✨♥️✨

A blog thats separate from my main, where I just reblog fics/headcanons of fandoms that I like. Most of them or all are self indulgent, so... there you go. (18+ this blog contains nsfw so minors beware 🔞)if you see me reblogging a whole lot from your blog just know that your work is amazing !!❤️age;23

[circusofdelirium]

You securely lock your doors and windows to keep any intruders from coming in...Including the clowns.

But cue you later hearing desperate loud clawing at your window. To then look over and see Pierrot looking at you through the window with sad pleading eyes to be let in.

[shiori01]

You said the family would find out when Clara and jester have a baby- Show us baby? Also how does jester react to baby

I think this would sum up his reaction

but this is just the future, our current timeline is Clara still being Jester's assistant.

[notklaire]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO PIERROT! ✨⭐️

I had to speedrun this hehe ✨ BUT I HOPE YA GUYS LIKE IT

@nekoboydreams

[baidao]

截取《爱丽丝梦游仙境2》片段

[starcatbloomth]

What a sweet romantic gesture. 💕

[deepseadork]

Thinking about it, a Cybertronian waking up on Earth would totally think humans are hunting their kind at first.

Imagine you're in that situation.

You online on this organic planet ruled by a dominant species that's more dexterous than you are (unless you have modded servos). These organics are tiny and squishy, but they're rumored to be predators.

One of these organics accidentally takes you in, perhaps mistaking you for one of the machines it's kind pilots that look like gutted corpses to you. It speaks a language you don't understand and is surrounded by a field that, while intense, is difficult to read.

It maneuvers your body with unusual expertise through the pathways of this unusual place until the tall buildings that are reminiscent of the architecture on Cybertron begin to grow sparse.

You realize, perhaps too late as you're being moved into a driveway, that this creature is taking you into its den. There's a vertical sliding door that opens into a room that looks like a tiny diorama of a really, really shady clinic. Cables hang from the ceiling, strange items line the walls, and every tool you recognize is the perfect size for this creature's hands. And then, it puts you in park, exiting your body with an uncanny level of poise and leaving you in what you perceive to be a torture chamber.

[deepseadork]

Okay so what if one of them wakes up in a dealership car lot.

You're packed into a tight space, your sensors tell you that much. Your optics haven't onlined yet.

Soon you'll begin to wish they never did.

Online, perfect! Now to see what's got you stuck.

At first, you're blinded by the brightness of a star beaming down on you. You wince and recalibrate and then nearly scream.

The shells of hundreds of bodies surround you. It's uncertain if these are just machines or if they're kin, only a medical scan could determine that. You're not sure you want to know.

You feel sick. What happened here? Why are you alive? What's going to happen to you? How did you get here? Why are half of your systems down? Did whoever put you here do this? When-

The stream of questions stops as you hear voices. You don't know what they're saying. It's bright out, but you don't see anyone. Oh god, somethings rounding the corner-!

Organics. Three of them. They're excited, you think. One of them is feeling along one of the bodies, proudly presenting it to their audience of two. You might just cry.

You consider the idea of stealthily escaping. But perhaps you'd thought too long, because they're approaching you, still smiling. Do they know you're alive? What's going to happen to you?

You can only hope you won't suffer the same fate as those around you.

[deepseadork]

You are gifted a holomatter beacon from one of the scientists (resized to the appropriate scale with a shrink ray) and you're excited to use it! Ever since you've met these people you've wondered what you'd look like as a Cybertronian. And.... you're getting a lot of looks and stifled grins from the others? Huh?

Unbeknownst to you, your holomatter kibble has been adorably wiggling with excitement all day. That's what you get when you cross a Cybertronian body with unbridled human emotions. Your metal friends are trying very hard not to give in to the cuteness aggression.

[sixcat69]

Even the dark feels gentle when you’re with me❤️🖤 Nawal x Pierrot OC*CANON- The freak circus

[yufose]

he got you something nice

[feral-soup-lives]

I need some theories on what could get Doctor completely freaked up like, what could get this man so unbearably pent up that he could pry through the bars of a cock cage to rut against you?

Would it need to be spring? Would he have told you before hand that he wants to test this new found attachment he had towards you? Would he have filled his nest with stolen items from your home to drown himself in your scent?

Maybe he would ask you to help him test this “attachment” in the most peculiar way. Maybe he has you tie him to the very edge of his nest, arms bound in ropes behind his back, cock locked as comfortably as possible in a chasity cage. Maybe he would invite someone else over, Harlequin would of course love to volunteer his assistance in this experiment.

Doctor would be forced to watch as Harlequin took you over and over again on his nest. Forced to watch you writhe and cry out Doctors name in the throes of estacy brought on by another’s touch.

What do you think Doctors last straw would be? Would it be when Harlequin lifts you up with his tendrils, displaying your bitten and well used body, holding you just out of Doctors reach as he drives into you wildly? Would it be when you reach out for Doctor while Harlequin breeds you full of eggs?

Or maybe he would loose the last thread of restraint when Harlequin bites into the sweet junction of your neck and shoulder- claiming you right before him.

He would break through of his bonds, you knew he would. It was only a matter of time before you and Harlequin were pinned to the nest beneath him.

It’s days later when Doctor has finally had his fill. Neither you nor Harlequin will be able to walk for a few more days by the end of it.

Good thing you have a very attentive Doctor to care for you while you recover 🥰

[angl-0fdeath]

SOME GREEN MENACE DOODLES CUZ WHY NOT!!

I need day 3 already 😭🥹

HEHE!!

[littlecharmingenvy]

pierrot heat part 3

hello my dearest readers! i am soooo swamped with finals work, but i wanted to cure yall of the cliffhanger i left yall on. no smut this chapter :( BUT next chapter (whenever that will be...) WILL have smut TRUST

PART 1 PART 2

WARNINGS: FLUFF, pierrot x reader, pregnancy, pregnancy shock, doctor and jester r there, pierrot adores you, pierrot is soooo excited, you not so much, its a lot for u to take in, congrats on the pregnancy!!

WC: ~2k

You waited idly outside of Pierrot’s tent. His show had just ended, his hypnotic movements leaving you entranced like always, the stark difference between his macabre stunts leaving you and the rest of the crowd breathless. You were waiting on your lover to finish cleaning up, playing on your phone as you leaned against the tent. 

You shrieked as a hand covered your mouth from behind, thrashing against the grip as you were picked up. 

“Shh, sweetie. It’s just me,” you heard the Doctor purr from behind you. You jerked your head to the side, dislodging his hand from your mouth. 

“I wish ya’ll would stop doing that,” you grumbled out, letting him take you wherever. It’s not like it mattered if you let them though, they all just dropped you where they wanted you either way

Doctor chuckled. “You’ll find it is much easier to transport you this way,” he mused, hands holding you up under your arms like you were a stray cat. 

Your brow furrowed as you saw the purple tent coming closer and closer as he carried you, dread shooting up your spine. The last time you had even spoken to Jester, it ended with you getting fucked for a week by your boyfriend. Sure, you liked it, but it didn’t make it any less jarring. You hoped this meeting wouldn’t end so dramatically. 

Doctor entered the purple tent from the back, walking in and setting you down at the large table where the circus members met often. It was where plans were discussed, where they ate meals together, and generally where they gathered for anything important. You’d only been there a few times, mostly so Jester could study you and see if you would be a nuisance, so you assumed this time would be the same. 

Jester studied you intently as Doctor sat you down, before he himself sat next to Jester at the head of the table. Jester smiled sweetly at you, though you could see the contempt hiding behind the mask of kindness. His gaze narrowed on you in silence, making you squirm in your seat, unnerved at his attention. 

“How have you been feeling after our dear Pierrot’s heat?” he asked after a few unbearable moments of silence. You raised a brow, surprised that he even cared. 

“Oh, um… I’ve been kind of tired,” you shrugged. Nothing had really been any different. You’d been more fatigued, and your sex drive had been a bit higher. Pierrot had been more clingy as well. Outside of that though, everything had been the same. 

“That is to be expected,” Doctor nodded, Jester shot him a sharp glare, making you tilt your head. 

“Well, uh, yeah. His heat lasted five days,” you nodded in agreement. Jester hummed. 

“Pierrot has been more attached to you than ever, I noticed,” he pointed out. You shrugged. Sure, he had barely let you out of his sight ever since, but he was already very clingy with you to begin with. Him being as vulnerable with you as he was in his heat made him being glued to your side in the aftermath entirely expected. “Do you know why you’re here?” Jester asked, resting his chin on his folded hands as he studied you. You shook your head. His grin sharpened. 

“Your test results were… interesting,” Doctor chimed in. Your eyes snapped to him, your mouth falling open slightly in shock. 

“Wha- what do you mean?” you rushed out, glancing between the two monsters in front of you. You understood the implications of Doctor’s words, but your brain refused to comprehend them. “M-maybe we should wait on-”

“Hello, my love!” Pierrot chirped as he walked in, Ticket Taker escorting him curtly. Dread washed over you at the realization. Everyone already knew. 

“Ah, Pierrot! What a welcome surprise,” Jester grinned, motioning for him to sit down. Ticket Taker gave a nod before bounding off, no doubt to continue punching tickets. Jester stood up, hands folded neatly as he smiled warmly at Pierrot. His clear affection for the other monster would be adorable if not for the news being dropped. 

Pierrot grabbed your hand as he sat to you, holding it tightly in his, as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

“Pierrot,” Jester began, smiling. “How have you been feeling since your heat?” he asked. Pierrot tilted his head in thought. 

“I’ve been alright. My lady has been quite tired, though,” he mentioned. Jester nodded. 

“I have noticed as much,” he hummed. He studied the two of you for a moment, eyeing the protective way Pierrot leaned towards you “Y’know,” Jester began, placing a hand on Doctor’s shoulder, “our dearest Doctor here ran some tests on your little pet. I myself was quite shocked by the results,” he smiled. 

“I-is everything alright?” Pierrot said quickly, concern dripping from his voice. He pushed up the sleeve of your shirt, checking for any visible bruises or wounds. Doctor laughed. 

“She is alright, Pierrot,” Doctor mused. “I will need to run a few tests to determine if the little one is ok, though,” he mentioned. 

You gasped, the bluntness of his words leaving you unable to deny it any longer. Pierrot froze, his grip on your hand tightening to an almost painful degree. You glanced over to him slowly, eyes wide as you studied him. His pupils were wide, his eyes nearly taken over with the pretty amber shade. His smile was gone, but you could tell he wasn't upset with the way a rumbling purr began to resound from his chest, the way his hands began to shake in your grasp. 

