#destiny writes

I tried to do this gif version, it looks better on a03, but tumblr is so strict about the size >_>

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“Send the remaining fools to our local contacts, ” Jester ordered, ignoring the itch of his winter coat and casual hat; cooly observing the crowd of humans drawing near like ants rushing towards a cube of sugar.

A seductive orange glow peeked over the nearest hill where their circus once stood. The leader refused to turn away from the sight of humans marching, his stance carrying the burdens of a spartan when facing a cloud of arrows above.

“Of course, Jes, it will all be settled,” The TicketTaker’s voice from behind soft as wafers dipped in honey, “please—we must go.”

“Give Harlequin the keys to the truck, Bil.”

TicketTaker balked, “What?”

Never glancing back, Jester already knew the expression on his old friend’s face would tempt him to change his plans. Carefully, the leader chooses his words before feeling the muscles in his body expand and change ever so slightly. The blue creature’s eyes grew wide, realizing what was to be done. Bil frantically looked back and forth between his illustrious leader and the flesh-coated portends of doom that threatened to swallow their home once more.

Jester walks forward outside Bil’s grasp, ignoring his worried friend, “Quim tends to drive erratically, they won’t be able to predict his route. You all know where to go. I will find you all in four days time. After that.…”

There was no arguing with the leader of the circus. TicketTaker’s pleas echoed behind as Jester’s arms opened wide; daring whomever was brave enough to challenge in the flashiest way possible. Jester was a performer, first and foremost, and the mob before him was a particularly unamused audience. All he had to do now…was act.

Thankfully, there were many layers under the clown’s coat; thick vests and padding that just barely protected Jester’s armored body, even as the paring knife of a woman wearing a stained pinafore cut through his upper thigh.

Jester laughed, grinned widely, and twirled like an erratic dancer throwing piles of human flesh he’d brought in a small bag on his hip, at the feet of those who hurt him. He’d concocted a speech, one so hammy, and smarmy that a familiar menace would have been equally proud of it as he would cringe at the hackneyed dialogue. Jester was not one for such obvious theatrics, but if throwing a bunch severed appendages at the mob of humans surrounding him was enough to direct their ire away from the now moving trucks behind, then it would all be worth it. How the purple one almost wished to see the look on their faces when the humans came back to this spot later only to realize the ‘organs’ on the ground were made of cheap plastic.

Some humans pointed at the now moving circus trucks, shouting out orders to follow. However, a sudden explosion of freckled yellow lights blinded the crowd went off; fireworks set hours ago by The Doctor singed much of the now dried foliage of the field to flat charcoal. A few humans fell on their backs at the impact of the booming sounds alone, and Jester took his cue to exit, sprinting as best he could with an openly sliced thigh; shouting at the crowd to follow if they wanted closure and an ice cold bowl of revenge.

Thus, the party was split—a family torn apart like those who currently chased Jester with gobs of foam seeping through the corners of their mouths. Hours it went on like this, with several close calls and sliced tendons, yet Jester moved on.

Coughing, The Jester’s knees began to give way as he felt his left arm grow numb, stained with blood. His stomach bleeding regularly, causing the leader to sway in his step. Looking up at the roof-tops of the buildings around, seeing if there were a potential means to lose the mob from above. The humans had effectively blocked several escape routes. Narrowing his eyes, the creature realized that his intel regarding the crowd was not as thorough as he would have liked, plus his sliced thigh made it difficult to climb at the moment. Silently, the purple one crept onward into a nearby alley as several young humans shouted behind him. The only comfort being that his family was hopefully safe, and far from this place due to his efforts.

“Bil knows what to do,” Jester groaned to himself, pressing against the dirty brick of the alley while smoothing some of the blood on the stone ground with his boot.

Catching his breath, the leader fell to his kneels, crawling towards a dumpster to hide and rest for even just a moment. He was far too drained, having ran with several injuries, and an openly sliced stomach, unable to leap from building to building as originally planned. Not that this entire visit had gone as he once envisioned.

What was it again that led to this? How were they so careless?

It had something to do with a particular fool’s mask falling off, he recalled, but Jester couldn’t focus; not when his forehead was pounding like the end of a hammer against the meat of his skull. Finally, as his knees scraped against the rough asphalt, Jester grabbed the end of the dumpster, pulling himself further in where he wouldn’t be so visible to the rushing crowds. Sighing, the leader of the circus, maneuvered his aching body once more, pulling the dumpster along in a low screech using his great strength until the back of his head finally leaned against the smooth surface of a bolted alley door where he could finally catch his breath. Now hidden behind the dumpster, Jester chuckled, likely out of delirium. The creature wondered for a moment what unlucky soul lived in a building that had their door nearly obscured by a rusted garbage box.

Foolish choices from foolish creatures.

Taking a few breathes, Jester looked towards the sky, connecting the stars in his mind as he once did during his youth. Constellations of mythic beasts, dead warriors, and forgotten gods had been his only companions during those nights where food was so scarce Jester’s ribs began to show under his thickened skin. Would his new family have to go back to those days because of this? It was certainly possible.

“What a perfect disaster,” Jester moaned, suddenly feeling darkness creep on the edges of his now dimming vision.

Immediately, the purple monster knew he couldn’t allow himself to fall unconscious, not now! Lifting his head only to plop back onto the door behind him, Jester tried to sit up again— over and over, as if lightly knocking against the metal, growing frustrated. Staring at his wounds, relieved that his many clothed layers hid the skin beneath, only made the creature dizzier and the need to sleep far greater. Jester growled to himself, banging his head back and forth on the door behind to keep himself awake.

