Archive of Our Own ^beta

To be entirely honest, Branzy had no idea how he had gotten himself into this situation.

He just… It was like he blinked and when he opened his eyes he was in indentured servitude- uh, a business partnership with literally the most dangerous and deadly player on LifeSteal: ClownPierce.

The scary clown had just… proposed his idea and Branzy accepted without thinking about it at all, which was stupid; Branzy knew that, but honestly? What had he been meant to do? Decline the - admittedly very intriguing - offer? Yeah, fat chance; Branzy wasn’t that dumb and, uh, devaluing of his own life.

And to be honest, Branzy was not regretting this nearly as much as he thought he would; as he probably should have. Yes, he had to betray his teammates and kill- well, not kill , just allow them to be killed - them, but not only did it remove the chance of be-enemying Clown, it put him under the protection of the literal deadliest player, too.

And even beyond that; Branzy… didn’t hate the power his association with Clown gave him; he had developed (or dug out) a concerningly strong liking for the spilling of blood; for the dizzying sensation of gaining hearts, especially the ones after ten, like he had too many but not enough; for being so dangerously close to ClownPierce.

It was exhilarating, really, so Branzy was not about to complain.

Not to mention how Clown managed to make his knees weak with just any sign that his attention was on Branzy or his work; how Branzy became so giddy whenever Clown complimented him or - more often - his handiwork and how nervous Branzy got whenever Clown was in close proximity. But it wasn’t the nervous that he hated; when he knew something was about to go wrong or he was, like worried , no, it was an amazing feeling; a feeling he usually got from planning a trap or prank and watching as someone was about to fall for it; a feeling like a little kid on christmas that knew that it would get the best gift ever, but not aware of what exactly the gift would be, if that made sense.

So, yes, he liked being around the oddly cute terrific jester and he knew how he got here, but… this ? Sitting with the man as he dug his ungloved hands in dirt to make a hole in preparation for another flower? It was kind of odd and very unexpected.

Not that Branzy’d complain, if the man liked plants then honestly? That was a green flag. Gotta love them gardening guys.

Branzy shifted slightly, transitioning from a crouching position to a sitting one as he listened to Clown explain what he was doing.

“So basically, you want the hole to be about fourteen to fifteen centimeters deep for these tulip bulbs,” Clown said, “That’s about the span from your index finger to the base of your thumb. Generally the rule is three times the size of the tulip and then a little to loosen the soil beneath.”

Branzy hummed and nodded, watching as Clown measured the hole with his hand before nodding to himself and burying the bulb.

Clown then handed Branzy a bulb. “Make sure to loosen the soil at the bottom a little before planting the bulb,” he said, watching as Branzy did just that.

“Like that?” Branzy asked, moving his hand to the side to allow Clown to see properly.

“Like that,” Clown confirmed, gently moving Branzy’s hand a little to the side, the spark of the skin-to-skin contact causing the older one of the two (something Branzy was honestly kind of surprised to learn) to shiver ever so slightly. It was- Gods, it was stupid, but for some reason, Branzy couldn’t handle direct body contact with Clown, feeling like a middle school girl with a crush instead of the adult man that he was. Which was stupid because he didn’t like like ClownPierce; obviously their relationship was purely business, designed to profit them both; a symbiotic relationship, if you will.

Anyhow, once Clown gave his approval, Branzy carefully buried the bulb before looking back at Clown, silently asking if he did good. And… Well, Branzy kind of had to admit at that point that he might have been a little desperate for Clown’s approval, but who could blame him? The clown was strong - not just muscle strong like Branzy was (and he was strong!!), no, man could fight (while still looking ever so graceful and plain beautiful breathtaking stunning …cool? cool.)) -, powerful and most definitely - and objectively - attractive. And skilled! And skilled, so skilled (and kind of picky) in his craft; so getting his approval proved Branzy wasn’t just gliding through the average; no, it meant he was at least slightly above average.

(And between Branzy and, uh- internal!Branzy, Branzy wanted to get just a little closer to Clown because being with him was just so intoxicating in all the right ways.)

