Chapter Text
Clownpierce was heartless. soulless.
It was a widely recognized and well-established fact throughout the server, spanning both near and distant realms, that he harbored no genuine care for anyone or anything. His indifference was relentless, and his priorities remained steadfastly unmoved unless presented with a dazzling new toy. In such cases, his allegiance could shift in the blink of an eye.
He had anticipated a similar outcome when he recruited a particularly sheepish (literally, the guy was a ram. allegedly) and death-prone redstoner. However, he soon discovered that machines, no matter how advanced, were not immune to malfunction. Breakdowns could occur, whether due to the relentless strain of wear and tear or from overly curious customers attempting to pry into the intricate workings to ensure it was 'fair'. Such occurrences were quite common in a realm as treacherous as Lifesteal, a place that seemed almost purposefully designed for chaos and savagery.
Given this harsh reality, Clown found himself reconsidering his initial judgment. Despite the redstoner's propensity for attracting trouble to himself, Clown decided it would be prudent to retain his services for a bit longer. After all, in a world as brutally unforgiving as Lifesteal, one could never have too many allies, even if they were a bit prone to mishaps.
Plus, bandaging him up sometimes was fairly therapeutic, even if Branzy would go all tense whenever he was that close. Probably fear.
Anyway, he was up at the crack of dawn, well before most people were even stirring, to get the casino ready for its opening. It was 8 a.m, which was considered early in clownpierce time. Usually, Branzy would be the one handling these early preparations, but Clown had a hunch that Branzy hadn't been sleeping well lately. It was important to him that his workers were well-rested; efficiency depended on it.
So, despite the inconvenience, Clown found some solace in the repetitive task of stacking glasses and cups. There was a kind of tranquil rhythm to it, a brief respite from the usual chaos. While he thrived on adrenaline and the high-energy environment of lifesteal, he also recognized the value of these quieter moments. Sometimes, a little peace and routine were necessary to balance out the excitement.
He didn't expect to hear someone strolling in, he could tell it's ash from the footsteps alone.
"Where are your manners, Ash. We're clearly closed." He said without even turning around, noticing the small hitch in Ash's step as he was recognised.
"I know and don't care, i have something for you." Ash said, sounding as if he's holding back a devious cackle.
Clownpierce was about to say something about not wanting Ash's 'gifts' that he knew wasn't even going to be listened to, but stopped in his tracks as he turned around and saw Ash holding a potion bottle. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, with swirling pinks and magentas, an odd sparkle in it.
"I want you to drink this, but don't tell parrot. or anyone. Specially not that you got it from me."
"Is it poison?" Clown said, unimpressed.
"it's not, i promise. But i just need you to trust me on this. Consider this a trust test."
"No."
"PLEASEEEE—"
"Shut up, Branzy is sleeping. And why do you even want me to drink it if it's poison?" Clownpierce said.
"It's just.. something i made. Also, if i wanted to poison you, i wouldn't of done it like this."
Clown stared at Ash for a full five seconds before, with noticeable reluctance, reaching out to take the item from his hand. He twisted off the cork with practiced ease and then, carefully tilting his mask just enough to fit his thumb beneath its edge, he raised it slightly to catch a whiff of the contents.
The instant the scent reached him, he pulled back, hidden face scrunching up in reaction. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet, almost sickeningly so, and—strangely—pleasantly lukewarm. The unusual combination of cloying sweetness and odd warmth left him momentarily taken aback.
"Ew, what is that? How did you make this?" He asked the glitch.
"Don't worry about it, just drink it." Ash said, and Clown let out a deep, suffering sigh. knowing he was absolutely going in blind for this.
"Turn around." He said, turning around as well once he saw Ash shuffle with a hint of annoyance.
He fiddled with the buckle on the strap holding the mask to his face, easily unclasping it and setting it down on the wooden bar table with a soft clink. He brought it up to his face, taking a careful sip.
As mentioned earlier, the potion was overwhelmingly sweet, a cloying, almost intoxicating sweetness that seemed to settle like liquid fire in his stomach. Strangely enough, this sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant; rather, it was oddly pleasing, providing a warmth that was both surprising and oddly soothing.