“I know; I was just as shocked,” Jester said coolly, nodding towards you in acknowledgment. 

“How- how long have you known?” you barely managed to stammer out, glancing between the two of them. 

“About a week,” Doctor hummed. Your brow furrowed. 

“Don’t those blood tests take a few days?” you asked. You could feel your heartbeat rising steadily, your mind trying to process everything. 

“Not this one,” Doctor said slyly. You could hear the grin in his voice. 

“Back to the topic. Pierrot? How are you?” Jester interjected, regarding Pierrot softly. You turned back to your lover, nodding in agreement to Jester’s question. 

“How are you, honey?” you whispered to Pierrot. His gaze locked onto you, a growl sounding in his throat. 

“My lady… is carrying our child?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. You swallowed nervously, nodding. In a split second, you felt his arms wrap around you tightly as he nuzzled into your neck. “I-I cannot begin to express how excited I am, dear one!” he rushed out, tripping over his words in his excitement. “I did not know this was possible! My lady, carrying a part of me… of us! This is a dream come true!” Pierrot continued to nuzzle into you, purrs and soft whines pouring from his throat ceaselessly. 

“I’m glad someone is excited,” Jester mused as he watched the two of you, poking fun at your perturbed expression. Pierrot gazed up at you, his grin fading just a bit. 

“Are you upset, my dear?” he asked, hope shining in his amber eyes. You took a deep breath. 

“Just… processing. I’m really caught off guard,” you said hollowly, feeling as if you were staring through him. You felt dizzy, your heartbeat hammering against your chest. 

You held Pierrot’s hand tighter in yours, the warmth grounding you amidst the racing of your mind. You were never sure if you wanted kids. Sure, the idea was cute, but you knew the reality could be entirely overwhelming. You knew Pierrot would go through hell and high water to support you, so that thought comforted you at the very least. Still, this was entirely out of left field. 

“It’ll be alright,” Pierrot purred against your ear, nuzzling against you. “We’ll figure this out. I would do anything for you, my lady. I will never let anything happen to you, or our little one.”

Feeling Pierrot’s horns press into you from under his hat as he rubbed his head against you made you stiffen. “Are you guys born with the claws? And the horns?” you blurted out, the idea terrifying you. The three monsters in the room laughed, finding your lack of knowledge about monsters entertaining. Even Pierrot giggled softly at the question. 

“Do not fret, sweetie. We aren’t born this sharp- we’re born just as soft and round as you humans,” Doctor reassured. You sighed in relief. 

“Ok,” you nodded. You took a deep breath, repeating the sentiment. “Ok…”

“Tomorrow, I will be at Doctor’s tent at noon. I expect you there as well. Pierrot, you are welcome if you so desire,” Jester commanded. 

“Uh, I have work,” you squeaked out. It was bad enough you missed the week of Pierrot’s heat. You weren’t sure you could call out again and still be employed. 

“No you don’t,” Jester smiled unnervingly. You cocked your head at him, confused. “Ticket Taker turned in your day’s notice today. Such work wouldn’t be good for the baby,” he grinned, thoroughly entertained by the helpless expression on your face. 

Before you could speak, Pierrot laughed beside you. “I will take care of you my lady, I swear!” he said, nipping at your jaw in affection. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find you can earn your keep here,” Jester promised, the implication making you shudder. You weren’t sure what work he would be having you do, but you weren’t looking forward to it. “Now, run along. My show starts within the hour,” Jester said, waving the two of you off. You stood up, only for Pierrot to pick you up, whisking you away. 

He was silent on the way to his tent, unable to be seen speaking in public, but the second the mouth of his tent shut, his voice came out, rushed and ecstatic. 

“This is amazing, dear one! I never thought this would be possible! Do you think it’ll be a boy? Or a girl? Oh, maybe twins?” he rambled, gently setting you down on his nest. You said up, gazing up at him with wide eyes. 

“Hold on, Pierrot, we don’t wanna get ahead of ourselves. Can I even carry to term?” you asked, fear settling in. You wouldn’t be so off-put if he were human, but the truth of the matter was that he wasn’t. What did monster pregnancies even look like? What if your body couldn’t handle it?

“It’s rare, but a human and monster conception has happened once or twice. If I recall correctly, both were without much complication,” he soothed, pushing you to lay down in the nest before resting his entire body over your own. It was his favorite way of showing affection, smothering you. Just as he got comfortable though, he gasped, rolling off of you. “Can’t hurt the baby,” he mumbled, hearts shining brightly in his eyes as he crawled down your body. He pushed the bottom of your shirt up, instead kissing over your lower tummy, nuzzling gently against it. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he asked, gazing up at you with wide, lovestruck eyes. 

You let out a shaky breath. This all just felt so sudden. Pierrot’s excitement helped soothe your nerves a bit, but it also set you on edge. There was just so much you didn’t know. On top of it all, finding out you apparently quit your job made you hot with dread. 

“I… I need a little bit. I think I need a moment,” you stammered out. Pierrot nodded, resting his head on your plush tummy as he studied you. 

“I know…” he murmured soothingly. “I know you’re overwhelmed, my love, but I swear- it’ll be alright,” he reassured, his gaze full of reverence as he looked up at you. “I will be here every step of the way, my dear. Our child will be loved, and cared for. You will want for nothing, and neither will they. I love you, dear one. Everything will be ok.”

You hiccuped softly, tears welling in your eyes at his sentiment. You tangled your hands in his hair, holding his head against you as you tilted your head back, crying softly. You felt terrified. More than that though, you felt loved. 

“I love you s-so much,” you cried softly, sniffling. Pierrot laughed. 

“I love you, my lady.”

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Pierrot, hearts in eyes: my most esteemed dearest darling, I come here to humbly ask for your hand in marriage. May the flames of our passion place the heavenly stars to eternal shame, may the melodies of our mutual pleasure echo for the cosmos to hear. I shall cradle your heart in my trembling hands, kissing it ever so tenderly.

Y/N, blinking tiredly: how big is the pre-nup contract that Jester and Taker wrote, Pierrot?

Pierrot:...several thousand pages, my dear, it is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen.

Y/N: I love you, but I am not reading that, honey.

Harlequin, from the walls: I propose we all just go to Vegas on the next flight!

Pierrot, growling: what is he doing here?!

Y/N: I have no idea, he just lives in the vents now. He shares the internet bill, at least.

Harlequin: I am proving that I can commit to the bit, my dear! Does Pierrot help with the utilities? Hmmmmm? I think not! Not a single suitor in this entire forsaken excuse of a township has ever proven himself more worthy of your kisses than I! Therefore, I too officially ask for your hand, and all the other marvellous and succulent parts of you.

Y/N, preparing a pot of coffee: Pierrot, you read the first half of the marriage contract, Harlequin reads the second half, summarize it for me and we will see what we can negotiate with the big scary blue and purple men later.

Pierrot, grinning with maniacal glee: as my precious falling star commands, I shall crawl through the darkness of these paragraphs if it means I could get the prize of kissing your silken skin.

Harlequin, crashing through the ceiling, eyes glowing emerald and tentacles writhing: I am going to devour that contract that dared to stand between us, my dear.

Y/N, smiling: good boys.

[starriegalaxy]

HAHSHAHSA NOT Harley breaking through the ceiling 😭😭😭 and Pierrot pls chill out kajfjwjfjejf

But at least we getting married no matter what hehe <3

[lazytraveleron]

410 Gone

[yuriversal]

| Don't Play With Your Food -> Eyeless Jack x Fem!Reader Smut |

𝙰/𝙽: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜! 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜. 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 (𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎)

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟿.𝟼𝚔 | 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 (𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝), 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜: 𝙿-𝚒𝚗-𝚅, 𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝙴𝙹 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚝, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐), 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛-𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛-𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚌 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢! (𝚗𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚎𝚝𝚌.)

Far from the dregs of modern society and the plight of humanity lay your home. A reclusive–much like you–modest cabin, nestled amidst towering oak trees and far off the main trail. It had taken you a few years to establish your self-sustaining sanctuary, but now it was a thriving homestead.

Vibrant green leaves sprouted up in even rows of dirt beside your house, a few paces away from a fire pit you had dug yourself one Spring evening. You would, of course, travel into town for luxuries like AA batteries and processed chocolate, but your trips became few and far between–eventually optional. You found yourself leaving less and less. You didn’t miss the drone of rush hour traffic, overly congested sidewalks, empty night skies, or ever-climbing prices. 

If anything, the quiet felt earned.

As your disdain for your old way of life grew, your want to stay dwindled until you ditched it all and went off the grid. 

Everyone assumed you would last a week, perhaps a month, and you hated to admit you had held similar sentiments. The initial move was hard, but once you had set up a decent router and a generator, you became settled much more quickly. 

Settled.

That was the word you used, anyway. 

The only absence you felt was a social one. As days of silence stretched into weeks, the realization of your isolation became harder to ignore. Your shopping ventures hardly fulfilled your needs, filled with mindless small talk and passing remarks purely for the sake of politeness–and in hopes of earning a tip. The remaining connections of substance you did have all but eroded with the separation, not only physical but emotional as well. Quitting your job all but severed your connection to former coworkers, up and leaving your friends had earned you their ire, and your family was a complicated mess that all but caved in on itself after your decision.

So, there you were. Your best friend may have well been the ground hog that had made itself a home beneath your porch, and your only conversation came from the few and far between hikers in dire need of directions. 

They never stayed long, and you never asked them to. 

It was, at least, easy to be of service; the criss-crossing of trails was familiar as all of the forests’ odds and ends were second nature. That muscle memory carried you from your cabin and down the steep slope of your backyard. 

The grass around you grew slim and short from the limited sunlight that made it through the thick canopy of trees. Sparse green patches faded into smooth pebbles and sandy mud as you closed in on the shallow stream cutting through the woods. It was just deep enough to house small fish with a healthy population of frogs at various stages of life. Because of its frail inhabitants, you avoided fishing there–however, the water did attract a decent amount of other wild animals ripe for hunting. 

That wasn’t your particular intention today, instead you were simply scouring the area for any plants you had yet to harvest. So, donning chunky rain boots and worn gloves you began searching. Parting shrubs and shifting stones you were greeted with the expected wriggling earth worms, scurrying ants, and–

Heavy steel-toed boots.

You froze.

Huh?

Before you was a huge pair of work boots, made of worn black leather caked in mud with straps galore. Tucked into them was black cargo pants, plentiful with pockets which were all stuffed full. As if that was not enough storage, a utility belt hung from his waist. In one of the loops a serrated hunting knife caught your eye, stirring some surprise and apprehension. 

You hadn’t heard him approach.