“Don’t sleep,” he protested in a whispered huff, “—I won’t allow it!”

Banging his head back, again and again until there was suddenly nothing there, and Jester found himself falling all the way to the ground. The sound of cold tile cracking against his aching skull was the last thing Jester felt before blacking out entirely.

All light was screened out of Jester’s vision until he felt the punishing glare of florescent bulbs and.. lavender? Foreign fingers ran over his body peeling membranes of clothing off, piece by piece. Rolling somewhat, Jester found his ribs contracting like an accordion with every breath before trying to sit-up, groaning in agony the hadn’t felt in decades. Frightfully, Jester wondered if the chilly floor were made of iron—his mind going back to a place of nightmares. The leader panted heavily, eyes open but unable to focus on much else. A picture etched on a thin totem, or at least that’s what he could see through the film of milk that currently blocked his sight. Was he back in the cage? Lavender again…. Where was he?!

“Whoa there-hey! Hold on!!”

A new voice pierced through the monster’s sensitive ears making Jester immediately pick-up on his other senses. Jester could feel this person’s rushing blood and a slight uptick in heart-rate as though it were his own. There was a human here. Human—it must be—their organs were too quick, scent too delicious. The purple creature could taste this person’s fear on the tip of his tongue as the world crept slowly into understanding like wiping a fogged up window with a moist cloth. Only then, did he finally see.

“Out,” the leader commanded the surprised human, “out—Leave me!”

Jester’s claws were desperate to pierce through his thick gloves, now crusted with dried blood, and attack, but he hesitated. It was important, when deciding on a kill, if the prey would be missed. Whether they lived alone, what their intentions were, or worse—Jester shook his head, trying rid himself of familiar fears to focus on the here and now. Eye sight finally clear enough to notice a white and red kit by the human’s knees; reaching towards it, Jester grabbing the first piece of metal that flashed under the florescent lights above. Holding up a small pair of surgical scissors in hand towards the surprised human, Jester brought his still injured knees up to his chest in a small attempt to hide his open wound and skin from the human. Vulnerability was the true enemy of monsters.

“Okay, okay,” the human slowly scooted away from him while sitting on the tiled floor, hands up in a defensive posture, “slow down there, tex. I wasn’t gonna hurt you—kind of the opposite actually.”

The leader held the scissors firmly, pointing towards the woman before glancing at his surroundings. A small entry foyer with peeled wallpaper the color of guacamole. Chipped lintels and fixtures seemingly never dusted as though the area had been rarely used. Alternatively, this human’s form finally began to make sense amid the strange colors and surroundings. Their hair of light lavender, arm covered with an inked image of a snake. At first, he wasn’t sure if this being was really there, though decades of memories and human fashion caught Jester up on what era it currently was, as well as the type of human you likely were. An artist most likely, or at least someone who empathized with the lifestyle.

Turning his head towards the faded stain beneath his jeans, the leader pressed himself closer to the wall as the human, still kneeling on the tiled floor across from him, did the same.

“Yeah,” the stranger dared speak, pointing to the stains on her tiled floor, “that’s your blood—remember? Blood?”

Jester narrowed his eyes, “I’m aware of what blood is.”

“Oh…good. Cause you might have a concussion too, which yeah,” the human nervously brushed a piece of lavender hair behind an ear on the shaved side of their head. “Not that it’s good, but you know—”

“I will only ask this once: where am I?” Jester interrupted firmly, trying to get to the point.

Pursing their lips, the human only slightly lowered their arms, eyes darting towards the scissors he held and back to his injured stomach. Instinctively, Jester shielded the large wound with his free arm, shaking as he tried to keep himself balanced using the wall behind him. The human’s compassionate eyes hardly impressed the leader, however it did alleviate some of his concerns. At the very least, it seemed she hadn’t seen his true skin while Jester was passed out. A small comfort, if nothing else.

The human leaned back from the purple one’s intense gaze, “An hour? You’re in the back entrance of my cozy rent-controlled place—otherwise I’d be out on the streets like you were—Think you chipped some paint off the hinges or something though, didn’t even know that door still opened.…”

A twinge of mirth was heard in the human’s voice, though Jester neither smiled nor laughed in turn; his arm still extended, tightly holding the pair of curved scissors towards the strange person.

“You think me…homeless?” Jester muttered thoughtfully. “Leave the first aid kit and I will take nothing else. You will not see me again, I give you my word.”

The leader of the circus could feel a dollop of blood pour through the fingers of the hand pressing on his stomach while leaning forward. His one arm stretched towards the human faltered, keeping the scissors in hand stubbornly up, teeth gritted. The human stared at him warily, eyes moving up and down Jester’s tense form. She could tell, from his hostile posture, voice, and the scissors in hand that this guy would not respond well to help. A cloud of empathy swelled within her at the thought of what this poor wretch had gone through to feel so guarded towards a small thing such as she.

The human began carefully eyeing his wound, “You definitely need medical attention, just let me—“

“No.”

She huffed at his curt reply, “I won’t touch you! It’s kinda a bad look to have someone die in your apartment—almost as terrible as living next to a lit-up billboard, but without the property tax deductible.”

