(Except for minors, minors will be shot on sight. Go away, this is an 18+ blog.)
☆Name's Void! I'm a queer fella who writes a lot of MLM (gay) or gender neutral x Reader content of mostly the dom/top variety since that's sorely lacking I feel. (It's. It's mostly Pierrot x Reader admittedly because I'm ill about him.)
☆I'm a hobbyist fanfic writer and am currently working on my Pierrot x Aromantic!Male!MC fic called "Limerence" on Ao3. It deals with a lot of heavy subjects and is about two heavily traumatised individuals being horrible for each other (at least at first). Pierrot is NOT okay and neither is MC 💔🥀
☆It's inspired by an amazing fic called "It's fine, it's ok, I'll die anyway (though not if Pierrot can help it)" by the ever talented @intermediatefanficenjoyer (you should go check her out!! She's super cool :]) but it has quickly devolved into its own thing oops-
☆I love a good character dissection and theory crafting! Esp when it comes to the psychology of these clowns. I also love to come up with headcanons! Here are some links to my theory posts sorted from most recent to oldest:
Jester's facade
The Moon Monster, the circus and an internalised fairytale (co-authored with @intermediatefanficenjoyer)
Why Harlequin torments Pierrot
The troupe's internal logic on how to avoid trauma
Jester's potential eldest daughter syndrome
Why Harlequin doesn't cook
☆I'd be down to write some headcanon requests if that's something people want! My inbox is open :] you can also just send random stuff as well lol I'm not picky
☆I'm ride or die for Harlequin, he's a horrible little gremlin with awful destructive copes, but that's what makes him such a nuanced character imo.
☆My favorite ship is Hearttaker (Doctor x Ticket Taker), I love rarepairs and old man yaoi 🙏
☆Pierrot has consumed my mind. He's rotting my brain from the inside out. I hate him so much. (In a pitch♤ way). I am Not normal about this man.
Second favorite is probably greenapple (Pierrot x Harlequin) and third is lethalinjection/poisonivy/dr.pepper (Harlequin x Doctor)
☆I suppose I should put some of my oneshots and headcanons here, huh? Ig this'll be the masterlist.
☆I tend to ramble a lot, so I use #Void Posting as a tag for filtering purposes. I also use "#Void being gay" for 18+ rambles (*cough* mostly ab topping Pierrot *cough*-)
☆I'm a very kinky gay guy, so I talk and reblog stuff about that sometimes. Some of my kinks are more niche, but I tend to put a warning in my posts so that you can skip them if necessary.
Genderneutral!Dom!Reader x Pierrot
Genderneutral!Dom!Reader x Pierrot part 2
Male!Officeworker!MC x Ticket Taker
Pierrot's kinks headcanon
Harlequin's kinks headcanon
Transmasc!top!Reader x Pierrot imagines
Genderneutral!Kidnapper!Reader x Pierrot oneshot
Natanael (café boss) x Pierrot (+ Harlequin) headcanons
What kind of Dom Pierrot is headcanon
And yeah! That's it, I think! Thanks for checking me out :]
Hrmmmm I should probably slow down and let the chapters simmer first before I full-send it like I used to do before >_>
I might be getting ahead of myself and I don't want the quality of each chapter to tank just bc I wanna pump out more in a shorter time span.
Not that I think the chapter concepts themselves are lackluster, but some parts are a bit awkward to parse or understand and sleeping on it can always help me improve a subpar description since I've had time to mull it over and consider it, yanno?
Bruh, it pisses me off when people say AFAB (assigned female at birth) or AMAB (assigned male at birth) when they really just mean female or male.
Not all AFABs are women.
Not all AMABs are men.
The whole AGAB thing fucking sucks for that reason because its just used for people to sound woke and inclusive
Not all AFABs have pussies.
Not all AMABs have dicks.
Literally, its fucking useless. Just say "x has a (insert genitalia here)" instead. It's much more straightforward.
AFAB/AMAB was never meant to be a stand-in to say female/male but ~woke~, but its the only way its ever being used these days 😑
It is, in fact, not inclusive to include trans men into a post clearly aimed towards women or trans women into a post clearly aimed at men. I think literally the only time it could ever matter is medically.
The moment you get bottom surgery as a trans person to get your desired genitalia, the whole AGAB shit is just moot if the fic or whatever was supposed to be aimed at pussy/dick-havers.