“You can press a little harder,” Clown said, demonstrating by carefully taking Branzy’s hands in his own and pressing them down, “Like this…”

Branzy nodded and added a little more pressure onto the dirt.

“Good,” Clown said and turned away.

Branzy watched as the other man picked up his watering can and expertly watered his spot, unable to look away, even had he wanted to.

“I never took you for a gardening type of guy,” Branzy heard himself say and almost slapped himself. Now why would he say that? It was the truth, but sometimes- sometimes one should keep their mouth shut and refrain from saying something, even if it is the truth.

But Clown just chuckled. And gods, Branzy’s metaphorical (and anatomical) heart was not safe. If he thought Clown’s menacing, evil, murderous, stabby, dangerous, i’m-about-to-brutally-slaughter-you laugh was sweet- heartwarming- attractive- nice, nice , this soft chuckle made Branzy’s knees so weak, he might’ve fallen had he been standing.

“Wouldn’t say I am a- um, quote, ‘a gardening type of guy’, unquote, either,” Clown said, looking directly at Branzy with his head slightly tilted to his right before slowly starting to look around at the other, older flowers he must’ve planted before, “It’s just… Ah, how should I put this? …Kind of therapeutic, I suppose, to just… shut off for a bit and let my mind drift a little as I bury my hands in the dirt and go through clear steps I have done a hundred times before and allow life to sprout for a change, you know? Kind of helps with the stress that PVP-based servers like LifeSteal bring with them. Not that I’m complaining, of course, but everybody has to cope somehow . And I like plants… Especially flowers. They’re beautiful in a way barely any other form of life can be and, uh… It just feels like the purest form of life to me and I just think it’s so, so beautiful, to the point that it almost hu-”

Branzy was drowning in Clown’s words, but in a good way; in the way he imagined one would probably feel, drowning in the Water of Life. He imagined it to be overwhelming and uncomfortable, clouds filling one’s head, except it’d be good; life invading one’s body and soul and leaving no room for mortality, for the weight that mortal life brought with it. He felt weightless, listening to ClownPierce talk; hearing how his pleasant voice went from slightly choppy and hesitant to passionate.

Then, suddenly, Clown cut himself off.

“You’re not- Ah, sorry,” he said, “You probably don’t want to hear all that dumb stu-”

“No, no,” Branzy said, interrupting Clown, “Don’t worry, I like listening to you speak. You’re right.”

Branzy looked directly at Clown, who was still watching the flowers, albeit a little more tense now; never allowing his gaze to leave his masked face. 

Clown wasn’t wearing his usual costume, obviously not fond of the idea of getting it dirty; instead wearing short, black and red checkered poofy overalls over a black, shortsleeved ‘dress’shirt and black tights along with black boots and his usual jester mask, their gloves discarded in favour of letting their pale, milky-white (probably from the lack of out-of-costumeness in the sun) hands dig through the dirt.

“It’s beautiful,” he said- almost whispered because of how breathless he was because of the absolutely stunning sight.

He wasn’t looking at the plants.

Clown was, though, as he let out a breathy chuckle that sounded oddly… relieved?

“Yeah,” he said, “I love flowers. Especially alliums.”

“Oh?” Branzy asked, “Any particular reasons? Maybe an amazing meaning in the language of flowers?”

“Eh-” Clown said, shrugging, “I mean, I guess good fortune and prosperity is pretty nice, but I just like them aesthetically speaking. Purple is a good colour. Same reason why I like pansies.”

.

Branzy chose not to interpret that in any other way than exactly what Clown had said; it would be stupid of him to go out of his way to fantasize that maybe Clown had meant that on a deeper level; that maybe Clown had meant to flirt with him, because that would be stupid. Clown didn’t like him like that. It was just. A purely factual statement without any hidden meanings or implications.

“Aaanyways,” Clown said after a few seconds of silence, “I’m sure you know how to water a plant, so you should do that now.”