Jester blinked at the joke, lowering the scissors in hand, though still at the ready. Years of experience, betrayal, and aching bones echoed the past like yellowed pages in a half-burnt photo album. If this human knew the truth, knew what he was, then their kind eyes would quickly turn to red-hot hatred. Nothing in life was ever truly given, not for free anyway; everything had a catch, a price—and Jester was not one to leave unpaid debts.

The human raised their hands again in surrender, stretching the tattooed snake on their bicep enough that it almost looked like the inked serpent were traveling lower and lower down her arm in a vain attempt to escape its fleshy prison. After awhile, the human pulled up their legs, pressing against their chest. The pose mimicked Jester’s own. They both sighed and huffed in timed unison before the human finally decided to speak.

“Got a name?”

Jester merely glared at her in what was becoming his usual silent treatment.

“Right,” she clicked her tongue and began to turn around, “well, not that you asked, but my name’s Anya—as in—I’ll be On-Ya like envelope glue.”

The leader raised a brow, surprised but not necessarily shocked that the human would leave themselves so open, not at all caring about her name. Continuing to hold the pair of surgical scissors towards Anya, the human then reached behind her lavender head, pointing towards the nape of her neck where tips of a raven’s wings peaked through the neckline of her shirt.

“No laugh, huh?” The human said dryly, her back still turned. “Look, I’m not here to make you uncomfortable, but this is my home, and my home is for healing—“

Jester finally lowered the scissors to the ground, feeling a rare opportunity glide by as she droned. However, something this human said specifically made the creature pause: ‘not the first person who’s come knocking at my door.’ In frustration, Jester gritted his teeth realizing there was a possibility she had other humans in the building, ones that he could not smell or hear due to the continued banging in his head. If so, then he couldn’t stay here…not for long anyway. Looking towards the black bolted door that led to the alley, Jester pondered on the idea of knocking the human out to make his escape; take the kit, and hope this Anya wouldn’t call anyone after.

Raising his hand, Jester made up his mind. It was the best option, the only one that made sense. The only one that would get him to his family sooner. It was worth the risk even if this 'Anya' did have other humans somewhere upstairs. He had to risk it. He had to. Jester decided, leaning forward and—

“Urg!”

The purple clown clutched at his stomach in sharp growl; dropping the scissors, Jester’s claws retracted as he doubled over in pain. Anya, almost turned around but stopped herself. Looking from the corner of her eye, she reached back to slide the first aid kit towards Jester.

“I won’t look, I won’t touch you, and I didn’t see much but you’ll need iodine,” Anya started worriedly. “If your stomach’s bleeding then you gotta sew it up too and it’s gonna hurt like a thousand fire ants in your crotch, but I’ve done it before—So, I’ll walk you through it, ok? No peeking. Scout’s honor.”

Anya raised up two crossed fingers much to Jester’s surprise.

A promising gesture, meaningless in the long-run—about as binding as a hot glue gun. Jester did not trust it, still, beggars were not in fact choosers, and while Jester would NEVER beg, he at least could choose ‘something’ in this imbalanced predicament. Looking at first to Anya, making sure her back was still turned, Jester used his free hand to slowly peel away the sticky fabric on his stomach, wincing. He couldn’t run, at least not without passing out again from blood loss, making his options scarce. Clenching his fists, the leader leaned back against the wall of the small apartment foyer, looking up at flickering florescent lights in defeat.

Jester sighed, “Very well…”

He couldn’t see it, but Anya smiled at that.

“I’ll get to know you better than you know yourself, stranger! Count on it!”

“I severely doubt that,” Jester waved her off.

From there, Anya began instructing Jester, with her back turned, how to sterilize and sew his wounds; repeatedly telling him that it’d be best he finds professional medical attention soon. Jester responded aptly that he had a Doctor he’d see later. For an hour or so, the leader sewed, cleaned, and taped his cuts; grumbling while trying not to growl despite the pain. Still, it weren’t as though he didn’t have some form of entertainment at hand.

After all, he was in the presence of a potential fool.

“You are a scout,” Jester suddenly brought up while sewing his open stomach shut.

“What?” Anya asked, surprised.

The leader shifted his aching body, sighing at the stinging feeling of iodine on his now closed wound.

“From before,” Jester mimicked the sign with two fingers she’d made before, not that Anya could see with her back still turned, “your ‘scout’s honor.’ Not to mention your talents for sewing up open wounds.”

“Heh, well, let’s just say my residency is done at home these days,” Anya’s shoulders rolled as she began to chuckle, “But, dude—‘scout’s honor’? That’s just a saying! I mean—I could’ve been a scout, but if you sealed up those stitches like I told ya, then you’ll be one hell of an explorer in no time!”

Jester mulled over her words, now cutting the string before starting on a new bandage.

“Perhaps I am an explorer…..”

Anya chuckled, “Oh yeah? Seen a lot in your day, huh, chief?”

“Much,” the leader answered with a grunt as his wound began to sting again, “enough to make one vomit.”

Anya slowly sat up straight, one eye glancing back to Jester, but never turning around. Determined to keep her promise much to the purple one’s simultaneous relief and surprise.

The human began slowly. “Most people seem to like travel.”

“I am not like most….”

Anya rolled her eyes, “Oh sure!—You’re an extra special sundae with sugary fudge on top. That’s why you wouldn’t dare let a lowly wretch such as I touch your sacred body, right?”

Jester’s eyes twinkled, “Perhaps you are starting to know me.”