Clown rolled his eyes in exasperation, even though no one was there to witness the gesture(no, Ash didn't count). He took a deep breath and, with a resigned sigh, swallowed all of the potion in the bottle. Despite its seemingly lukewarm temperature, the liquid burned its way down his throat with a surprising intensity. It wasn’t a painful sensation, but rather a persistent warmth that seemed to spread through him. It felt as though he was swallowing a mixture of soothing heat and invigorating spice, though Clown found himself struggling to find an exact comparison. The experience was unique and difficult to describe.
Something is wrong.
"There, i did it. Don't turn around yet, though." Clown said, almost struggling to breath as he felt weirdly full.
Ash was saying something, probably about not snitching on him, but clown tuned him out as he clasped his mask back over his face.
"Oh, look. Branzy's finally here."
Clown looked over at the direction he assumed branzy would be.
His hair looked freshly brushed, the light strands shimmering under the light, and he wore a sleek black vest over a purple-collared shirt, paired with grayish trousers that complemented the ensemble perfectly. Normally, Clown would barely register such details, but today was different.
Today, he found himself strangely drawn to the way the light seemed to dance off Branzy’s hair, highlighting its every subtle nuance. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the captivating depth of Branzy’s purple eyes, which seemed to pull him in like a gravitational force, an irresistible black hole. He noticed every freckle that dotted his face, every intricate black and red swirl etched onto his left arm.
Strangely, the more he focused on Branzy, the more he felt his heart — the anatomical one — begin to race, pounding fiercely against his ribs. He was also aware of the sensation on the inside of his wrist, where the cartoonish hearts etched on the inside might be glowing so brightly that they could be faintly visible, though he fervently hoped they weren’t. Beneath his mask, the warmth became almost stifling, an overwhelming heat that made it difficult to breathe.
In that moment, he seemed to forget everything he had ever said and everything he wanted to say. It was as if time had momentarily ceased, with eons stretching out as he lost himself in the admiration of every detail of Branzy’s presence. Yet, he knew with a start that it had to have been less than three seconds. Clown felt his pupils dilate.
Something is very wrong.
-
It had been a few days since Clown noticed the troubling changes within himself, and he's seriously getting weirded out. Every interaction with Ash had been met with frustrating silence; despite his attempts to reach out and understand the shift, Ash remained unresponsive and elusive. Now, here Clown found himself in Branzy's messy office, ostensibly to observe the development of yet another gadget—a device designed to help against the wear and tear on slot machines. It wasn’t due to any flaw in Branzy's engineering but rather because customers could sometimes be a bit too irate. Yet, Clown's presence here had no practical reason other than an inexplicable desire to simply be near him.
As Branzy's hands moved skillfully over the delicate mechanism, Clown couldn't help but be mesmerized by the dexterity. His mind wandered to some silly, impossible daydreams of those hands gently brushing through his hair or softly caressing his cheek, fully aware that such moments were out of reach. The weight of his unspoken feelings grew heavier with each passing minute, his breaths growing more labored as disappointment settled in his chest. The blur in his vision was his only solace, unnoticed by anyone.
(That night, alone in the dark of his room, Clown succumbed to a deep, childlike sorrow. And he cried, overwhelmed by a profound emptiness that gnawed at his soul. It felt as though he was decaying from inside)
-
It’s getting worse. Clownpierce finds himself caught in a confusing whirlwind of emotions that he can’t quite understand. He’s still left it undecided about whether he genuinely dislikes the sensation or if he’s simply too enamored by it to care. The strange warmth that envelops him whenever he’s around Branzy is now, undeniably pleasant, almost addictive. Yet, this pleasure is marred by a deep, gnawing emptiness that follows it, leaving him in a state of restless discontent.
He can’t help but wonder if this sensation is a lingering effect of the potion he mistakenly consumed. The more he reflects on it, the more he questions how something so insidious could persist for so long. In a bid to counteract its effects, he even tried drinking milk, hoping it might neutralize whatever was causing this strange infatuation. However, his efforts proved fruitless, leaving him to grapple with the ongoing effects of whatever this was.