Branzy nodded slowly, taking the watering can (a dark-ish green can with painted-on flowers in different colours). “How much water should I use?” Branzy asked Clown, not wanting to drown the plant. “I don’t want to drown the plant.”

Clown leaned a little closer and looked into the watering can, which didn’t have that much left inside.

“Yeah, I think you’re good to go with that,” he said, “So just use the remaining water for it.”

Branzy nodded and watered the tulip- his own tulip in Clown’s big flower field as Clown finished labelling the rest of the tulips he had planted today.

Then, once he was done, Clown stood beside him and held out his hand for Branzy to take. Branzy, of course, took Clown’s hand and accepted the help to stand out - after dusting off his hands on his not-fancy trousers he had put on per Clown’s advice. Once he was up, he couldn’t help but notice how close Clown and him were standing. He couldn’t step back for fear of stepping on the flower bed, so he just stood there, face-to-mask with the scary clown. A few seconds - or years - later, Clown backs away a little, still holding Branzy’s hand.

“We’re good to go now,” Clown said, taking another step and lowkey pulling Branzy with him, “We’ll come back every week for a month to water them.” 

Branzy stumbled after Clown, causing the latter to pause his walking, seemingly only just noticing that he was still holding Branzy’s hand - for a much longer time than what you could socially acceptably play off as normal. Clown looked down to their joined hands for a few seconds before nodding and continuing to walk.

O…kay, guess Clown didn’t care about that… So Branzy wouldn’t, either, instead just quickly following Clown.

“Sounds- sounds good,” he said with a slightly strained smile, feeling his occupied hand get all clammy and sweaty in Clown’s grasp. Gosh, that was gross, he just hoped Clown wouldn’t notice. That’d be awkward.

“Mhm,” Clown said, “Let’s go get ourselves cleaned up and eat something.”

Branzy nodded. That really did sound good.

So the two walked back to the circus, where they split off, both going into different staff changing rooms.

In there, Branzy changed from his blue-ish gray denim gardener overalls and purple shirt into a purple hoodie and black cargo trousers. He didn’t put on his usual suit- or well suit trousers and vest because honestly, he kind of wanted to be more comfortable right now. He did want to look good, but- ARGH. Besides, Clown had complimented him on his casual outfit and called him handsome earlier, so that had to mean Clown would like him like this. And it was more comfortable. 

Anyhow, Branzy changed and cleaned his hands and afterwards exited the staff changing room and walked into the staff lounge where he sat down on a pink couch (one of many, different-coloured couches and sitting spaces) and watched the door that led to the changing room.

A few minutes later, said door opened and Clown stepped out and Branzy almost didn’t recognise him. The clown was wearing long, pastel pink satin bloomers that reached just below his knees paired with a matching, somewhat-cropped, long-sleeved satin shirt below what looked like a pastel pink nightgown-ish coat made of a organza looking fabric with a ton of laces and ruffles. Clown’s footwear consisted of shin-long, semi-transparent, white socks with ruffles at the top and hot pink, extremely fluffy-looking slippers. He also wasn’t wearing his mask , exposing his, um, extremely pretty face, expertly decorated by doll-like clown makeup (were those little gems lining the eye makeup???) and short, half pink, half black curls, which kind of threw off Branzy quite a lot. He honestly wasn’t sure how he did not faint there, considering how literally stunning Clown was. Like seriously, it felt as though he seriously couldn’t move; like he was stunned in the most literal sense of the word. Also figuratively, but, uh, mostly literally.

The only reason Branzy even recognised (well, recognised was over exaggerating, he just knew it was Clown) Clown was because he came out of the changing room Branzy knew Clown had been in and speaking as he entered the lounge.

“Sorry if I made you wait,” Clown said, placing his mask that he’d been carrying (the last reason Branzy knew) on the drawer beside the couch Branzy was on, “Ran into a few issues while cleaning my hands and mask.”

“Oh, not at all,” Branzy said, sitting up more straightly and looking down as Clown sat down next to him, “I just came out here a few minutes ago, myself. Um… You’re not wearing your mask.”