Taking a tentative step back for your own safety, you weren’t sure what was more shocking–the appearance of another person or the fact that they were decked out in tactile gear like the world was about to end. 

How odd this truly began to set in. How had you not heard anything? Why was he so close? 

Your heart rate picked up a bit as you stood up, eyes flitting from his black belt to his black hoodie–

Wow. This guy had a favorite color.

Underneath his baggy sleeves was, you guessed it, black gloves which seemed to be pulled over bandages of some sort. And then–best of all–was a dark blue mask, stained with heavy black tear streaks.

Great. Just great.

You had been discovered by an edgelord with a knife which was basically a would-be serial killer–assuming you were his first victim. If that were the case you were fucked. 

For one, he had no discernable features, save for a mess of dark curls peaking out from beneath his hood. And, secondly, he was huge.

The stranger was easily the tallest man you had ever seen, pushing seven feet tall with wide shoulders and a soft stomach. 

He didn’t move.

He didn’t shift.

He just…stood there.

“Hello.”

He spoke firmly, his formal voice much smoother than you would have expected.

“Hi…” You croaked out in turn, wishing you had brought a more substantial weapon with you than a spade. Clutching the shovel like a life line you did another rapid once over. He was at least a head taller than you and could probably snap you in half like a twig. Swallowing the lump in your throat you waited anxiously for his response, a bit too scared to prompt him yourself.

“You live near here.”

His choice of words left you dumbfounded. He stated it, like it was a fact–which it was, technically–but how the hell did he know that?

“Yes, I do.” You replied, the words coming out more like a question than an answer.

A hum of understanding left him, a deep rumbling vibrato. He raised his hand stiffly, more like an animatronic than a man. It paused midair, fingers twitching once before settling, pointing at you.

“Food.”

 “Yeah…?” What the fuck was wrong with him.

“What do you do for food?” he continued. “Is it…easy to hunt? Have you ever been interrupted?” 

The question seemed oddly pointed considering the awkwardness of his wording, but you found yourself answering anyway.

“I grow my own stuff–tomatoes, carrots, easy stuff mostly. It's not the best place to catch anything here” you gestured towards the stream. The stranger simply tilted his head in response. “But uhm, no. If you go after animals it's not like another one is going to stop you from doing it or anything.”

He tensed–subtly, but surely.

Like something in your answer hadn’t aligned with what he expected. “I see. I mean, more so, have you ever been interrupted by people?”

That got a laugh out of you.

Not because it was funny–but because it wasn’t.

“Oh god no–I mean, not really.” You tried to recover, still on edge. “People, like, rarely come through here. Usually just hikers and stuff, so they don’t go off the trail.” 

Your explanation seemed to please him this time, earning you an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad I could help.” Your response carried more warmth than before, offering a small smile you hoped he returned beneath his mask. 

“Yes.” 

He turned to leave, taking a few steps before pausing.

Then–he turned back. 

Not at your face, just at you.  

“I’ll see you around…”

“I’ll–”

“I’m Jack.” 

Taken aback by the awkward interruption, silence fell between you both for a few painful moments.

Then, your laughter broke the tension, easing him to relax his shoulders–just slightly. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

He didn’t respond right away, he just stood there for a second longer than necessary.

Then, without another word, he left.

~~~~~

“Shit.”

You cursed under your breath, seeing that the pale thread had somehow–yet again–worked itself into a nasty knot. Reaching for your seam ripper you tore the string and pulled it from your shirt which, by now, had more holes then before in your repeated attempts to fix it. It seemed that sewing really, really wasn’t your strong suit. 

It was early in the evening and although sunlight was fleeting there was very little you had to do outside, so you got some much needed chores out of the way instead. Getting up from your seat to grab a new sewing needle in hopes that would make up for your utter lack of raw skill. Just as you reached the small round table that had become an overgrown junk drawer, you noticed how dark it seemed. Gazing up at the orange glow of the setting sun from a window at the far end of your living room, you knew it should have been brighter outside. Looking to your left towards your front door you jumped for a moment, before sighing in dismay as you saw the culprit.

Jack stood on your porch, peering in through the front window and blocking out most of the light with his massive frame. Today he donned a navy pull over and a black canvas jacket rather than his usual ratty hoodie–he must have been feeling adventurous today.

Waving at your friend through the glass he stiffly returned the gesture, staring a moment too long before you opened the door to greet him.

“Can I help you?” You asked, a joking lilt in your voice. As odd as this was, you had come to learn this was simply how he behaved and you were admittedly glad he had stopped by regardless.

“No.” He deadpanned, closing the distance between you two and getting a bit close to the point where you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. Something about it brought a faint flush to your cheeks and suddenly shy, you cleared your throat to urge him on. “I needed to come by.”

“And you didn’t knock because…?”

“You were occupied.” 

“Riiight…”  You couldn’t help the sass that slipped into your voice, simply rolling your eyes at his peculiar formalities. “Well, if you’re going to watch me, why not just do it from inside the house next time?” You attempted to crack a joke, raising your eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Alright.”

Taking your sarcasm as instruction, he brushed past you with impressive ease and stepped into your living room. 

He looked comical, trapped by low ceilings and smaller furniture made to accommodate one normal sized person. Rather than looking at the surroundings he walked to one side until his foot nudged a table, placing a hand on it and feeling the layout of the room's outer edge as he took even steps around the perimeter. 

“...Jack?”

“I am mapping it.”

“...Mapping it?”

“Yes.”

Right. Of course he was. 

In his exploration you noticed a faint trail of blood at his feet, causing you to lurch away from the door towards him until you realized it was just a rabbit clutched in his free hand. 

Well, the remains of a rabbit. 

It was very dead–hunted and cleaned, hanging limply in the man’s grasp. 

There were no tears or evident damage to its flesh. No uneven edges. Just a clean, precise opening like someone had performed an operation rather than a hunt. 

“I didn’t see you this morning.”

“Hm?” you asked, missing almost all of what he said as you focused back in.

“You weren’t by the stream earlier today.”

“Yeah, I–”

“You are there most mornings.”

The statement landed heavier than it should have. 

Ah, right. Running into Jack by the river had become…routine. Not something you had planned, not something you had even acknowledged aloud, but something that happened all the same. You would check on your traps, and he would be there. Or he wouldn’t–and then he would be by the time you left. 

“Right, sorry about that.” You said, a bit more carefully now. “I usually meet you after I see if I caught anything–”

“I know.”

Right.

You glanced at him, then away.

The obviousness of your explanation left you a bit embarrassed considering you usually passed him with blood stained pants and some collection of dead animals.

“Well, I don’t typically have any luck after it rains and since it did yesterday, I thought I would wait until tomorrow morning.”

“You were gone longer than usual.”

That…was not what you said.

You blinked, stunned for a second, before forcing a small laugh. “Yeah, well–I guess I got mixed up. The days sorta blend together, ya know?”

Your explanation seemed to satisfy him, prompting a small nod. Silence settled again–denser, this time.

Then he stepped forward, almost proudly brandishing the rabbit out to you.

“I brought you meat. I wasn’t sure if you would have anything to eat.”

The sentiment brought a smile to your face, and the realization that he was thinking about you, worrying–well it made your cheeks turn red all over again. 

Man since when were you so easy?

Turning away you quickly composed yourself, taking a quick breath and clearing your now busy mind. “Thank you, Jack. That’s very sweet of you.”

He stilled.

Not just paused–stilled.

Like the word was unfamiliar and had caught somewhere it didn’t belong.

“Sweet,” he repeated, quieter now. 

“...Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then he held the rabbit out further.

 You took a step closer, now only a few inches from him. Your hand hovered for a moment–hesitation flickering–before something in you pushed forwards. Just for a second, you brushed your knuckles over his. 

Cold.

Not freezing, not entirely unnatural.

Just cold.

His grip tightened–only slightly–and just for a moment.

But still, enough that you noticed.

You stilled now, and he didn’t let go right away.

Instead, his head dipped–just barely towards you–as if he were staring at the point of contact.

“It's still warm,” he murmured.

A shiver ran down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” you said quickly–maybe a bit too quickly–pulling your hand away as you took the rabbit from him. “That’s–uh, that’s kind of how it works.”

He released it immediately, but didn’t move away, simply lingering in silence.

“I’ll make it for dinner–beats having just vegetables and bread.” You turned slightly, trying to busy yourself, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up for no good reason. “You can stay–only if you want, of course…”

You hesitated, “you know, just like, a thank you.”

There it was, laid out plainly.

The want.

Your home had been empty for far too long.

“...Alright.” He replied simply.

But he didn’t move, not right away at least.

And when you glanced back at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the rabbit.

He was looking at you.

~~~~~

The news was bullshit, meteorology was a lie, and your weather app clearly had a personal vendetta.

What was supposed to be a brisk fall day with “light showers in the afternoon” had quickly transformed into a torrential downpour early in the morning. 

It was just your luck, however, that it had happened to start after you had left without anything to protect you from the elements.

Seriously, the converse you refused to let go of had seen better days and the thin, worn canvas had left you with wet socks and an annoying squish following every step.

The dense foliage above you did little to stop the rain, simply delaying the inevitable; fat droplets of water slipping down leaves and soaking through your clothes one patch at a time.

Once the storm had started, you considered turning back. If you had any animals they would surely still be stuck tomorrow, and any herbs or berries certainly weren’t going anywhere. And yet, you stayed. 

Old sneakers sunk into the damp earth with every step, carrying you down a path your body knew better than your brain did. Each day, the same path, the same time, the same—

You slowed. 

The same stream came into view through the trees. Its once steady trickle was now a roaring current, moving fast enough that it had consumed the surrounding bank. There were no fish in sight, not a single lingering tadpole, not even an earth worm or two seeking reprieve from the wet soil. 

The woods felt…empty.

The only life there was you. 

“You’re late.”

You froze.

Turning towards the source of the voice you were unsurprised to see Jack standing there. 

He was, of course, eerily still and as tall as ever. His drab clothing—consisting of his usual black cargo pants, but a new dark rain jacket—blended in with the dark atmosphere. His mask which was no longer as disconcerting had become a smeared mess of black…well, whatever that crap was. If he had been more diverse in this choice of clothing, it most likely would have been a stained mess.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t wave.

He just watched. 

“I—” you let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “I wasn’t planning on coming, I thought about going back when the rain started,” you explained with a soft laugh. 

“You always come.”

Well, he was being rather blunt.

He wasn’t accusatory, or upset, or even curious. 

Just…certain, if you had to try and place it.

You swallowed.

“That’s not—” you started, then stopped, because arguing felt pointless for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. You weren’t even sure why you cared so much—or why he did either. 

