort for the both of you, indulging only one person, and that person was you.
all the songs he made for you were embedded with a secret language only the two of you knew. not even the other segments were aware of this.
there were times he would measure your natural heart rhythm and compose to the beat of it with exact precision. he held you in high regard after all. even near death you will always be his priority.