“Right,” Clown said, drawing up his legs and propping his chin on his hands, which were resting on his knees, “You haven’t seen me without it yet, have you?”

“Um- no,” Branzy said, staring at the floor in front of the couch. Maybe this was another one of Clown’s trials of trust and Branzy would fail if he looked? Either way, Branzy didn’t dare raise his head to look at Clown, even out of the corner of his eyes.

Clown chuckled and Branzy’s already warm cheeks heated up even more, no doubt making him look about as red as Clown’s usual cape.

“I don’t mind you seeing me, you know,” Clown said, a smile obvious in his voice, “You can look.”

That sounded like a trap, if Branzy had to be honest, but if Clown was seriously testing him right now, he would have to think before making any moves.

“...Are you sure?” Branzy asked, worrying at his bottom lip and Clown let out a little huff.

“Look at me, Branzy,” he said, “I want you to see me.”

Branzy couldn’t help but comply at that. There was a huge - ginormous, even - difference between Clown not minding it and actually wanting it. He said- he said he wanted Branzy to see him- to look at him, so how could Branzy not look at him?

And once he did, he couldn’t look away. Clown was just… so beautiful. Ah- objectively. It wasn’t like Branzy found Clown beautiful in, like, a weird, non-platonic, non-business-relationship way. It was just a factual statement, like saying redstone was complicated or the sky was blue. So it was normal that Branzy was completely unable to move or even blink because of how stunning Clown was.

“I’m not that ugly, am I?” Clown asked, laughing slightly after Branzy was silently staring at him for who-knows-how-long.

“No, no!” Branzy exclaimed, cheeks burning, “No- I- that’s not- you’re just really- uh- You’re really beautiful and I just- I didn’t expect that. Not- not that I expected you to not look incredibly stunning and-”

Branzy cut off his rambling when he realised that Clown was staring back at him with his lips slightly parted. And his ears, which weren’t covered in white foundation, were dusted in reddish blush that most definitely hadn’t been there just now.

“...Clown?” Branzy asked hesitantly and Clown blinked several times before looking to the side. 

“I… That- that was a joke, Branzy…” he murmured, sounding oddly… flustered, but Branzy might have just imagined that part. Not because he wanted that; not because he wanted Clown to react to him like that, no(!), because- uh, maybe… that… would have been a… warranted reaction from a… non-...Clown person? Yeah. That.

“Oh… Um…” Branzy said awkwardly, before deciding to girlboss this interaction, “Well, what I said still stands.”

“Well, uh, cool- cool!” Clown said, smiling awkwardly but happily, if that made sense, “You’re not so bad yourself, Branzy Craft.”

“Yeah, well. Uh, yeah,” Branzy responded even awkwardlier, holding up all of his two thumbs up, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Clown said, the awkward smile melting into a more soft and genuine looking one. “Do you want to watch Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper on my Light Waves Box?”

“You- you have an LWB?” Branzy asked in response, bewildered, “Aren’t those like, super rare and complicated to get? And lowkey forbidden on LifeSteal?”

Clown grinned somewhat shyly but most definitely proudly. “Yeah, my friend Rat and I worked on it together and I actually did most of the magic parts surrounding this outstanding technological advancement.”

“That sounds like you’re trying to sell me something,” Branzy interrupted, grinning and raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

Clown laughed slightly before his face dropped and he pulled out a contract. “For a fifty percent discount on our extremely limited edition RatPierce LWB™, all you have to do is sign here,” he said, speaking in a serious tone as he pointed to the little space for the signature, “Don’t mind our Terms and Conditions or the fine print; we’ll only sell your soul to enrich ourselves at your expense.”

Branzy had to laugh at that. Seriously, he had to.

But that laugh got stuck in his throat as Clown smiled an incredibly soft smile, which- Branzy understood now why Clown wore a mask for hours at a time, staring at the ceiling while he held back what’s on his mind; of course, the- the usual hiding of identity, species and expressions, but most importantly because Clown’s incredibly and stunningly beautiful face would be so deadly that it would give him an incredibly unfair and unreasonable and illegal advantage over all the other players, so he obviously had to hide it in regular LifeSteal interactions.