Like c'mon people. If you're gonna try and be inclusive, at least do a little research.
Oki so this piece is meant as fanart for @intermediatefanficenjoyer's fic "It's fine, it's ok, I'll die anyway (though not if Pierrot can help it)".
This is specifically related to my fave chapter. After reading it I immediately knew that I wanted to draw the scene that brought me so much comfort; especially during a trying time in my life.
So yeah, thanks for writing this gem, Inter. I would never have guessed, in my wildest dreams, that I could find the words I needed to hear in a fanfic about murderous clowns, but I guess life is funny like that.
I don't have the words to express how beautiful this is. It's absolutely stunning and exactly the sort of atmosphere I imagined for that scene. Forgive me for not being able to phrase all this better I'm in shock
You think Harlequin swallows after doing a blowjob?🎤
Interesting question 🤔
If he didn't want all that in his mouth in the first place, he doesn't have to keep you in his mouth as you cum, right? Could just switch to stroking you off instead when you're about to bust. So if he chooses to let you cum down his throat, he's gonna be sucking you dry.
Though the mental image of him going up to kiss you only to spit your cum back into your mouth is kinda hilarious LMAO
free use is kind of a funny kink bc it relies on the idea that everybody wants to touch you and have sex with you but what if they don't. what if you tell everybody at the party you're free use but they all ignore you and mind their own business
At first, Pierrot was grateful that their love was not moved by the strange things they were encountering at the circus.
That gratefulness did not last.
OR Pierrot falls for someone he cannot save
Tags: MINORS DNI!!!, depersonalisation, derealization, depression, description of suicide, author experimenting with darker topics, please heed the tags
WC: ~1.4k
They weren't a person.
This is something they had known for a very, very long time, though perhaps not as consciously as one might assume. It started with a bone-deep conviction that they were something other, something different, something that could never quite be fixed. Eventually, as a cancer cell turns to a tumour, so did this belief grow and spread to every part of their mind, hooking itself to every thought, every feeling. They are different. The outside world was distant, as if being viewed through glass. They existed within it, yet grew to find themselves more comfortable being perceived as something of a machine: existing to produce, to please, to be praised, but not having a life outside of what they can provide for others. It was a pleasant mindset and one that quickly became their shackle. At first, they did not want others to see them as a person; eventually, they stopped seeing themselves as such.
It was around this time that they first came into contact with Pierrot. What a strange meeting that was - shouting strangers, the sounds of blows, the pink bandage that became the start of a peculiar friendship. Through it all, through the darkness of the circus and the sights of things not quite real, they never faltered. It overjoyed Pierrot to see it, truly, and to witness his love stay in his life willingly despite all they had borne witness too. Only about a month into his obsession did it become clear something was wrong.
The conviction showed itself in small things, ones the red clown never could have hoped to catch. The way their vision would go distant at times, as if trying to focus on something none could see. The way they'd say, in jest, how ‘you’re lucky none of this is real or I'd be losing my mind right now’. The way any words of reassurance seemed to bounce off them like glass.
He would see sometimes how they would almost reach out to him. How in some sadness unbeknownst to him, they would open their mouth as if to ask for help, for comfort, but they never did. Instead, they always retreated back into themselves, never letting him in. The red clown hoped that, in time, they would grow to trust him more. That they would open up.
They didn't.
Pierrot only became truly scared when he first saw them cry. They had been overwhelmed, something trivial setting them off, but they did not let themselves sob or shout or let any of the hurt outside. Instead, they had slapped their face, twice and with both hands, and looked to him with a smile on their face that most certainly didn't belong there.
‘My love, what is wrong?’ he had asked, rushing to their side to restrain their wrists. ‘Talk to me, please.’
They had smiled wider, then, shrugging off his concern. ‘It’s alright, Pierrot. I'm fine. It's not like any of this is real.’
Pierrot had worked in a circus of horrors for many years, yet without a doubt that was the most terrifying thing he had seen.
He tried to make things better, really, as much as someone like him could. Pierrot managed to easily convince them to move into the circus with him (far too easily), and he hoped keeping them close would bring them back to reality. That his love, his affection, could save them.