“It rained yesterday,” you tried instead. “I told you I don’t usually check traps after rain.”

“Yes.”

He said it immediately. 

Of course he did, of course he remembered something so trivial. 

You shifted your weight, shoes squelching slightly in the mud. “So… I’m not late, then…Technically.”

A pause, filled by the dull pitter patter of the rain.

Then—

“You are late.”

Again, he wasn’t arguing per se, just repeating his point. Firmly.

Something in your chest tightened.

“Jack—”

“You are later than usual.”

Ah.

There it was.

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head a little. “Sure…alright. I’ll meet you in the middle, I’m later than usual.”

“I am correct.”

That—unfortunately—made you laugh.

“Don’t test your luck!” You said, a giggle slipping out despite yourself, while he simply cocked his head in response.

“I’m not testing anything.”

Oh wow, had he never heard of sarcasm? Thinking back, you really didn’t think he had. You couldn’t remember a single time he had been sarcastic. Or joking. Or…wrong. 

Maybe he was raised Amish or Mormon or something. 

The thought of it made you laugh again, cutting through the damp chill settling into your bones. “You’re…you’re something else, Jack.”

He tilted his head and stared in your general direction.

You didn’t think he understood the tone—maybe even the phrase itself—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

Another beat passed, filled only by the sound of rain hitting water, slipping from the leaves above and pelting the fabric of both your clothes. 

Neither of you moved.

“You’re going to get sick standing out here,” you said finally, gesturing toward him. “You’re soaked.” As if you were one to talk—at least he had on a jacket—but he had seemingly been out here much longer than you.

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t hesitate,  but he wasn’t challenging you, he was just overly confident in his immune system.

“And why’s that?” 

He paused, taking the time to think for once, “…I have a good diet. Lots of protein. Vitamin C…”

A dry chuckle forced itself past your lips, eyebrows raising in disbelief—obviously you had been mistaken, he did understand a joke.

“Right.”

“Right,” he echoed, slower now, mulling over your response. “You don’t believe me. You should. I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor of what, vitamin deficiencies?”

“No, but, I know I won’t get sick.”

“Uh-huh…” Losing interest in his antics you gazed around; the rain only seemed to be getting heavier. Your hoodie was losing the fight, the cold was settling in deeper now—sharp at your fingertips, creeping up steadily into your arms.

You rubbed at them absentmindedly, only to realize a moment later that Jack seemed to be watching you do so. 

“We should move somewhere, get out of the rain…” You peered over your shoulder, briefly considering the walk back. The idea wasn’t particularly appealing—not with your socks soaked through and your shoes heavy with mud.

“Yes,” Jack agreed, offering nothing else.

“There’s a rock overhang, like a cliff thing a bit further up..” you said, nodding upstream, your arms crossed tight across your chest for warmth. “It’s not much, but it’s better than this.”

“Show me.” 

He didn’t look where you pointed. 

At his instruction you pivoted, making your way along the uneven edge of the stream. It was different then you remembered—the rain had chewed at the bank, reshaped it into something unfamiliar—and it took longer than it should have to find a place narrow enough to cross.

Even then, it was a stretch. 

Athleticism failed you at the worst possible moment; your foot slipped on the slick edge, and you pitched forward, barely catching yourself before faceplanting into the mud. 

“You tripped,” he dead panned. 

“Yeah, well…yeah..” You mutter, pushing yourself up with a wince. The feeling of the mud made you cringe—it was smeared across your palms, your sleeves soaked through and clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

Before you could turn fully, a shadow fell over you.

“Jesus—”

The word caught as you looked up.

Jack was already there.

Too close.

You hadn’t heard him move.

Reaching down, he took your hand. Firm—yet careful. His grip was steady, almost deliberate, as if he’d done this before.

A gloved thumb pressed lightly against the inside of your wrist, lingering just a second too long over your pulse, before sliding down to cup your knuckles. He rotated your wrist slowly, testing the joint with quiet precision, pushing it gently in different directions.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

“Does it hurt?”

He ignored the question entirely, his other hand coming up to brace your forearm—fingers spanning it easily, thumb pressing into muscle like he was mapping something out.

The faint smell of iron flooded your senses which was odd, given that you weren’t bleeding. Jack didn’t seem to be either.

“No, it doesn’t,” you huffed, trying to pull away—

His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, not in an attempt to pull you back. It was just strong. A warning.

“I told you,” he said evenly. “I’m a doctor.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond, simply pulling your arm back again—this time he relented and let go. “I’m okay,” you said, brushing uselessly at your sleeves. “Thank you…”

The gratitude felt strange on your tongue.

He only hummed.

The rest of the walk seemed much longer than you remembered, almost painfully so. Maybe it was the slog through the mud.

Or the way you kept adjusting your pace without realizing it.

Or maybe it was him.

You weren’t quite sure what to call Jack.

That uncertainty didn’t help when he started trailing behind you—not beside you, not even a step back, but several paces removed.

Far enough that it didn’t feel like walking together.

Far enough that, if you didn’t know better, it would feel like being stalked, rather than followed.

And yet—

Close enough that you could feel him; his looming presence, his stare bearing into you. 

Watching.

You couldn’t quite hear his footsteps, and yet you always knew when he stopped.

You turned, glancing back. “What’s up?”

“You slipped.”

Did you?

You frowned slightly, thinking back. The ground was slick, your shoes useless against the mud. “Uh…yeah, I guess?”

“You shifted your weight to avoid falling,” he said. “Your steps changed.”

“…I mean, yeah. That’s kind of how it works?”

Silence.

He just stood there, staring—not at your face, but lower, like he was watching the way you stood, the way your weight settled into the ground.

Waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure.

You exhaled, a little sharper this time. “Come on, Jack.”

The remainder of the walk was a silent slog, all to something that wasn’t quite worth it.

The overhang wasn’t much.

Just a jut of rock where the earth dipped slightly, enough to block the worst of the rain. You stepped beneath it with a sigh of relief, shaking out your hoodie a little and pushing damp hair from your face.

It took a second to realize he hadn’t followed.

You glanced back.

He stood just outside, letting the rain hit him. 

“Jack?”

He just looked at you.

“You can come under here, you know,” you urged. “That was like, the whole point of us coming here.”

“No. I am fine.”

You stared at him for a second, shaking your head in dismay.  

He was unbelievable.

Stepping forwards you grabbed his sleeve, “c’mon, get in here you idiot.”

You tugged and, surprisingly, he moved. 

There was no resistance—or even allowance—just letting you.

The second he stepped under the overhang, the space shrank considerably; you hadn’t really accounted for how big he was.

Or how little space there was.

“Okay, wow,” you muttered, instinctively stepping back—only to hit the stone almost immediately. “That’s—great. Love that.”

He stood directly in front of you now—too close.

You could feel his breath, the warmth radiating off him, and hear the faint beating of his heart.

And yet, there was no point of contact between the two of you. 

But close enough that you could see the individual drops of water clinging to his mask, gathering before falling down in heavy clumps. 

And close enough that the faint metallic scent you’d noticed before was stronger now, mixing unpleasantly with wet earth and damp fabric.

Your breath hitched—just slightly.

“Jack, what is that—“

“You are cold.”

Again—not a question, just an observation.

“I’m wet,” you shot back. “That’s kind of how that works.”

There was a tense pause, and then his hand lifted. The movement was slow and deliberate, but still awkward like it had been before. 

“May I?”

Your brain stalled and your body stalled.

“…What?”

But he was already closer now—if that was even possible—closing the last of the distance between you two. His chest brushed against yours, his hand hovering just short of your arm. 

You could say no, you probably should.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke without really thinking. 

“…Okay, sure.”

His fingers closed around your wrist–firm and still.

The same as before.

But now—without the muck of mud and the pelting of the storm–you could feel it properly.

No warmth, no give, no subtle pulse. Like a corpse.

He tilted his head, focusing on the contact.

“You are shaking.”

“I’m cold,” you repeated, quieter this time.

His other hand moved, settling—awkwardly, uncertainly—against your sleeve, like he wasn’t entirely sure where it was supposed to go; like he was trying to recreate something he’d seen before.

The space between you disappeared completely, lost to the mingling of your heated breaths and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

You could feel the shape of him now—solid, unmoving, too still to be natural.

“…Jack.”

“Yes.”

“You’re, uh—” you swallowed, heat creeping up your neck despite everything. “You’re kind of—close.”

“I know.”

That did not help.

At all.

You let out a small, strained laugh, trying to lean back again, still stuck by the unyielding stone behind you. “Right. Of course you do.”

He didn’t move away, didn’t loosen his grip; if anything, his fingers tightened—just slightly.

“Your pulse increased.”

Oh my god.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when people invade other people’s personal space.”

He thought for a moment, “I can let go.”

He was right. He could let go, you could ask him to stop, either of you could move away.

But you didn’t, and neither did he. 

“...No.” You finally said softly.

That short answer seemed to appease him. 

A heavy silence fell immediately, your gaze shying away from his.

His, however, stayed; unrelenting, just like his grasp. 

The rain didn’t let up for a long time.