“Anyhow,” Clown said after about a minute of silence, “Yes, modded items such as the LWB are technically borderline forbidden on LifeSteal, but Parrot ended up deciding that, in private, non-LifeStealing use, they are alright to use, so we’re not committing any serious crimes.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Branzy answered, “Alright, let’s watch Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, then.”

And so, Clown worked the LWB and put on Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, which the two watched for all of its runtime of 85 minutes.

At around the time of when Preminger (who may or may not have been the subject of many of Branzy’s romantic fantasies) kidnapped the princess, Branzy felt a weight on his shoulder and, when he turned his head to look, he was greeted by a cute sleepy clown resting his head on his shoulder, his eyes barely open.

Maybe it was the light athmosphere or the fact that the late afternoon was melting into the night (or maybe just that Branzy wanted it) , but something caused Branzy to move his arm around Clown’s upper waist and pulled the younger man just a little closer. Contrasting to his cold hands, Clown’s core body was incredibly warm, Branzy had to note.

He must have done something right, seeing as Clown let out a little sigh and cuddled a little closer, leaning his knees on Branzy’s lap and moving a hand on Branzy’s other shoulder.

“Tag yourself,” Clown said, yawning as the camera zoomed out on the double wedding, “I’m Erika, you’re King Dominic except better and more characterised.”

Branzy chuckled in response. “That’s not so much tagging yourself as it is fancasting the characters,” he said, “I would have seen myself more in Anneliese, but when you’re Erika, I can hardly be Anneliese. Though they do have some underlying homoerotic tension, so it might still fit. Not that- not that I think we have that or am in love with you or anything like that.”

“Mh…” Clown mumbled, “Well, Alexa and Liana from Diamond Castle are much more fit for that type, but I suppose they do have something going on. Still, you give off more Julian vibes, I think, but then I’d have to be Anneliese, though I guess I’m fine with that.”

Distantly, Branzy thought that it might be a little odd for them to discuss which Barbie combinations represented them best as a couple as though they were one when they were, in fact, not a couple. More presently, he just sighed contentedly and pulled Clown down with him as he laid down on the couch and closed his eyes, allowing himself to hold Clown as he drifted to sleep.

About six-ish months later, in early-ish April, Branzy found himself back at the rose bed with Clown in Clown’s flower field.

As Clown made a reference to Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper by smelling a garden rose (a rosa centifolia, to be particular, apparently) and saying, “A perfect example of 'rosa centifolia'.”, Branzy’s mind flashed back to that particular night.

They hadn’t really addressed that night since, instead acting as though nothing peculiar had happened as though there was a silent agreement between them not to talk about it and it felt like it was starting to weigh Branzy down.

Their dynamic hadn’t changed and they did have multiple interactions resembling a sort of romantic nature (though none of them were as explicitly non-platonic as the Princess and the Pauper night, as Branzy had dubbed it) and every time it left Branzy yearning for more, to the point that he couldn’t deny his feelings for Clown any longer. He was pretty sure others could see his desperation to be with Clown, as well; the comments and jokes from the people around them (particularly Parrot and Rek) were getting way too frequent to be just jokes.

Hell, apparently, Zam had genuinely thought the two were in an exclusive, romantic relationship for an extended time, only realising they weren’t when he witnessed Rek lightly making fun of Branzy for his hopeless pining and understood from context that they weren’t.

The worst part about it was that those types of realisations gave Branzy that weird hope that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t reading too much into it and maybe he had a chance with Clown. But with every moment that passed that Clown didn’t acknowledge anything, the hope was crushed and almost entirely deleted until inevitably someone made that type of joke again and Branzy felt like there was a chance again.

Branzy huffed. Now was not the time to think about this. He was here to check on his tulip with Clown.

He watched as Clown checked on the last rose before standing up and dusting off his hands.