The human laughed, though the sound only made Jester concentrate further on tending to his wounds:

“Be sure not to wrap that gauze too tight.”

“You’ll want to cut the thread two inches after the wound, I know it seems like a lot but trust me, you’ll need it.”

“Take two and a half pills now, I know that’s not what it says on the label but trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

Anya strangely continued to have interesting and thorough medical advice, though Jester would not admit that he’d heard at least some it from his Doctor prior. Sighing, the leader almost wished he’d paid more attention to the avian creature’s medicinal rants. Having Doctor’s care at the ready was taken for granted. This incident, if nothing else, proved how imperative it was for his family gain more medical knowledge; himself included.

“Here,” Anya reached into the first aid kit, feeling for some tape, “seal it with this.”

Jester eyed the human still as he took the tape and carefully sealed one of many bandages he’d been applying on his person.

The human hummed in curiosity as Jester spoke again.

“You have not once turned around to check on my wounds…”

Anya chuckled, “I ain’t Pandora, bro—if you say I shouldn’t open the box, then I won’t.”

“Hm,” Jester, before cutting the medical tape. “Bil would appreciate your….obedience, perhaps…”

“Hey!? Setting me up on a date with someone else before we can finish our own? That’s cold, Stabby.”

The leader raised a brow, closing the first aid kit with a hard snap.

“What…did you call me?”

Anya grinned at the wall she continued to face, “Well, it’s not like you’re gonna tell me your name or anything so I had to come up with my own. Stabby just felt right…given the wounds and all.”

Jester’s brow twitched just as the human began to laugh again. Normally, he’d scold someone, threaten at such disrespect but he was far too tired and preoccupied to care. Trapped in a small mint green foyer with one metal door to the cold alley and the other end a staircase towards Anya’s apartment. It was cramped, suffocating at first, but eventually the air began to feel oddly warm after awhile. Not comfortable, of course, but manageable. Idly, Jester glanced towards the now closed first aid kit by his legs as Anya continued to laugh and joke with him like a pair of old friends. It was an opportune time to act, Jester declared internally.

He wouldn’t get another chance.

Anya was distracted, trusting to a fault in a way that reminded Jester’s of Pierrot’s misguided innocence. Raising his clawed hand as she spoke, Jester remained calm, confident even, in this decision. It was for the best; the quickest and most efficient way home. It was—

“It’s ok.”

Jester paused as Anya’s voice lowered an octave, his eyes still, claws twitching.

“I saw the crowds on TV,” Anya spoke softly, “and what they think you did…”

Jester narrowed his eyes, “You knew, yet you helped me…”

The human sighed while wiping her sweaty brow, “Maybe everyone’s right about me. Maybe my heart bleeds so much I need a tampon to soak it all up, but….I.. I see so many people hiding from bad situations, assholes, and—…I don’t know why..”

The creature’s claws slowly came out further, sharp as ever as a bead of sweat descended his brow.

“Realizing you know nothing and continuing to make the same foolish choices does nothing,” Jester advised coldly.

“Can’t get anywhere without some trust, friend,” Anya smiled again, leaning her head back towards him in a way that made the monster nearly salivate, “and I refuse to let others dictate who I am or how I should be.”

He approached, he had to. This was foolish, a waste of time—

“Besides, Stabby,” Anya joked, “any dude who’s strong enough to sew himself back up and NOT cry has seen some shit. And..well..I hope next time you travel, you eat a light lunch. The world shouldn’t make you vomit, even if there are a lot of ‘emetics' out there making it tough.”

He approached, a hair away, until she added:

“There’s always family…even if you have to make one yourself.”

Jester then leaned back, his mouth parting in a low and frustrated huff. His head hit the wall behind him as you leaned yours closer, still not facing the monster and all he was. It was avoidance, temporary at best. Anya was no one special, one of many well-meaning fools who let murderers into their homes without a second though. She would one day regret her generosity, Jester knew this well. Human society punishes those who love openly, even among their own kind. And in that….for even just a second….Anya felt like kin. But the feeling was fleeting, likely from the light concussion and headache medicine he’d recently ingested.

Surely.

“Turn around,” Jester ordered.

Anya practically jumped at the sound, slowly twisting her hips to face him. The human eyed his now bandaged body up and down. It seemed Jester was now more covered up than when she’d first met him mere hours ago. Blinking, the human finally met the creature’s strangely colored eyes, realizing that she hadn’t gotten a good look at them before she began facing the wall. Such a gorgeous color….

“If you’d be so kind as to fetch me some water, Anya…”

The human’s mouth went dry before she snapped out of it, nodding fast enough for her fact to blur.

“Uh, yeah—YEAH! Shit, you must be thirsty,” She stood up. “Just hold on one sec, I’ll get it for you!”

Anya quickly moved towards the staircase, eyes bright and eager. It was the first thing ‘Stabby’ had asked of her directly and while it was nothing glamorous, she was determined not to fail. Though for what reason, she wasn’t completely sure? There was something about this guy that exuded authority—something that made her want to please him even when he was being curt. Still, she was excited to get him a drink, worried that she hadn’t done so sooner. How thirsty must he be? Poor thing.

Jester listened for Anya’s frantic steps as she ran up to fetch him a glass. With a light groan, he struggled to stand up while leaning against the ugly green wallpaper, looking down at his bandaged wound, smiling. Monsters healed much faster than humans, and two hours were all he needed to have the wound close-up enough to move around. Jester buttoned up his coat, torn as it was, grateful to the dark color for hiding the blood stains well enough.