And–not even for a moment–neither of you moved.

~~~~~~

It had been days since you had last seen Jack.

Although there wasn’t any obligation to meet up, the fact that you saw one another everyday was an unsung ritual. Whenever you were late—let alone completely absent—Jack wouldn’t let you forget it. And then he had the nerve to stand you up for the last three days. 

Not that you were counting.

But you kind of were. 

At first you had thought maybe he did get sick from standing out in the rain like an idiot. The glory of “I told you so” lasted a mere 24 hours before you began to worry that he was avoiding you on purpose since that rainy morning you spent huddled together. 

Then, since this morning, for your own wellbeing you had half convinced yourself that he was being held for ransom somewhere.

The other half was still toying with the much more realistic possibility that he no longer wanted to see you.

The weight of that hurt more than it should have for losing an…acquaintance wasn’t quite right. Neither was a friend or neighbor or anything else you could think of. 

You made a habit of seeing each other every day. You worried for each other. You provided for one another. 

Whatever the word for that was would be most fitting. 

Disconcertingly, your uncertainty and grief had left you unable to sleep the last few nights.

Tonight, you found yourself on the porch of your cabin. A thick wool blanket was draped around your shoulders for warmth, countering your thin flannel shorts and baggy t-shirt. A long abandoned book lay open on your bare thighs—although you had quite enjoyed it the last few days, it was comparably much harder to read by moonlight than desk lamp. 

Instead, you found yourself engrossed in the perplexity of the surrounding forest.

The silence had first set in three days ago. The woods around your cabin were usually a symphony of life—the chirping of crickets, the hoot of an owl, and the rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth. But, as of late, there had been nothing. 

An absolute, unnerving quiet that pressed into your very bones, somehow making you feel so much smaller and yet infinitely exposed all at once. The air itself felt thick, charged with static energy that made your skin prickle, 

The woods itself, and all of its inhabitants, seemed to be waiting with baited breath. 

The immense weight of the change felt crushing, nearly unbearable, as some primal part of your mind urged you to flee back inside.

You didn’t listen.

Instead, you nursed your cup of tea that had long gone cold, examining the uneven treeline. The storm had been bad, leaving branches scattered and once tall oaks splintered in half as maws of pale, exposed wood. 

It had been hell to navigate even sparse patches of forest. 

Examining a particularly gnarly branch, something stirred in your peripheral vision. Off to the right, a blotch of inky black emerged from the dense wreckage of foliage. 

Whatever it was walked with an odd gait, long uneven strides as it hunched over. The thing was tall, similar to a bear walking on its hind legs but too thin and coordinated to be so. It was impressively silent and balanced, maneuvering with ease at almost an alarming pace. 

It approached you quickly—in fact it was making a b-line straight for you—fear set in momentarily until you saw a familiar glimpse of the navy. 

Jack. 

Your it was a he, and he had picked the worst possible time to show up at your doorstep.

You discarded your book alongside your tea and frustration, alarm setting in at his absence and sudden reappearance. 

“Jack!” You took a few steps from your porch, meeting him.

You grabbed at his arms, panicking when you felt something wet as the overwhelming smell of something metallic filled your lungs. 

Your fingers tightened,  the thick, coppery tang of blood flooding your senses. His navy hoodie was drenched, the fabric heavy and clinging to his frame, but beneath the dampness, his skin burned like a furnace. His breath came in ragged, uneven pants, each exhaling a ghost of steam in the cool night air.

He felt beyond feverish and was borderline boiling.

"Jack, what happened? Are you hurt?" Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to meet his face—though there was nothing to see. 

His eyes were empty voids, hollowed out and shadowed, yet somehow, you felt his gaze on you—intense and starving. His lips parted, but no words came, only a low, guttural sound vibrating from his chest. 

His grip on your arms tightened, almost bruising, as if he were afraid you might vanish. He tried to choke something out, the beginning of what sounded like a no that was quickly interrupted by a guttural groan.

The silence stretched, thick with the weight of tension. You couldn't place it—there was something primal in the way he leaned into you, his body trembling not with pain, but with something else entirely. His fingers twitched against your skin, restless, desperate. Then, without warning, he yanked you closer, his face burying into the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not biting, but teasing, testing. 

A shiver wracked through you; half fear and half something dangerously close to anticipation.

"You're bleeding," you whispered, though the realization felt distant. Your mind was hazy, but somehow your instincts made it clear; he wasn’t the one in danger. 

You were.

“It’s not mine,” he finally rasped. The explanation was minimal and no less troubling than your assumption.

He, however, didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

His hands roamed lower, mapping your waist, your hips, like he was trying to memorize all of you. The blanket around your shoulders slipped, pooling at your feet as he crowded you against the cabin door. The rough wood pressed into your back, his body flush against yours, leaving no space to breathe—or think. The metallic scent of blood mingled with something else; something darker, muskier, something that made your stomach twist and tighten all at once.

"I can smell you," he gasped, his voice raw, cracked. "All of you." His knee slid between your thighs, pressing up, and the friction sent a jolt through you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he rocked forward, slow, deliberate. The movement was predatory, possessive, and yet, there was no malice—only need. Raw, insatiable need.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. You should have pushed him away, should have screamed, should have run—but you didn't. 

Instead, your fingers tangled in his blood-soaked hoodie, pulling him closer. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. And when he finally crashed his mouth against yours, you met him halfway, tasting blood and something far more dangerous on his tongue.

His mouth was a maw of sharp, uneven teeth. 

Despite his ferocity he didn’t kiss you just yet; he tasted as if you were his last meal. His tongue was a wet, hot invasion that scraped roughly over yours. It was wide, long and eager. In the mess of it all it felt overwhelming, until you realized he had not one but three, all of which seemed determined to map out the inside of your mouth. Some stranger's blood left a coppery tang behind, mixing bitterly with the lingering flavor of your tea. 

His hands were everywhere, rough and calloused, gripping your waist with bruising intensity before sliding up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled away from your lips with a fervent gasp, tilting your head back and exposing the length of your throat. The sharp prick of his canines sent a thrill though you as they graced down your skin, stopping just above your collarbone

He didn't bite down hard enough to break the skin—not yet—but the promise of it was enough to make your knees weak.

Slowly, agonizingly, he broke the kiss. A line of saliva and blood connected your mouths for a split second before he pulled away. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, and then his gaze dropped to your neck, his mouth twitching as he inhaled deeply.

"You smell like mine," he murmured, his voice low and rough. Though the words sounded like nonsense, you were too enthralled with him to care. He buried his face in your neck again, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collar and down to your chest.

His hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt, palms rough and calloused, burning against your bare skin. He didn't try to rush. He took his time, mapping every inch of you with his tongue and his fingers, every movement slow and deliberate.

Eager fingers traced the line of your spine, sending jolts of electricity through you. Growing impatient with the amount of fabric between you two he pushed your shirt up, nearly moaning at the realization that your breasts were bare beneath. 

He cupped your chest, thumbs pressing into sensitive peaks as he found your nipples. He rubbed the nubs between calloused fingers—his touch firm, but not gentle. It was rough but undercut by an unexplainable intensity and a careful awareness. Every ounce of his self control was being put into not ravishing you. 

He wanted to go slow. He wanted you to enjoy this as much as him, but his patience was growing thin and if he couldn’t take his time, he would simply revere you instead.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. The word was barely audible over the rustling of the wind, and the mingling of your heated breaths. He finally looked up, staring at you as he caught his breath.

He pulled you closer, his mouth finding yours again—but this time it was different. It was less aggressive, less messy, but somehow more desperate, and just as insistent. His hands abandoned your breasts, one tracing the curves of your ribs while the other guided your leg around his waist, his strong hold supporting your thigh. 

Rough denim bit into your exposed skin as his leg moved up. His knee pressed against the inside of your thigh, pushing higher, and you felt the heat of him radiating through his clothes, searing against your skin. Once he felt your own heat, the sure sign of your excitement as dampness on his thigh, he nearly lost it. 

Nails dug into the fat of your leg, urging you forwards and back over and over as he set a sloppy rhythm. The hefty weight of his hard cock dug into your hip—long, thick, and warm. The length was intimidating, your stomach twisting as you fathomed how something that size would even fit inside you.

Between moans, he panted out “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands were already fiddling with the button of your jeans without waiting for a response 

The idea was, admittedly, equal parts terrifying and appealing. Despite your complex–yet heated–feelings for Jack, he was large and not to mention exceedingly eager as he moved down your body. 

His intimidating frame melted into yours while you pondered the logistics of how you would survive someone of his size inside you without proper preparation, regardless of how embarrassingly wet you had become. 

In the midst of it all you didn’t notice his rough hands tugging down your shorts until you felt cold air nipping at your exposed skin. By then you were spread bare before him, thighs parted as the warmth of his tongue met your exposed lips.

The feeling was oh so foreign.

Your time alone in the woods paired with how unnatural he was had you shuddering from mere licks.

You really were easy.

Self deprecation came naturally as something about his inhumanity stirred something deep in you. That excitement–prior to now–had been unbeknownst to you and now that it had been sparked, it quickly grew into a roaring flame. 

Shaking hands found their way into dark curls, tugging and urging for something–you weren’t quite sure what.

However, Jack was. 

One of his tongues–lengthy and feverishly warm–parted your folds, hungrily lapping up your slick.

“Shit!” You exclaimed, left breathless as the appendage slipped inside you, longer and thicker than you had expected, larger than you had even thought to be possible, too much to be human.

It was only dawning on you now–with his head nestled between your thighs, some stranger’s blood staining your legs from his cheeks–that Jack was something else.

You weren’t sure how you had overlooked the signs, or even failed to notice after seeing his lack of eyes and rows of jagged teeth.

Perhaps the isolation has rotted your brain.

Maybe it was something more taboo. 

All of your aimless pondering came to an end as something else slipped inside you, all fruitless attempts to figure the enigmatic man out drowned out by the feeling of being absolutely and wonderfully full.

Two of his tongues were inside you now, burrowing deep enough that you swore he could taste your cervix.

Jack seemed unfathomably grateful for the meal, stretching you out and curling up until a shaky gasp escaped your lips.

“Jack!” Your plea rivaled reverence as your legs parted more, beckoning him in further to the sweet spot he had stumbled upon.

It was spongy to touch, somehow softer than the rest of your slick walls and every time he nudged it the pressure elicited a delighted squeal  from you.

With a renewed vigor he continued the ministries, unrelenting in his attempts to make you squirm.

The pleasure had you struggling to see straight, heat quickly mounting in your abdomen as you tightened around him. It all felt like too much–his tongue's too thick, the escalation of events too quick, the lack of communication too daunting.

And yet, selfishly, needily you forgot all apprehension.

“Puh..Please don’t stop!”

Your whine was dulcet to Jack, the sweetest thing he had ever heard. It drew a deep growl from the depths of his chest, a subtle rumble that sent pleasant vibrations through your sex.

That was enough to push you over the edge, crying out as your vision became spotty.