“We can go check on the tulips now,” he said, taking Branzy’s hand, “Sorry for making you wait again.”

“It’s really no big deal,” Branzy responded, as though he didn’t just get lost in his pining for the other because of the wait, “It’s nice watching you take care of your flowers. It’s cute.”

(At least that wasn’t a lie, even if Branzy’s thoughts had been a little occupied.)

“I’m glad you think so. Let’s go then, yeah?” Clown asked, taking a step forward and continuing to walk when Branzy followed him.

About fifteen meters away was the tulip bed, where Branzy could already see his tulip was blooming. It was beautiful, the petals a crimson red.

“Look,” Clown said, “your flower is blossoming.”

“It is,” Branzy responded, smiling as he squatted down by the flower, “It’s beautiful…”

“Just like its planter,” Clown said, squatting down beside him, causing Branzy’s cheeks to heat up, blushing in a shade that probably rivalled the flower in front of him.

Branzy coughed out a little “Thanks” in response, too flustered to really come up with something more clever.

A few seconds passed before Clown took off his mask, placing it into his inventory.

“You know, it kind of fits,” he said.

Branzy waited a few seconds, thinking an elaboration would come, but there was none.

“What do you mean?” Branzy asked, looking at Clown’s beautiful face, spotting a small smirk forming on the painted red lips.

“Red tulips,” Clown said, looking down at the flower, “signify passion and love. They also mean ‘believe me’ and are generally interpreted as a declaration of love.”

Branzy’s eyes darted between the flower and Clown’s face as his tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his drying lips in a nervous tick. He let out a small hum to communicate that he was listening.

“You know, I was hoping it would be red,” Clown continued, “I couldn’t be sure because I use randomised bulbs and some varieties of bulbs can grow different coloured tulips, but it turned out perfectly.”

Branzy’s heart felt like it was about to explode and he had to swallow down his hopes.

“Why, uh,” he asked, stumbling over his words, “Why did you hope that?”

Clown finally turned back to him, his eyes piercing through Branzy’s love-struck soul.

“Because I love you, of course,” he said bluntly; no flowery language to sugarcoat it or make it melodic despite his use of flower language (but perfect nonetheless), causing Branzy to choke on his breath.

“You… love me,” he said more than he asked, looking directly into Clown’s wonderful heterochromic eyes, feeling as though it was too good to be true.

“I do,” Clown answered, “And I don’t think I was being particularly secretive about it.”

“You… You weren’t- you were being so obvious, weren’t you?” Branzy asked rethorically.

“No,” Clown said, “Honestly, I was hoping you would take on the confession bit, but you didn’t, so I… I don’t know, I was waiting for the flower to bloom, I think, for the chance of it being red so I could use it to smoothly get to it.”

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Branzy laughed out, unable to look away from Clown. “Kiss me.”

And kiss him was what Clown did.

Branzy had experienced a fair share of kisses before, but the contrast of the iciness of Clown’s soft hands on Branzy’s cheeks and the heat of Clown’s lips on Branzy’s was oh so wonderful and more than what Branzy could have ever dreamed of and all he could do was pull Clown closer and kiss back.

And Branzy found his new favourite thing to do; it was everything, everything for him. He loved the sensation and oh, Clown really loved him, too; Clown loved him.

Clown loved him and he loved Clown and Branzy couldn’t- he just couldn’t anymore, because holy shit! Clown loved him!

Honestly, Branzy wouldn’t be able to accurately tell how long the two were kissing before they broke apart for air. Logically, he knew it couldn’t have been much longer than one-two minutes, but emotionally, it felt like centuries had passed and at the same time barely a second. It was everything he needed but not nearly enough.

“So- so, um,” Branzy asked, stumbling over his words while trying to catch his breath, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“I think I’ve been your boyfriend for months already,” Clown answers, “I’m yours.”

“That’s- honestly, that’s true,” Branzy laughed out, “I’ve been your boyfriend, too, just so you know, and I will be for a long, long time.”