Lightly, and with ease, he opens the locked alley door wincing at the finger’s of cold air run through his long locks. The Jester carefully closes the metal contraption, giving one last look as the warm foyer is replaced with the dark metallic exit. He stood there, for just a second in contemplative silence before turning away, scoffing.

“A fool indeed,” Jester mused before adjusting his gloves and limping away, “a lucky one, at that.”

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A/N: Thank you again to @midnightguardiananel-blog for commissioning me this fic of Jester with their OC!!!

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“What a perfect day to be alive!” You cried out, happily tugging on the arm of your husband who was clearly distraught.

The dandelion in your hands was blown away by a wish you made and just forgotten; Pierrot’s eyes followed the trail of white wisps towards the chaos in front of you, not understanding your prior sentiment at all. A perfect day to be alive? How could you say this?! Not when—

“I’m going to bury you in the sand!!” A shrill voice cried out towards a smaller figure, all while holding a clump of dirt in his tiny hands.

Pierrot shrieked at the sight, holding your arm tight enough to make you alert to his distress. You shook your head at him, then towards the two children playing in the open, sunny field before asking what was wrong. To which he replied frantically:

“They’re—our children are going to get hurt! We have to stop this! They hate each other!”

Immediately, the large creature stood, accidentally dragging you up with him as though you had the airy weight of a rag doll. Struggling to maintain your footing while clenching his arm, Pierrot began marching towards the twins in the field—your children— as one began to put the other in a headlock.

“Pierrot!” You protested, digging your heels into the dirt adamantly as he pulled you with him. “What’s—they don’t hate each other! The twins are just playing, it’s not serious!”

And like an iced lake trapping a scurrying minnow, Pierrot stopped, frozen in his tracks.

“Playing….?” He asked.

Tilting his head towards you in confusion you shook your own head with a soft smile; one hand reaching towards his worried face, gently tilting it towards you. Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you kiss your husband on the lips. A familiar feeling of satisfaction fulfills you as his face heats up. It was always a pleasant reminder that after all your years of being together, getting married, having kids, the whole nine yards—that Pierrot still looked at you as that cute barista he met one day in the city.

Tugging his arm, you urged him to sit down before peeking your head towards the children.

“Hey!” You shouted in a familiar tone that only a seasoned parent could muster. “No dirt on your sister’s face, but other than that, all bets are off!”

Pierrot looked at you in shock, mouth open.

The two kids, one now on top of the other, stop to stare at you uttering a simultaneous reply of ‘ok’ before continuing their brawl. One with golden eyes blinks, the other, younger, with their father’s silver hair glares at you defiantly before releasing the dirt in their hands only to put the smaller child in a headlock.

You smiled satisfied, now sitting on the weed-ridden grass next to your shaken husband.

Kissing him on the cheek you say reassuringly, “You gotta relax, babe, kids fight.”

“B-but, they’re hurting each other!”

You grin with a light laugh, “Yeah and my older sibling used to PILE DRIVE me onto the pavement—got like ten bruises after! One of our best memories really..”

Pierrot immediately turned to you in surprised and confused distress; pupils shrinking full of fear from several gods. You furrowed your brow at him before realizing exactly why your husband was acting so strangely this warm spring morning.

“Oh…right…only child,” you clicked your tongue, nodding. “Ok so, fighting is ‘bad’ yeah, but as long as they’re not REALLY hurting each other with malice, it’s normal for siblings to hash it out every now and again.”

Pierrot began to feel sweat bead against his covered brow, “My lady…Harlequin and I used to fight like that. I merely don’t want our children to have the same grudges.”

You leaned against his shoulder, eyes softer in understanding. Rubbing his chest firmly, you helped Pierrot breath in and out to calm himself down, a practice you’d adopted to help him control his voice and anxiety when need be. Petals of grass beneath your bare legs tickled your exposed flesh, enough to imply you’ll have to put some lotion on them later to prevent itching—but that was often the price to pay for sitting in a private field so that your kids could play in peace without prying eyes. A price that was never too high in your book, and always worth it.

A single ant crawls over Pierrot’s knee and using a steady claw, the large monster leads the insect on the joints of his finger, only place it on the ground near a colony of ants by the clown’s black boot. The gentleness of this lovable giant made you reach over to hold his hand, looking up at him with reassuring eyes and a proud smile.

“You and Harlequin used knives, babe, pretty sure the kids aren’t gonna get as violent as that. At least not until they hit monster-puberty,” you shuddered at the thought, almost hoping that the twins would reach that point after your death to spare you the headache.

Then…you paused…

Realizing, as the blood drained from your face now full of dread, how much it would hurt to miss out on such a time in your children’s lives; that it was very possible you might and Pierrot would be alone. Currently, your husband looked over, blinking in confusion at your sudden frown. Noticing his gaze and how it was shadowed by the glaring sun over your heads, you snapped out of the sorrowful thought with a tight whistle and a good shake of your head.

“Nothing,” you assured him hurriedly, “just…thinking about how great it is to be able to see all this…”

Pierrot narrowed his eyes, “The twins….fighting?”