Heat spread through your shuddering body, spine tensing and arching as you were eased through your orgasm.

Jack’s unrelenting ministrations drew out your pleasure, urging more from you–more moans, more cries, more cum.

Even as your shakes subsided and muscles went lax he didn’t stop. Instead his jaw opened, more than it should have been able to, and his third and final tongue found its way to your swelling clit. 

It became too hard to see, too hard to comprehend. Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering until they shut as his tongue splayed over the sensitive nub. He worked quickly, sloppy circles causing your thighs to shake.

Pressure began mounting again, a knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten as your legs finally snapped shut–or as close as they could get to it–over his pointed ears.

Another growl rumbled through Jack, two hands coming up between you both to force your hips open again. Calloused fingers dug into the plush of your inner thigh, pinning them in place. 

His work had left you both a mess, blood and cum smeared across your legs and his cheeks, slick separating you both by a few glistening strands as he pulled away to speak.

“Don’t move.”

“Okay…” You whimpered before you knew what you were saying, arched your back without really meaning to, tugged at his hair absently in hopes you would return to your sex. 

Of course, your wish was granted.

It felt right to have his tongues slip back inside you, in the brief moments without them you had felt empty.

The realization made your cheeks flush, parted lips coming together so you could gnaw on the bottom one.

A small part of you was ashamed for succumbing to your urges, for indulging so blatantly, for not questioning what Jack was or why this was happening.

You no longer cared that he had been gone, you didn’t mind the mess he had arrived in. 

You were simply glad that he was back.

The realization, although late yet again, eased your pounding heart and foggy mind, allowing you to slip fully into the throes of pleasure being readily given to you.

Jack worked you through orgasm after orgasm, not giving you a moment of respite, eating you out like a man starved.

He only stopped when your clit had become so sensitive his breath made you twitch, and when the mess coming from you was more cum than slick.

As he pulled away your hands fell from his head, slipping down his neck and over broad shoulders to tug at his hoodie.

You wanted him closer, but you also wanted it off.

To compensate for him having to pull away you wrapped your now weak legs around him.

Your attempts were futile as Jack seemed to have other plans for you both.

He wrapped one arm around you, effortlessly holding you up as he pulled you away from the wall before beginning to set you on the ground.

In your haze it took you a moment to notice that this wasn’t a temporary resting place.

“Jack..!” You cried, half whine, half scold, as he pulled the soiled sweatshirt off of his head.

The sight left you breathless for a moment, his hair a mess from your tugging, his face and neck flushed. His bare chest was soft but noticeably strong with defined biceps covered in a thin layer of hair that was also prominent on his messy happy trail. 

Although you were waiting for an answer, your only form of acknowledgement seemed to be him pausing, arms still stuck in his sweatshirt as it hung limply in front of him.

Right. He was still like that.

“We…we are not having sex on the floor.”

“Yes, we are.”

You were dumbfounded by his blatant refusal, your mouth hanging open dumbly for a moment. “No we are not!” You shot back.

He stopped this time, pondering your demand and surprisingly asked, “why not?”

Splinters? Shame? Discomfort? The front door being wide open? 

You could think of a myriad of reasons why it was a bad idea, and yet worlds failed you, as all you could muster was a “because I said so.”

Another beat of silence, followed by a soft plop as he finished taking his top off, before he finally relented. “Alright.”

Jack seceded from impatience it seemed. He closed the distance between you both again, scooping you up as he pressed heated kisses down your neck, across your breasts, up your shoulders–wherever his mouth could reach. 

Setting you down on the couch he settled on top of you, his legs hanging over the armrest due to his height. His free hand undid the button of his cargo pants before he shifted and kicked to get them off. He cursed under his breath as he struggled, the arm holding him up trembling–not from exertion but from desperation.

His face was a deep red, sweat beading on his forehead and collar, a soft whine escaping every time your body simply brushed his. 

When his pants and boxers were finally off, the last of his control seemed to evaporate. A heady groan escaped his lips, hard cock now curling up towards his frame and resting on your lower stomach. 

It was long and thick, something you would surely struggle to maneuver even with both hands. Your stomach fluttered, thighs squeezing together as you eyed the veins running from his swollen head down to the bulb situated at the base of his dick.

Before you could really think of what it was, restless hands pushed your legs apart and up to rest over his shoulders, granting him access to your sex. Guiding his length between your folds, precum dripped over your entrance before he pushed in.

With a few shallow thrusts he bottomed out, forcing the monstrous size into you so quickly you saw stars.  

_____

The pain was sharp, a violent intrusion that stole the breath right out of your lungs, but it was swiftly swallowed by the overwhelming fullness. You clamped down around him instinctively, your nails digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as he held himself there, buried to the hilt inside you.

You screamed, a sound that tore itself from your throat before your brain could even process the sudden sensation. It wasn’t pain—not exactly—but the kind of stretch that threatened to ruin you, a bone-deep ache that radiated outward until you felt impossibly wide, impossibly full.

“Jack…!” The syllable was barely a breath and hardly a plea–you weren’t asking him to stop, you weren’t begging for him to move, you just wanted him.

He stilled above you, his body vibrating with the effort to remain steady, his hands planting on the cushion next to your head to anchor himself. He panted, his chest heaving against yours, the heat radiating off him like a furnace. 

"You're so tight," he rasped out, his voice guttural and wrecked. "You're... so tight." 

He didn't move immediately, just rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot pants that fogged the space between your faces. The sheer scale of him was staggering; he felt impossibly large, stretching you wide in ways that no human ever could. A heavy, musky scent—the same one that had filled the air earlier—wafted off him, thick and primal.

He leaned in, pressing a clumsy, desperate kiss to your mouth, tasting of blood and salt. 

"Take it," he commanded, though the words were barely a whisper. "Take all of it." 

Slowly, agonizingly, he began to pull back. 

The friction was maddening, the drag of his length against your sensitive walls sending sparks of electricity shooting up your spine. When he bottomed out again with a deep thrust, your back arched off the couch, a loud moan tearing from your throat. 

Each movement was deep, a heavy impact that rocked your body upwards. He was relentless, hips pistoning against yours with a brutal rhythm that had your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges. 

Your nails scraped down his back, leaving angry red trails against the soft skin of his lower back, the only mark you could leave on him. 

"Oh god..." You gasped, your voice cracking, drowning in the sensation of him, stretched to the limit by his sheer size. 

"Jack... please, don't stop," you whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.

You didn't need to ask twice.

He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic. Each stroke was deep, claiming every inch of you, hitting that same spot inside you that made your vision blur and your toes curl. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingled with your moans and his guttural growls.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky rasp. "You're taking it so well. So tight."

He shifted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot harder with every thrust. The pressure built rapidly, a knot tightening in your lower belly until you were gasping for breath, the pleasure becoming overwhelming.

"You're going to cum," he noted. "I can feel it. You're clenching around me." The bluntness of his words drastically opposed the quiver in his words and the heavy breath between each syllable. 

His hand moved down to your clit, rubbing rough circles over the sensitive nub. The dual stimulation pushed you over the edge faster than you expected. 

You cried out, your body seizing as a powerful orgasm rippled through you, your inner muscles clamping down so hard on his cock that he hissed.

"Just like that," Jack urged, his face twisting in pleasure. He spoke breathily, nails leaving angry red marks as he forced your hips closer, half bouncing you onto his cock as he continued moving;  driving into you with deliberate precision, his pace increasing as he chased his own release. 

"You're mine," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy on your ear. 

His knot began to swell, a thick, bulbous base that pulsed against your sensitive skin. It was an alien intrusion, a part of him that you were learning to accommodate–the friction creating a fire that burned in the very marrow of your bones. 

"Jack, it's too big..." You whimpered, your hands grasping at his shoulders. You felt your stomach drop, sure that you wouldn’t be able to fit it–it was a miracle you had taken as much as you had already.  

"Shut up and take it," he commanded softly, his voice laced with a dark, possessive need. "You can take it. You're doing so well." The praise was choppy, foreign coming from him, but well earned regardless. 

He pushed forward, forcing the knot to expand, locking him inside you. 

You cried out as your body was somehow stretched further, more than it had ever been before, the knot catching on your rim, and then sliding in with a pop. He was trapped inside you, a massive weight that filled you completely, leaving you no room to breathe, no room to think, only to feel the incredible pressure and the pulsing heat of him. 

You gasped for air, your body trembling violently. 

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the roughness of his actions. "You took it all. You took all of me." 

He rested there, his forehead resting against yours, the action oddly tender but far from unwelcome.

"You're so full," he continued, whispering in awe while his thumb stroked your cheek. 

The sensation of his knot trapping you was intense, a feeling of being completely possessed, of being locked together. 

"I'm full," you echoed, your voice barely a whisper, unable to process the magnitude of the experience. 

"Good," he said, and his hips gave a small, experimental roll. 

You jolted, the movement sending shockwaves through your body, the knot rubbing against your sensitive walls. 

"Jack..." 

He chuckled darkly, tentatively, his breath hitching his chest. 

"Did you like it?" 

You didn't answer, too overwhelmed by the sensation to form words. You could only arch your back, a silent plea for more, for everything. 

He seemed to understand.

Jack started to move again, grinding his hips slowly and deliberately, the knot catching and releasing, sending you into a spiral of pleasure that made your head spin. 

He seemed to be enjoying himself, his own release imminent, and the knowledge that he was trapped inside you– unable to pull out until he was ready–added to the immense heat and sheer alien nature of the creature you were sharing a moment with. 

Your mind began to wander, twisting into a dark, erotic dreamland where you were nothing more than his vessel, his mate, his everything. 

He was lost in the sensation too, his eyes fixated on where his cock was buried deep inside you. 

He felt your walls clamp down on him, milking him for everything he had. 

"I'm going to fill you up," he announced, as if to inform you. 

His formality forced a dazed giggle from you.

His hips snapped forward one last time, and his cock throbbed violently. 

A stream of hot cum flooded your insides, the sheer amount of it was staggering. 

"Jack!" You screamed, your body tensing, your eyes rolling back. 

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body as a stream of hot cum filled the emptiness of your womb. 

He pumped his hips erratically, after every thrust, the room seemed to shrink, the world outside seemed to disappear, you were just two bodies locked together.

You, Jack, and what you had together was the only thing that mattered.

The flood continued for what felt like ages.

Eventually, he slowed, his breathing returning to a more normal–albeit heavy–pace. 

The knot deflated slightly, but remained swollen, preventing him from pulling out. 

He pulled his face from your neck, looking at you with adoration, but also a dark hunger. 

"You're covered in me," he said, your body glistening with sweat and smelling strongly of him; your legs spread wide on the couch, your thighs sticky with a mixture of your own juices and his.

He lowered his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You're mine now.”

He reached for his sweatshirt and wiped his face, removing the remnants of his earlier meals–a mixture of your fluids and foreign blood.

You had a clearer look at his face now.