He really didn't know why it wasn't working. He'd come back from his performances to their shared trailer to find them sitting in his bed, in his clothes, just the way he had always hoped, and yet something was off. They looked at him with a sad sort of fondness, one that made his heart tighten painfully in his chest.
‘You’re beautiful, you know that?’ they told him, kissing his cheek when he sat before him. ‘So kind, so loving, so willing to put up with me. Everything I wished I could have.’
‘You do have me,’ he assured, intertwining their fingers with his own. They were cold.
‘Not really,’ they said, smiling sadly. ‘You’re not real.’
The troupe tried everything, even if more for Pierrot's sake than theirs. The Doctor's plants did no help. The hypnosis Jester used only helped temporarily, their usual state returning as soon as they left his tent. Ticket Taker assigned tasks, mental and physical, to try and bring their mind back to the moment. Even Harlequin tried, in his own way, his advances growing more and more blatant in order to elicit any response that wasn't one of apathy. Nothing helped.
It consumed Pierrot. He could not sleep. His performances grew sloppy. He almost gave away his identity during one trip when handing out fliers. Everything was piling up, the kettle of anguish threatening to boil over.
And then, it all stopped. When Pierrot spoke to them about his love, they stopped denying it. They started joking with the green clown, started performing their duties around the circus with more life than any of the troupe had ever seen. It was a borderline miraculous recovery, one none of them could explain. When asked about it, they simply laughed. ‘I’m just doing better.’
And, to an extent, their words were not false. Truly, their heart had been lighter, certainty settling in the cracks where confusion once lived.
They knew they weren't real. Neither was anything they could see, or anything they could feel, or anything they could touch. Pierrot's arms around them were a figment of their imagination. His comfort was a result of synapses firing in their brain in ways they couldn't understand. His words spoken in the heat of passion were nothing more than some distant dream belonging to another.
None of this was something they could have. None of this was something they could let themselves have. There was no reality in which they could.
That was alright, though. At least they knew what they needed to do.
On the second day of spring, they told Pierrot they were going out to the market for some pastries. He offered to go with them, of course, but they refused, insisting it would be a quick trip. That was no lie: for them, it would be.
They walked down roads they had not visited for months, the noises of the city fading as they got closer to the outskirts. In a plastic bag, they collected stones, a sight peculiar to the decreasing number of onlookers. Perhaps the strangers thought they were collecting rocks for their children. Children they would never have.
The bridge was not the grandest in the country, nor was it the tallest, but it was more than enough for them. Most importantly, it was isolated. Quiet except for the roaring of water beneath. No one drove there that time of day.
With a hum, they sat on the edge, tying off the plastic bag to stop the stones slipping out and threading a thick rope through the handles. Then, with the same care they had used that morning to tie off Pierrot's costume, they tied the other end of the rope to their ankle.
For a moment, they just sat there, feet dangling over the side and swaying over the deep waters. It crossed their mind that Pierrot would look for their body, would sob and wail and search to no avail, and the image momentarily made their heart clench. They could almost see the way his face would contort in unspeakable pain if he ever found their rotting corpse under the water, kept submerged by their carefully collected rocks.
And then they laughed at how silly they were being. No one would be hurt by this, no one would search, no one would miss them.
After all, they were not real.
With a final breath, a smile, they let go of the plastic bag, the sudden force pulling them off the ledge and into the waters. It filled their lungs, agony overwhelming their senses as they were battered by the cold current, every cell screaming for air and brain fighting for survival.
They weren't a person. They knew that much. Why, then, was the pain so blinding? They didn't understand it. They didn't understand any of it.
The scream that left them under the water had no audience: they planned too well for that. There was no Pierrot to save them, no warmth of his embrace, no sweet cadence of his laugh. There was only them and the bitter dark into which they had thrown themselves.
And so, they died surrounded by every person that they had let into their heart.
Quick, before the week is over! Another chapter drop! o_o
This time, it's chapter 27, yippiee!!
Will MC succeed in his quest for eternal rest? Or will there be divine intervention (aka clowns getting in his way again)? Only one way to find out :]]]]]
We're used to thinking that circus performers have horns under their hats, but this has never been officially confirmed. Where did we even get this from? Silhouettes and hazy images from the past? That comic with the old costumes?
If it were all so obvious, why would Neko avoid answering this question so often and so much? That's interesting. It's been there from the very beginning, but now the situation seems more glaring, as if all the little details from the past are finally asking us to look back and think: "what if it's not horns at all?"