Noticing his further confusion, you tugged on Pierrot’s clothes while pointing towards the twins again and in a light whisper, urging the clown to ‘look’ at his children once more, but this time—more closely. The tall clown tilted his head before obeying, at first, and not seeing. The children were, after all, still fighting, shoving each other and shouting words they must have picked up from their ‘Uncle Harlequin’ that he’d have a talking to about later. Pierrot was ready to ask again what you wanted him to notice, before he finally saw it:

Their smiles.

The kids were laughing in between swears and name-calling; tugging while giggling.

When did this happen? Surely they hated one another just a second ago, but now…? Pierrot stared, completely flabbergasted, holding your hand even tighter in disbelief. You smiled as the joy slowly appeared on your husband’s face, growing like a seed in moist dirt; the sun above acting as food to help this italicization grow and bloom into a new truth that Pierrot had never considered.

“They’re….playing?” He gasped.

You smirked mischievously at his cute epiphany, “And, you know what’s the best part about having kids who are fighting?”

Pierrot shook his head, confused as you pulled away from him and stood up. Turning back over your shoulder, you wink at the tall clown before running towards the now happily screaming children who scattered at your approach.

“We get to join in as back-up!” You shouted happily, capturing one of the twins in your arms and lightly trustingly their wriggling bodies to the ground. “C’mere you little caterpillar!”

“Never!” Replied your son between giggles and the tickling you subjected him to on the damp grass.

Pierrot’s golden eyes shined at the sight of it, even more so as his daughter jumped on your back trying to ‘save’ her brother who was hitting her mere moments ago. The creature had never seen such a thing, nothing as beautiful as this, save for you. Your smile matched his own. Pierrot then snapped out of his stupor as you motioned for him to join you all in the fun. His claws clenched in and out as though acting in pure instinct. Finally, standing up, Pierrot made sure to avoid the ant hill by his feet before running towards his family arms wide and ready to pounce.

“Watch out!” You warned the kids while laughing. “Here comes Papa!”

What a perfect day to be alive indeed.

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A/N: Thank you again to @mistytanzanite for commissioning me this fic of Pierrot with their OC!!!

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“UNO!” You raised your hand victoriously just as you put your second to last card down.

Harlequin rolled his eyes, splaying the twenty some-odd cards he held on the makeshift table, a mere barrel with an old lacy bit of cloth on it, in a huff. Nudging the menace while sporting an affectionate smile, you tried to tease him a little to lighten up the mood.

“Aw, sore loser?” You cooed.

The Pierrot on the other side of you was overjoyed at your impending victory.

“So talented! Amazing!” He clapped happily.

Chuckling, you began fanning yourself dramatically with the one card in hand like a movie star waving to their adoring public. Admittedly, you could not help but love the attention Pierrot was giving and began soaking it all up as quickly as a sponge.

“I try, I try~” you beamed.

Harlequin however, scoffed at your boasting, “Dearest, when you said you wanted to spend some ‘quality’ time with us, I assumed it’d be far more….entertaining….than this~”

Predictably, the red clown glared at his rival for souring things, who in turn smirked back at him after giving the middle finger. Sighing and sitting between the two, you couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of their seemingly endless feud. Still, at least they weren’t stabbing one another again. Progress, right?

“We all know what you were expecting, Harlequin, but this isn’t over yet! Don’t give up!” You positively emphasized by waving your single card in his face.

Much to your surprise, both clowns seemed to surrender to their fated loss as their smiles slowly faded. Harlequin yawned again, this time obnoxiously stretching his arms behind his head and nearly hitting you with his elbow.

“What a waste of time and a good hiding spot,” he complained. “Sneaking you in without you-know-who noticing was no picnic, mind you.”

Pierrot glared at Harlequin before donning a usual kind smile in your direction.

“I-It’s alright,” the golden-eyed clown placated, “I would love to finish this round with you. Whatever you like, my dear!”

You frowned looking between the two. True, that you were just a single step away from victory, you couldn’t help but realize that the menace was actually….right about something. Sighing in frustration, you pondered on how to keep the party going while looking up at Pierrot’s tented ceiling. While rocking back and forth in your creaking metal seat, counting the stripes up top, inspiration finally struck like one of Pierrot’s knives lodged in a picture of Harlequin’s face. Quickly, the green and red figures turned to look at you, brows raised as a mischievous smile gradually crept to the corners of your cheeks.

“Harlequin’s right,” You admitted, “so, let’s make this game a little more interesting, fellas!”

Pierrot tilted his head cutely in that way that always made your heart grow warm, Harlequin however began to eye you (as he often did) warily; though this time it seemed you had actually peaked his attention somewhat.

Exhaling, you started to shuffled the cards, saying, “How about this: whoever wins this next round gets a kiss on the cheek, from me!”

Pierrot brought his hands to his now reddened face.

“A k-kiss?”

Harlequin predictably perked up. Leaning closer, said menace brought his chair next to your thigh as you doled out the remaining cards to each player.

“How could I refuse such a delicious prize, dear one? Now, THAT is motivation, wouldn’t you agree, mutt?”

The red clown glared at Harlequin over the predictable insult, something the menace seemingly took with even more pleasure in his glistening eyes. One green clawed hand raised over his sharpened mouth as Harlequin replied with a routinely theatrical flair.

“Oh? So you DON’T agree that our dearest’s lovely lips are a good enough prize? How shocking, Pierrot,” he gasped. “Well, if you don’t want it, I’d be more than happy to accept in your stead~”

Swatting Harlequin’s arm playfully, you scolded, “Hey, no fighting you two! Besides….those aren’t the only terms we’re adding to the game.”