He had a strong jaw, well defined cheek bones and traces of wispy stubble on his chin. Despite his lack of eyes you could feel the intensity of his gaze and the reverence which he had for you. The man was adoring, relishing in the sight of you laid bare before him, especially fond of the point where your bodies met. 

“Thank you…” you muttered, breaking the silence, tugging softly at his neck to draw him closer.

“You’re welcome,” he replied simply.

[rumitee]

❛ SPIRAL DOWN THE FREAK SHOW ❜

chapter seventeen.

< . >

pairing: the freak circus x gn!reader / very heavy columbina focused chapter

word count: 2.9K

summary: a bit of columbina!! and reader at the end.

a/n: never beta read. there is a small implication of a romantic relationship between pierrot, columbina and harlequin. but all three still love mc a lot. like a lot a lot. sees you like a missing puzzle. pierrot still does not like harlequin. maybe he will one day. but he heavily blames harlequin for that day. either way, very complicated relationship dynamic. anyways, i typed this all without wifi so its a little weird because i had no access to literally a thesaurus because am dumb. anyways, columbina’s side story would be next! I SWEAR THERE WILL BE HAPPY EVENTUALLY. ITS TOO SOON.

the world smelled of smoke and iron. even when the fire had long starved themselves. the ghost of heat still lingers. it was just like that back then. but this was different. this was devastation. the tents and lanterns were burnt to crisp. there were only blackened remnants of wagons. melted curves of metal rods. everyone moved in silence. checking, collecting their belongings after hiding. among them, she, the one who still believed in good, still believed in miracles… columbina tore through the wreckage with desperate precision. tossing the beams aside. pulling apart canvas that still managed to remain intact. the others watched helplessly, in silence. as her movements grew frantic. how columbina’s breath was ragged. how her claws bled black with soot. she was searching. while making no sound herself as she searched so desperately.

❝ columbina ❞ ticket taker began. his hand reached over to columbina. ❝ there’s nothing left ❞ he spoke. however columbina refused to listen. or perhaps she chose not to listen. an aching wordless cry emitted from her figure. ❝ it has to be here ❞ she said. her voice quivered. her movements sharpened. quick yet imprecise. hands rifling through the rubble. areas she had checked. tossing aside things she didn’t even see. ❝ what is it that you’re looking for? ❞ the doctor whispered. seeing their youngest in distress. it could only mean it involved them. but everyone knew. it wasn’t just an item. it was proof. of something real. something that was once theirs. not days before, some fools had caused pierrot distress. a loss of his important item due to a careless monster. and now… another one of them was slowly descending down to a desperate search. ❝ them… my treasures ❞ her breathing picked up. shallow and uneven. she tried to think where else. hoping that the wind did not pick up the ashes. even when the others tried to pull her away… it did not stop. 

❝ let her search for the time being… we leave in an hour ❞ jester whispered to ticket taker who only nodded grimly. everyone separated to search, to at least retrieve anything that was salvageable. ticket taker placed a hand over his chest, simple folded pieces of paper, kept close to his chest due to its compact nature. he glanced over at columbina, ❝ columbina… ❞ he approached her. only to stop moments away. knowing he should not interrupt her. not when she gets like this… not when it was about ██████. he closed his eyes as he slowly turned away. ❝ i will be back ❞ he spoke softly. unsure if she heard him. he could hear the frantic galloping of her heart. like a rush that made him know this was not a moment to bother her. either she would find it. or she would tire herself out trying. he slowly turned and went searching for what they could use for their travels. to build once again. 

but columbina was too distraught. she felt like time was slipping through her claws along with the debris. then she froze. her hands hovered over it. it was just a frayed string, burnt, but there were a few acorns, and shells… it was still there. it was in a different shape but it was still there. her breath caught in her throat, ❝ i found you ❞ she whispered. the words sounded fragile and uncertain. she collected what was the remnants of the glimpse of them. pressing it close to her chest. closing her eyes. she knew it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t them. not really. with a sharp inhale. she set it in her pocket, carefully, reverently. before she turned back to the wreckage. she knew there was more. but it felt so impossible to search. even as her voice cracked. as she searched for more. until the hour was almost up. 

in the end, she couldn’t find that piece of paper. the one they so lovingly drew of her. the one… she loved because that was how they perceived her. she just broke. a sound tore from her. it was not a sob. not a scream. but was something far deeper. something that was pulled from a place that she had kept sealed so she can handle herself. to keep herself from falling apart. she held her chest, her head resting down on the ground. she curled into herself. rocking ever so slightly. in her pocket, in a single surviving fragment of them… and she held onto it like it was everything. mourning the many times once again over the course of so many years of your absence.

they had come for her quietly. for a long time, she didn’t move. even when she sensed them behind her. her pink eyes stared into the rubble of their home. slowly, the tension in her limbs unravelled. she slowly stood up. even when her hands were covered in black soot. part of her disguise was blackened. together, without any force to drag her away, they had guided her away from their home. step by step. the six of them left the ruin behind. not erasing this moment. not forgetting. but carrying it with them. knowing they would be rebuilding the circus over and over again. until they finally found a home… or perhaps they would be searching for that home. 

however, as those walked ahead. ticket taker stood there. staring at the last of it, until his eyes caught a gleam. slowly brushing it away and seeing the photo frame. the glass was broken into many pieces. seeing the familiar strokes of their hand. he frowned a bit. seeing some edges were burnt. he looked up ahead. watching the other five walking off. he would catch up. as he slowly removed the frame. carefully extracting the picture. he smiled a little bit. brushing away the broken fragments from the paper. the glass did manage to protect it from the soot. he stood up and simply folded the paper. then with much reverence of the hand, he slipped it into his pocket. with the other bunch that he had found so long ago. with the bunch that he had kept safe from the aging of time. it was just safe… until he finds the moment to return it to their rightful owner.

before he turned and followed the trail of the others. 

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jolting up from her seat. panting. her arms was over her eyes. remembering. her hand reached for a metal box. her eyes turned around frantically only to relax a bit. seeing it was on the table. before she slowly relaxed against the table. the memory of that day was so vivid in her mind. she could still smell the lingering smoke. she could feel how her chest was tight. how she was recovering from her dream. such as how her breaths were shallow. like she had been running. it was like the dream was still draped over you. not quite ready to let you go. columbina was just realising she was not there anymore. the relief doesn’t come right away. there was still this strange disorientation and dissociation. because emotionally… she felt like she was still there. replaying the scene over and over again. sometimes she wondered if she could have gone it differently. lessons she had learnt more afterwards. keep her valuables close to her. it makes her wonder if she could have fix them if she had stayed asleep a little longer. but she knew it was a wishful thing. knew she couldn’t change the past. you take a deeper breath. 

columbina stood up. her gentle gaze stared in the mirror like many times she had done before. human like. her and ticket taker were the closest to humans in appearance. but why was it that they were still so different from humans. her clawed tips traced along the frayed images that was stuck on the mirror with no pattern, no reason. photos of her and the rest. over the years. some in disguises so they can wander amongst the humans. before setting her eyes on her journal, on the photo album. it was just a little small nook of normalcy in a circus filled with horrors and hidden monsters in shadows. no. she was not speaking for them. she was speaking for those who enter the circus. the bright vibrant colours. the shows that brought those around in awe. only if they knew what was seeping beneath the floorboards. how the acts seem too realistic that it was chilling. or possibly uncanny. 

fixing the frilled cuffs with exact precision, her breath was steady. causing the lace veil to sway. the sound of murmurs. the sound of a multitude of distant heart beats that made her flutter her eyes closed. listening to the symphony of some fast, some slow… some so steady like a stream. skipping against the water. everything was so alive in this circus that was still healing… yet still grieving. her hand slowly reached towards a treasured box. containing simple treasures that she had held dear to her heart. the ache. the longing. stored away in a simple yet delicately designed metal box. wood would have burnt what was close to her. plastic would feel cheap to the memory that she so lovingly cherished. glass would reveal too much. so much had already been lost through time… through fire that had ruined their simple home. so many fires caused by both man and monster. because neither would ever discriminate. and both think with their own selfish needs. the only difference between man and monster was that the circus and the monsters remained small in numbers and hidden… while humans were abundant in numbers. 

remembering how pierrot came back today. her heart clenched. he was once again injured. it was cruel. how nothing truly has changed even back then. humans were still so cruel to those they perceived weaker. or possibly they wanted to lash out so they can seem much bigger. nonetheless. it was something they should not be doing in the first place. the issue was the rule. it was put in place for his safety and the safety of others. including the factor they could not get caught. but columbina knew due to the rule, he could not utter a word to outsiders, meaning he couldn’t possible stand up for himself or eloquently detach themselves from the situation like jester. or wittily dodge from the scene like harlequin. pierrot just had to take it. allow the human to just blow some steam before getting tired and walking off when they knew pierrot couldn’t defend themselves.

a soft sigh left her form. thinking of pierrot. thinking of everyone. thinking of… harlequin. she had known he had been hurting. she would not say either of them were hurting the worst. or suffering more than the rest. however, she could see it in their green eyed one. he was quick to make many teasing remarks. quick to rile pierrot up for a reason? she could never truly tell. he never allowed her close during and after the explosive fights between himself and pierrot. only turning to the doctor after each fight. while pierrot would have to be held back by the others and herself. but, somehow she felt like there had to be a reason why. everyone was so close with one another before this. before their captivity… before the horrid humans… before what had happened to ██████. but she knew he was hurting. if it were not for his actions. for the factor that the fools he chose may look different from one another. but somehow… they would have one feature… it could be the hair to how they smiled or even from as simple as the eye colour. he transformed his anguish and grief through his lustful actions. 

she knew harlequin would never take her help. he wouldn’t even allow her to be even close to him. knowing the nature of her powers, she assumed he believed it would be too revealing. too much for someone to understand. even when the doctor had commented how it was quite easy to understand harlequin. although compared to pierrot who was open with his emotions while also still unpredictable. then she remembered. remembering how they used to help. how they would always offer a gentle hand that felt so warm and comforting… a sweet laugh that always tugged on her heart strings. it was the help she wanted to offer. through grief. through despair. but it was hard to emulate something that was slowly and surely fading from her memory. she grasped hard, scared that she would forget. forget them…

then there was her… she was holding up. still picking up broken pieces nearing two centuries. about seventeen decades. but she tried to remain strong. trying to remember them. honouring them. they would not want her to constantly weeping over their death. but she still did. the years may have passed. but it was barely a fraction of their life. it felt like it was only yesterday when they lost them. ██████. every one of them still speaks of them. harlequin and jester had incorporated them in their own stories. their origins. every one of them still mourn. and even when she tried her best to keep a steady stance and balanced herself, she couldn’t help but cry for them. their beloved. ❝ meu anjo ❞ she could already feeling tears well up in her eyes once again. her hands placed upon the surface. her head hung low. droplets dripped down onto the table than down her cheeks. 