Let's just go ahead and drop this idea altogether. If it's not horns, then what? We know that monsters have extra limbs and all that. So, purely in theory, these could even be some kind of "arms" or other body parts that humans don't have.
From the comic about Pierrot's old outfit, we see a piece of something black under his hat, visually resembling a horn. But what if it's not horns, but, for example, quills like a porcupine's? Look at how narrow his hat is here, and how wide it is in the new version:
If he had horns, they probably couldn't be tied back like hair into a ponytail. But if these are long quills or something similar, they could easily be pressed closer to the body and against each other. And when agitated, porcupine quills stand on end — maybe that's why his hat got damaged and we saw this body part.
Also, take a look at Harlequin's hat:
The initial assumption was that either his horns grew over time and changed shape a bit, or it was just an artistic convention. But his first hat really is quite different from the second. It's a crazy idea, but what if it's something like ears?
We haven't seen monsters' ears yet (TT in human form doesn't count). So, you know, they could look like anything and be in the most unexpected places. The only thing that contradicts this idea is Harlequin's hat with bells. If there really were ears under it, it would be agonizing — constantly hearing that ringing inside, pff.
But look at the original design of the hat, and then look at his new hat — do you see anything that stayed the same? Those extra pieces of fabric covering the ear area.
It seems this only exists on Harlequin's clown hat. What if he just presses his ears closer to himself, and this fabric is exactly what hides them? You know, like rabbits or Nubian lopped goats:
Not every cap has to hide something — that's what I'm trying to say.
And what about Jester? What immediately catches my eye is that in his old costume, his front "little horns" stick out from the fabric, as if he wanted to hide exactly those.
In the new version, they're already visible, and his hat has become longer overall. But interestingly, it seems his old hat had only two compartments (I could be wrong, but it really does look like two, right?)
So what he's hiding under his hat might not even exist at all. Want to hide something? Put it in plain sight — and that's exactly what his horns did.
So, most likely, only Pierrot actually has something under his hat — horns or quills, doesn't matter. But what about the other two? Maybe there's something hidden under theirs too. Or maybe they're just empty. We don't know for sure, and honestly, that's not the main point right now. What matters more is this: even if Jester and Harlequin have nothing under their hats, it still works as camouflage. Because the most important thing is that we look where they want us to look, and not where we really should.
There's also another interesting detail — some elements in the costumes repeat. For example, as I already mentioned, these clown hats. They're the reason we all assumed that at least three performers have horns under them. But there's another curious detail. What about the cloak?
When we hugged Harlequin in the game, he wasn't very happy, and we felt something "strange" under his clothes. And when the Doctor was asked in the AMA if he could be hugged, he said "you might get scared". Hmmm, interesting, isn't it? At first, I thought we might be scared of the Doctor himself, since he's so big and frightening to many people. But when hugging, our hands touch the back — so that must be it.
Most likely, the Doctor's cloak isn't just a costume element — it's meant to visually conceal his physical features. And if someone as cautious as Pierrot lets us hug him, then our theory might be right — and the most obvious signs of monsters are indeed on the backs and bodies of Harlequin and the Doctor. (I could actually try adding TT to this list, but I'm not sure if his fitted jacket can be considered similar in purpose to the cloaks of these two.)
So what do we have in the end? We spent so much time studying hats, trying to guess what's under them — horns, quills, ears, or nothing. And the answer, perhaps, was never on the heads at all — but on the backs. Under the cloaks. In the details we've gotten used to overlooking.
Under Harlequin's hat, there might be something flexible — something he's learned to press flat against his head, because otherwise the bells would hit it with every step. Jester, perhaps, has nothing material under the fabric at all — just an unusual skull shape or growths that don't need to be hidden, but also aren't worth showing off.
Every detail of a costume is meant to hide something, but it can also exist purely for misdirection. And that's a brilliant survival tactic! If only Pierrot wore a hat, we'd immediately know he's a monster. But when the others wear similar hats — even if with different contents — attention scatters. You look at their heads, not noticing that the real clues are elsewhere: on the backs, under the cloaks, in the tactile sensations during hugs. Maybe we were looking in the wrong place all along, when the answer was always right on the surface — behind the fabrics we just got used to calling "part of the costume".