The ever so sweet clown blinked at you as Harlequin gave a low whistle, leaning back in his seat now fully invested; an action that caused the rusted hinges in his metal folding chair to creak as he did so. Just as you finished handing out the cards and placing the rest of the deck in the middle of the table, you rubbed your hands gleefully like a villain plotting the hero’s demise. Both clowns blinked, wondering what conditions you would add to this already strange game. A game you’d already bested the two of them at for a few rounds now (partly no thanks to Pierrot’s inexperience plus Harlequin’s lack of interest).

Once more, fanning your cards in front of your face, eyes batting coquettishly as though you were a debutante looking across a ballroom for a beau—nearly everything was set.

“Now now,” you paraded flamboyantly, “while the victor gets a kiss on the cheek from me, the two losers instead, have to share an ACTUAL kiss themselves. Sound fair?”

Pierrot blinked two more times, “Um..?”

“Great! I’ll start since I basically won last round, ok guys?”

At first, the fast-given information presented seemed balanced; nothing out of the ordinary or unreasonable. That is of course, until the menace specifically started putting two and two together. The sudden realization of the consequences from following these newfound ‘terms’ made Harlequin squint at you before picking up his cards, keeping them out of sight from either side.

“First, let me get one thing straight, dearest…” the green one inquired.

You perked at that, “Hm?”

“If I were to win,” Harlequin winked at the now fuming Pierrot, “then you would kiss me…only me…on the cheek, correct? But if you were to win….”

A beat of silence passed and, if it were possible, seemingly echoed in the small tent.

The silent clown quickly straightened his back as Harlequin’s analogy began to sink in, masked lips trembling at the idea before he slowly turned his head to meet the equally stunned menace. In a flash, Harlequin quickly changed his expression from shock to smarmy, sealing the deal with a wink that made Pierrot grit his teeth in annoyance.

In a blur, Pierrot turned to face you, pleading, “B-but, dearest…if Harlequin were to win then that would mean you would kiss me, correct??”

The menace paled, his grin falling a noticeable fraction as you nodded eagerly.

“Yup! You got it Sweet P! And hey, cheer up,” you turned to Harlequin sympathetically, “you can’t tell me that this game is too ‘boring’ now, right?”

Harlequin squinted his eyes in a small glare, “Hm, you’re far shrewder than expected, dear one…how surprising.”

“Heh! You got it. Now, let’s play some UNO!”

“You’re doing it on purpose!”

Harlequin winked at Pierrot, “Of course I am, stupid dog, that’s part of the game~”

The menace stuck his tongue out chuckling while pointing at his skip card in hand. Eyes of gold turned into shiny bullets ready to rip apart his rival’s scaled flesh as, yet again, Harlequin tried to prevent Pierrot’s progression. However, the silent clown’s ire was soon ebbed by the feeling of your soft hand on his arm; practically sighing as you touched him, smiling sympathetically. Pierrot unconsciously leaned into you, happy to stare at his love instead of the depressingly large handful of cards he still had.

“I’m afraid he’s right, Pierrot,” you tilted your head towards the green goober. “Harlequin can make you skip this turn, but that’s ok—see?”

The red clown soon noticed your observation while following your gaze; grin widening at the dwindling amount of cards in The Harlequin’s hand.

“He’s…winning.”

Pierrot’s gaze soon became half-lidded, almost haughty in a way you’d never seen before as he realized this. After staring him for a while, you coughed; trying to remember to stick to the game itself as your cheeks began to heat up under Pierrot’s seductive leer.

“Uh…yeah, P-Pierrot….”

Harlequin’s brow twitched; a sickening feeling brewed inside him when seeing the two of you look so lovey dovey like that. Disgusting. Immediately, the menace tore his gaze away, looking down at his own cards in frustration.

Only having three cards in hand, Harlequin was quite close to victory. Under normal circumstances, a kiss from you was the true prize, but it’d only be a kiss on the cheek. Nothing compared to what the loser would get. Of course, Harlequin had planned something shrewd the moment you set your ‘terms’:

Should the menace win, then he’d just turn his head at the last minute as you tried to kiss his cheek to instead give you a real kiss. A sweet consequence he looked forward to, however, all would be for nought if that horrible Pierrot got the same treatment….willingly.

Harlequin knew he had to change his strategy.

“How about we skip YOUR turn this time, my dear?”

You blinked in surprise, “Uh…me?”

“Oh of course!” Harlequin gestured, one arm outstretched specifically between you and Pierrot as though to create a divider between the insufferably ‘cute couple’. “It’s true, I have been paying far too much attention to you, ignoring our precious guest. How rude of me!”

Pierrot narrowed his eyes at the menace’s glittery words. Smarm, charm, and a bit of sex appeal were often in The Harlequin’s pocket when it came to any competition, but unfortunately UNO was a game of chance. Fortune may favor the bold, but it was also a fickle mistress. No way Harlequin was letting Pierrot win ANY prize, not on the green goblin’s watch. Determined to make sure the red idiot would….well…wait…?

…What would happen if Pierrot lost again?

For a moment, Harlequin could feel a fluttering in his chest at the thought of what the two of them would have to do as per your own rules. Sure, there was also the option of losing WITH you. Having those sweet, soft human lips against his own. Both scenarios however made Harlequin’s brain hurt, fuming and smoking like a broken toaster he growled before clutching his own head in pain—which was worse? Which was better? Why did.…both options seem good? Ridiculous. Impossible!

