Tale of Bells and Tempera
jester x gn!reader this has been a wip for monthssss. i'm not sure what i want to do with this character but here is my boy!! jingle miserably across the floor boy</3
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CW: mentions of death, yandere themes, kinda angst because the jester is sooo sad and so starved of attention, no use of y/n, excuse all the historical inaccuracies i am not versed in jesters;_;
wc: 900
˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚—˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Standing in the corner the room, unsure of what to do with himself, he looked on. Currently, boldness wasn't an option and his passion for bringing joy was steadily atrophying. Still, he observed innocently, curiously— not with intent. He wasn't a threat.
Sometimes, only sometimes, when the darkness shrouded his thoughts, he wished you would decide to see him. You would look him in the eyes and see the affection he could give you, you'd gorge yourself on it until you were satiated and even then, he'd give you more.
'Look. Look at me.' He pleaded quietly, barely letting out a squeak. 'Look. Look and don't be afraid.' A broken whimper. 'Please.'
A shadow flickered in your peripheral vision. You snapped your head around, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.
Nothing.
You were just tired. How silly of you to worry. A chuckle followed your sigh of relief, the belief of being alone letting you come back to your previous duties, undisturbed. He stood mere inches from your face, his bent over body staring into your eyes. The frenzied grin on his face growing impossibly wide. You looked.
While wandering through a small antique shop, amongst the colourful vases and books far beyond their prime, you spotted a painting. Its frame was covered in dust and the price was comically small for the amount of work that it took to create the piece of art.
You asked the owner about it and he began to spin a story of a jester, pining for the king's daughter, that was rejected by the princess. For fear of being forgotten by others, like he had been forgotten by his love, he began performing for a pittance just to get himself out there.
Unfortunately, he received no recognition. At this point he was living off of scraps, so to survive, he decided to borrow money and fell into debt, so severe that with his last savings he bought painting supplies and after finishing the self portrait, as the final attempt at securing his remembrance, was murdered by con-men he'd borrowed the money from. Unfortunately for him, the soul he possessed was transferred into the art work you were looking at.
Spooky.
When you hauled the painting into your apartment you weren't sure where to put it and so you rested it against the wardrobe in your bedroom, making hanging it, a problem for future you.
And so, months passed. Whenever you would remember that it still hadn't been hung you would make a mental note to come up with an idea for where to put it and then promptly you'd forget about its existence. The jester wasn't too pleased by your decision to completely ignore him. He was sure that all these years of being ignored and effectively forgotten, were a punishment for his pathological need for recognition. After you saw him, he knew, you were the salvation, he deserved to be revered and you were the one the one destined for him.
He didn't have much experience as an active ghost and there wasn't anyone who could explain to him the whole being-dead-and-haunting-an-object thing so he tried to manage on his own. When he was being displayed in the museum all these years ago, he discovered that being hung up gave him a visible form. After scaring the guard half to death he would only get out of the painting at night to stretch his legs and return to it at dawn.
…
You were admiring your work, standing proudly in front of the somewhat crooked painting hanging on the wall, you picked the wall least subject to the sun as you weren't sure what its effect would be on the piece of art. When you bent over to pick up the tools you were just using a strangely melodic voice greeted you. You shot up and was suddenly standing face to face with a man that looked to be of the years gone by. He tilted his head and the bells on his jester hat jingled— jester hat!?
"Oh I'm so glad to meet you my liege!" He clasped his hands together stepping closer towards you. The darkness in his eyes making you back off instinctively, colliding with the wall, the hammer still in your hand. Feeling the thrill of seeing the fear in your eyes, he curtsied. "I—" he emphasised "am the royal court jester of your estate. Always—" he put his hand out with a theatrical flare "at your disposal." Finishing off his introduction he gave a bow. While you were still mortified he began wandering around your apartment.
You snapped out of your stupor and went after him. He was looking out of your kitchen window, admiring the view of the world he was completely foreign to. With the wonder you've only seen in children, he looked on and in that moment you felt as if it would be cruel (or rather, impossible) to just kick him to the streets.
He looked back at you, his semi-transparent form letting a few rays of sun pass through his body. The radiance made him look like an angel and when he smiled, your knees almost buckled and for the first time— you really saw him.
˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚—˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
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