her hands shook as she opened the simple album. photos. more of them. behind each photo was a simple message. like she was writing to them. like her angel could read the words that she wrote on each photograph. photos of food. as she tried to dry away her tears. she heard a subtle knocking against the mirror. ❝ i know ❞ she whispered softly. ❝ thank you for reminding me, bil ❞ she spoke softly. as she slowly looked up. her tears were gone, seeing the afterimage of ticket taker and nodding, turning away to return to her position. she took in a deep breath as she stood straight. brushing her costume that was reminiscent of a bird. flowing. with simple ribbons attached. her stockings were thick. not easy to be ripped. designed immaculately by jester. with a simple brush of her hair from her face. she turned to step on the stage. to meet with the usual smoke that had her nose scrunched up. 

the canvas of the tent breathed softly. just as the wind slips in. you were amongst the audience. alongside your friend. the sounds around you were noisy. laughter. hushed anticipation. the low hum of a crowd gathering to watch something they don’t fully understand. rows of people lean forwards. as voices overlapped. it was overstimulating. ❝ they don’t even look human up there ❞ one uttered in hushed voices. ❝ she is deserving of the title, the wings of the circus ❞ there was excitement. smiles that seem to linger a moment too long. your eyes gazed up. above, ropes and silks vanished into the shadows. the performer, columbina appeared. already suspended, already moving. 

it was a mesmerising sight. she hangs in the air as if gravity has momentarily forgotten her. her costume echoes the suggestion of a bird without ever becoming literal. feathered like textures, delicate layers. pink hues that shimmered. ribbons drift and trail, attached to one wrist, fluttering with each extension. more ribbons run down one leg, accentuating each lime and stretch. the show had barely started and everyone was in awe. her long black hair spills downwards like a darken silk, melting seaminglessly into soft pinks. catching the light with every slow turn. a soft veil concealed the bottom of her face. adding an air of quiet yet graceful mystery. yet it was her eyes… they were what were impossible to ignore. even from such a far distance…

bright pink. almost crystalline. they shimmered under the lights like polished gems. they hold a distant focus while remaining free. and you held your breath. how your eyes met with hers. it felt less like seeing someone new and more like remembering something misplaced. they glimmered in a way that felt achingly known. there was a warmth… or maybe the echo of it. a softness that suggested kindness or at least a memory of kindness. it was dizzying. trying to recall a dream that dissolved the moment you reached for it. but the eyes looked older… not in age. but in feeling. as if time or experience had layered something over it. but there was a flicker… an impression of something younger and gentler. but you knew there was a pull… quiet. insistent… something impossible to ignore. it was something deeper. something so disorienting

the show had just begun. you sat there longer. caught in the tension between hope, fear and doubt. your hands reached out. realising just how out of reach… how far away. eyes that was once familiar… and you feared losing once more. you were so caught between an impulse and hesitation. that reaching out further might shatter something so fragile. this sensation again. that quiet insistence whispering. the shape. the presence… the feeling. it aligns just enough to spark that familiar, dangerous belief. however, you knew what came after. fear was never far behind. it seep in more slowly. heavy. wrapping that hope like a shadow. because you have been here before. too many times. faces in crowds, passing strangers. reflections in shadows. each one…. for a moment, had been them. each time… the same surge of recognition. and each time… the same collapse when reality settle back in.

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[electricchair759]

Personal TFC Headcanon: Pierrot knows the language of flowers intimately

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≫ Romantic* and slightly disturbing headcanons/scenarios about how Pierrot may gift the reader/MC paper flowers with a nearly forgotten language! Basically my interpretation of if Pierrot were a lot more deranged…and if the reader really likes flowers. At first.

≫ Potential trigger warnings: Descriptions of blood and injuries, intense stalking, delusions, detrimentally obsessive behavior, (Pierrot being Pierrot) and implications of intentional harm to oneself.

≫ *Romantic in this context meaning with the intentions of love but not the actual definition. Stay safe and happy reading y’all

≫ We all know Pierrot gives the MC a paper flower on that first night after meeting them (or at least he can depending on player choices but you know what I mean)

≫ Though I couldn’t find an exact match for the flower he gives the MC, I find it closely resembles something similar to a few certain types of roses or perhaps even a gardenia.

≫Both flowers are associated with deep affection, but interestingly, gardenias specifically are associated with secretive love.

≫ Maybe in giving the MC a gardenia—one painted red with his own blood—Pierrot silently conveys his intense secretive love that won’t stay secret for very long.

≫ I imagine if the MC were to react quite positively to the paper flower (obviously unknowing of what was used to paint it) , Pierrot may want to see that kind of happiness again through any means necessary. What’s a dozen, a hundred, a thousand cuts and bloody gashes to his body if it makes his beloved happy?

≫ Roses, gardenias, camellias, carnations and peonies and tulips and your birth flower and your favorite blooms, all painted red, even if they don’t naturally come in the color. All for you. All for the chance of you smiling that same smile you made that first time.

≫ Not once does he craft a bloom that doesn’t have a romantic or sweet meaning. He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t love and value you, after all—on the off chance that you actually know the language of flowers. (He deludes himself into thinking you do, and that you’re just shy to show your reaction in front of him)

≫ A ranunculus to compliment your charm and magnetic attractiveness. A small bunch of red stained forget-me-nots to show his loyalty to you and only you. Painstakingly crafted yarrow flowers to portray his everlasting love and how you healed a hole in his heart he didn’t even realize was there until you filled it.

≫ With every late night infiltration visit into your apartment while you slept, Pierrot felt his heart swell and melt upon seeing his latest gift placed among the others he had given you, right on your nightstand, right next to where you slept. Such a sweet thing you are, taking care of his gifts and displaying them so close to you…

≫ Of course, you likely realize rather quickly that Pierrot always seems conveniently injured and in need of your tending, and he always has a freshly painted paper flower ready to gift to you as a token of gratitude. And the smell.

≫ The pungent and unmistakably organic rusty smell of blood begins to permeate your nightstand. It almost seems to seep into the very grains of the smooth wood surface. You smile less and less with every new paper blossom added to the growing bouquet.

≫ He thinks it’s because he needs to subtly yet constantly one-up his gifts, making each one more personal than the last. He uses blood from gashes on his head, then his arms, then his hands, and then from directly over his heart—though he doesn’t ask you to help with those wounds for obvious reasons. He takes note of what kinds of flowers you like, what draws your attention the most.

≫ He spends hours perfecting his craft, feverishly making all sorts of petals and leaves and stems and casting away any that don’t meet his gradually increasing and strange standards. The Harlequin taunts Pierrot at first, but then goes quiet upon seeing just how much time the red clown invests into it.

≫ It’s almost become a routine in an unsettlingly short amount of time. You find Pierrot injured—or more accurately, he finds you—and patch him up gently and with a soft scolding. For such a talented performer with acts and shows that demand precision and accuracy, he was quite clumsy.

≫ A slip of his clawed hand while practicing with his throwing knives, an accidental fall onto something sharp, a scuffle with a local street cat, some other random mistake or coincidence that feels just a little too…off.

≫ But most of the time, he tells you it’s from aggressive people who attack and harass him in the streets. Why were so many people eager to make someone different from them bleed? Who in their right mind would see a super tall and athletic circus clown and think to attack him?

≫ And he always seemed to get injured on his head or some other open area, and never in the places his costume covers.

≫ It didn’t seem right. Nothing about this whole twisted routine did.

≫ It isn’t until you clean the latest of his sticky wounds and realize that a dark and rusty red is starting to cake beneath your fingernails that you finally decide to try and get Pierrot to stop gifting you the wetted flowers. Guilt and dread ate away at your conscience, and a sweet gesture from him had quickly turned sickly—almost sinister.

≫ You wanted to think it was some weird unique paint or something of the sort at first. He worked at a circus of horrors, surely they had things like that lying around?

≫ No. The smell was unmistakable. And the way the “paint” always dried and turned into a rusty burgundy was undeniable. Paint didn’t do that.

≫ There was no denying or ignoring it. You start out by offhandedly remarking that your nightstand was rapidly losing space for all the flowers the troupe member was giving you. When that doesn’t work, you mention that with so many flowers, it’s becoming hard to differentiate them from one another—they were all the same deep crimson, after all.

≫ That doesn’t work either. You’re either going to have to confront him directly about the problem or flat-out refuse any other ones he gives you for the message to stick. You’re not sure which option is worse. Both feel like navigating a field full of land mines.

≫ Luckily for you, you don’t have to choose. Pierrot’s…displays of affection…had gotten bad enough to have been noticed by the Jester and the other circus members. You’re not sure what the red clown was told, only that he regretfully admitted to you in private that he was no longer allowed to present so many gifts to a civilian.

≫ (The Jester claimed it was because someone was bound to notice that a certain non-visitor got “special treatment.” It would be bad for publicity. Bad for business and all that. The troupe leader did not mention anything about Pierrot’s disturbingly fast-growing obsession.)

≫ You had to hide a sigh of relief upon hearing that. Finally, the unsettling bloody gifts were no longer going to be an issue. Right?

≫ For now, yes. But you couldn’t help but feel a lingering sinking dread in your gut as you stared into Pierrot’s giant heart-shaped pupils. He was smart. Resourceful. More so than he was letting on, you knew that. How much longer until he thought of a new way to display his love?

≫ How much longer until you saw a part of him that he couldn’t disguise as part of his lovesick and innocent persona?

≫ The last flower he gifts you still sits on your nightstand alongside all the others. You contemplate throwing it and all the others away, or at least moving them to somewhere you don’t have to see and smell them. But guilt plagues your thoughts as you recognize the admittedly unparalleled craftsmanship of the paper blooms. They can’t stay where they are—they only make your stomach churn.

≫ All the flowers but one are gently transferred into plastic food bags you found in one of your kitchen cabinets. The bags are then sealed and placed into your nightstand drawer. Out of sight, out of mind, but still secure and safe…and no longer soaking their scent into the wood surface.

≫ The only flower you keep out is now placed in an empty cup and angled behind your bedside lamp so you don’t have to see it as much. Even despite the nature of its source, the flower in itself was a kind gesture…you just didn’t want to see it very much.

≫ You don’t quite remember what Pierrot said its name was…he had given you so many blooms that you had lost track of which one was which. You recognized a few obvious ones, like the rose or the tulip or the carnation, but you couldn’t for the life of you recall the name of the flower on your nightstand.

≫ It doesn’t really matter now. Pierrot wasn’t allowed to give you any more. And you can’t help but feel a mild sense of relief upon seeing that last flower’s unique petals, knowing that it would be the final one.

≫ That flower is a columbine.

❁✿❀❁✿❀❁✿❀❁✿❀❁✿❀❁✿❀

≫ I love writing slightly unsettling things about TFC. In my experience, I find that its horror and disturbing aspects are oddly underrated. Maybe I’m not looking in the right places, idk

≫ Anyway, this was a small little idea I had at like 2 in the morning last night and I just had to write it out!!

≫ Feel free to interpret that last bit however you like. :)

≫ This post was made without the use of AI. Please refrain from using any text from this for any character-based AI or LLM.

≫ Thanks a bunch for reading! :)