“Everything ok?”

Your voice cracked through the crust of Harlequin’s sturdy mind.

“Fine,” the menace gritted his teeth, shaking his head, “just…thinking…”

You sighed, relieved he was ok, “Yeah well, there is ‘some’ strategy I guess, but sounds like you got a tough hand! Sorry about that!”

As Harlequin took his turn, he realized, happily that the dog had changed the color needed to be set. Eagerly, the menace practically dove at the pile, drawing card after card until he could find a playable one; relieved that he was no longer winning much to Pierrot’s obvious chagrin.

The game then went on and on, far longer than any of you expected. Every time you were close to victory, you noticed how the two clowns seemed in total panic; looking at each other with glares or reddened faces.

“Aw, come on guys, not eager to swap spit?”

The silent clown sputtered at your joke, hiding his expression behind his cards. Idly, Pierrot would glance across at the green figure who often winked at him whenever you weren’t looking. Gritting his teeth, Pierrot was equally annoyed as he was confused by the menace’s flirtations.

In mock sadness you broke Pierrot’s concentration, “Aww…nobody wants to kiss me? I’m so hurt.”

“I DO!” Both clowns screeched.

“Well, better step-up your game, boys,” you began fanning your cards once more haughtily, “cause I’m about to win the whole damn pot and kiss myself at this rate!”

Pierrot’s face grew redder, if that were even possible, as he started to wonder if losing would be all that bad. Of course, more than ANYTHING in the world, he wanted to kiss you, his love, his dear, his everything— but the way Harlequin was looking at him now, those lidded emeralds peeking through darkened slits, made Pierrot wonder how bad losing would actually be. Wait…What? Immediately, the red figure shook his head and placed a single card down, ending his turn. Still, that new…and strange feeling continued to well up in him as a confusing mantra began beating on the walls of his skull:

Kiss you, kiss Harlequin, kiss his dearest, kiss ‘him’—

—What? Why?

Pierrot felt his spine shudder in way that made him burn, more so when glancing over at you who, in a form of rare blessing (or cruelty), blew him a kiss with a playful wink. Then, to Harlequin, who stuck his green tongue out seductively. It was madness, pure madness. Shivering, the silent clown was left on autopilot for the rest of the game. Harlequin however, noticed you had the same amount of cards he had. His claws twitching around a red number four, eagerly waiting for you, who just played yet another wild card, to pick a new color.

“Getting cold feet, dearest?” The menace taunted.

“Sure, about as much as you did when you couldn’t give me that candied apple, babe~”

Laughing while slapping a knee, Harlequin retorted hotly, “Always so spicy! Such a shame you might win, perhaps better luck next time on that kiss, I know you’re so disappointed~”

You stuck your tongue out, “Next round I’ll make it so you can kiss my ass instead!”

Pierrot jolted as Harlequin covered his mouth, sputtering a half-muffled laugh which would have been far louder had he not stopped himself in time. Looking around to make sure no one heard, the three continued playing as you finally picked a new color.

“Kinky~” Harlequin complimented.

Then, you blew him a kiss, much to his surprise. One he’d only seen you do for that Pierrot; a gesture that surprised as much as it pleased Harlequin, knowing you shared such affections for him too.

“Not that you’ll ever know~” you winked.

Harlequin’s body overheated at your words. Strangely, he seemed to react amorously no matter who was winning or losing; a confusing hodgepodge of emotions that Harlequin didn’t dare think too hard on. The menace returned your wink before playing a card. After, the Pierrot went, and then him, you; the game continuing until….

…the unthinkable happened.

“No,” Harlequin sucked in his breath.

You blinked, mouth open wide, echoing Harlequin’s perturbed statement; the room felt as cold as ice suddenly.

“…No,” the menace repeated, firmly.

Pierrot as well looked down at the single card in hand right after shouting the titular ‘uno’—just as you did….and as Harlequin had. All…at the same time after placing you second to last cards down.

“So,” you clicked your tongue, “does this mean we tie?”

With that, the menace flipped the makeshift table over, causing the cards to fly in the air like rectangular snowflakes. Harlequin’s breathing grew ragged with the rage of a hungry beast as he quickly looked between you two in anger? Frustration? You couldn’t tell, though in a way you completely understood where he was coming from…

“Well, that sucks,” you shrugged.

Pierrot looked down at his hands as though he were about to cry, “…No kiss?”

Leaning over, you rubbed his back sympathetically.

“Not this time, big guy, but hey there’s always another day—!”

“DON’T!” Harlequin seethed. “There will be a round two! A three and four if necessary! I will not let things end this way, you—!”

Before the malevolent menace could finish his rant, a smooth voice interrupted; someone who possessed an edge to their sentences, as sharp as steel and as cold as permafrost.

“Pierrot, what’s going on in there?” The voice asked outside the tent, their silhouette making it clear who it was.

All three of you tensed up, finally realizing how much time had passed since beginning this little venture; one that you especially weren’t supposed to be part of.

“Oh shit,” you all muttered simultaneously.

“Jester!” Pierrot shouted in a hushed whisper before grabbing both you and Harlequin, trying to find a loose piece of tent in the back where you all could scramble to freedom.

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A/N: Special Thanks again to @disastergingerr for commissioning me!