Clownpierce remains hesitant about seeking solace from Parrot, fully aware that doing so would likely lead to severe reprimands, especially given the debatable legality of the potion. The last thing he needs is another scolding for his reckless use of an illicit substance.
Amid this turmoil, he’s found an unexpected benefit in his newfound desire to engage with Branzy. Through these interactions, he’s gleaned more about Branzy’s life—details that, while seemingly inconsequential, have become oddly significant to him. He’s learned that Branzy has an older sister, used to skateboard as a teenager, and has been a prankster since he could walk and talk. It’s curious how Clownpierce has become so engrossed in these trivial details, even though they offer him no practical advantage.
He can’t pinpoint when it began, but he’s started to let Branzy ramble on, even when the conversation drifts far from its original topic. There’s something soothing about Branzy’s voice, serving as a form of white noise that eases his mind. Perhaps it’s this very voice that has become a comforting presence, making the thought of Branzy leaving almost unbearable. The idea of being left alone with his turbulent emotions and the gnawing void that accompanies them fills him with dread, revealing just how deep the effects of the potion have penetrated his heart and mind.
-
Branzy stepped out into the vast, inactive expanse of the casino, still a bit disoriented from just waking up five minutes earlier. The dizzying array of lights and smells was almost overwhelming, if Branzy wasn't used to it. But, it still took him a moment to gather his bearings. As he slowly acclimated to the environment, he noticed Clown, who was leaning against the bar and talking with Ash(since when does he converse with people?). Clown's head turned in his direction, and Branzy caught the stare that followed.
It struck him as slightly odd; the gaze seemed to linger just a touch longer than usual. But then again, when had Clown ever adhered to conventional social norms? Clown was known for his.... 'not normal'ness, and Branzy wondered if his unconventional sleeping habits were a source of irritation—or at least mild bemusement—to Clown.
With a shrug, Branzy dismissed the thought, attributing it to his current foggy state.
-
Branzy was in the middle of assembling a small, simple device designed to maintain the external condition of the slot machines. Nothing too complex, really, it was a simple fix! He was deep in concentration, hands moving deftly as he worked on the gadget. For reasons unknown to him, Clownpierce had decided to take up residence in Branzy's office during this task. His presence was a bit of a nuisance, but Branzy was accustomed to it by now. He had grown used to the cold, unflinching gaze that followed him from behind, a constant reminder of the other man's intense scrutiny.
To fill the silence and keep himself occupied, Branzy found himself rambling about the technological details of the device. His explanations were partly for his own amusement and partly to stave off the awkwardness of the situation. He talked animatedly, trying to make the subject matter as engaging as possible.. For his own stimulation, of course.
“…and it’s essentially an observer ‘observing’ an observer—pun intended,” Branzy said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “And—are you listening?”
He abruptly stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that Clownpierce’s attention had drifted far away. The man’s head was tilted at an odd angle, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. Branzy frowned, a little unsettled. It was as if Clownpierce was completely oblivious to the chatter directed him, absorbed in some unseen distraction.
“Yeah,” Clownpierce said suddenly, his head snapping back to face Branzy with a sharp, almost mechanical precision. The abruptness of the movement startled him slightly.
His curiosity was piqued; he was tempted to probe into what could possibly be so captivating for someone as notoriously deadly as Clownpierce. However, Branzy valued his well-being and preferred to keep his interactions on safe ground. So, he opted to let the matter drop, focusing instead on completing his work. Thank you very much!!
(He swore Clown's breaths grew a bit more uneven from time to time. But, he's absolutely, positively sure it means nothing at all.)
-
It was just another one of those nights, where both of them stay late for seemingly no reason at all.
Branzy was talking about something, but Clown couldn't bring himself to focus on it, instead opting for just staring at him and occasionally humming and nodding to encourage him to continue. Clown didn't know what was happening, it was just that when he was around Branzy he can't help but imagine what it would be like to comb his fingers through his hair and cup his cheeks and basically spend the rest of his life with him and maybe even kiss—
...
oh, oh.
God, he's in love.
it hurts.