//it is finally done omgosh! i love working on this, it was so fun to draw with a limited pallete as well as encorporating typography!!!! tysm for the support!!!!! i love how this has turned out! thank you, live love laugh clownzy! <3
ꨄ︎ finally getting into writing a little bit of my uu!Clown meets uu!Branzy backstory. I wonder how many generations of Clucker will survive the rollercoaster.
I have a lot of open drafts sitting in my laptop. but I'll get around it. Just needed to put this somewhere. and maybe... I could learn a thing or two from other people's ideas as well.
so far my ideas include going along the plotline set by the creators of UU, but flipping it to what happens behind the scenes. filling in the what-ifs with my little inspirations.
Branzy desperately subjecting Clown to the most difficult trap he could think of at the time, but fail spectacularly... and embarrassingly backfire that he ends up being saved by Clown.
Will it be the Chicken Powered Murder Machine, or will it be the Chicken Powered Dunk Tank, or the Death Carousel?
PrinceZam vs ClownPierce for Branzy's talent. I guess kidnapping seems to be a common theme in the Unstable Universe. But hey, let's at least make Branzy competent enough to spot the difference, escape the impossible, or craft something ingenious with limited resources. However, that doesn't stop Clown for being very, very reckless and not care for himself - complicated by the brooding obsession he has for his favorite inventor.
A deeper dive into Branzy's dynamics with Clown during Parrot's season 1 arc against PrinceZam up to creating their vacation home - which will eventually become like sort of Elysium (we'll get there somewhere down the line). is it a love-hate-obsession kind of thing? how special is Branzy that he has Clown follow his every whim?
Branzy's secret conversations with Wifies while in Proton, over a game of cards. Branzy cleverly imposing a challenge to Wifies to be his own mastermind of twisted games. sometimes, Wifies just needed someone to yap to when Parrot's being absolutely unavailable.
Branzy and Clown set a deal for Ashswag. Ash gets to use Clown's influence and skill, in exchange for massive resources to build the Nether World into Clown's territory. delve into the true bedrock of the corruption in the Overworld. but to Branzy and Clown, business means business, even if it means through unconventional means
unlisted: What makes ClownPierce, the most dangerous being in the Unstable Universe, and why he can't truly be controlled, only affiliated with, or a bounty for hire, or make an offer that will pique his interest -> through the form of behind the scene conversations, cinematic-ish scenes, and that Verdaria story.
unlisted: when Parrot attempts to hijack Clown's vault... in the brief search of Clown's castle. Parrot finds an unsent letter addressed to what he could only guess would be Wifies, but Wifies no longer exists in the Server....right?. >angsty, twisted mind games here we go<
I could go on and on with more ideas. But yeah, this will do for now.
ꨄ︎ more headcanon ideas / summary for the UU backstory // referencing "The Lost Kingdom" video, but make it an intense flashback headcanon.
pre bird bros adventure...
It started with a bet between PrinceZam and ClownPierce, just like the rest of the interested players. Whoever finds the treasure of Verdaria, is the greatest hunter in the Unstable Server. By stroke of luck, or intended probability, Verda reveals herself to Clown, and offers him a chance to play her scavenger hunt with clues (while PrinceZam has to do everything on his own).
Verda was subtly manipulative, and finds thrill in other beings’ hardships. The treasure collection was a joint effort from her friends, but conflict arose when her friends wanted to use the items to enjoy playing in The Server.
Thus, her drive to create the scavenger hunt was motivated by greed to keep everything for herself.
ClownPierce had blindly followed Verda and obliged her whims, you know - killing, just to add drama to her scavenger hunt. All to gain her favor, her attention, like some lovesick , power-hungry puppy. This marked the foundation of his ruthlessness, but it also sparked the rebel for chaos inside his soul.
Then comes the underground hall, decorated in his signature colors of black and red. He had built it for Verda, in the hopes that he could finally get her to reveal the last clue, the true location of her riches.
What he failed to foresee was Verda setting her own lava death trap. She had tossed him her last clue book, telling him to move it somewhere difficult, and continue her games.
But he knew better now. He had grown tired of their dysfunctional game of false affection. She was no longer worthy of his time.
She flips him with a statement that marred him.
“Just when you think you have something good in your arms... It will be by your hand that you will not keep it for long.”
PrinceZam was only able to surmise that Clown had killed Verda when he arrived at the underground hall a little too late. Thus, the rumor of Clown’s evilness has spread throughout the server.
ꨄ︎
Contrary to Parrot’s retelling, ClownPierce always knew where Verdaria was, the same way he knew Verda after all. He knew of the compass under the lava, of her futile attempt to fool him.
If there was any respect he had left for Verda, it was that she had taught him well in the art of manipulation and subterfuge.
He returned the compass to where it was underneath the lava - after establishing the location of Verdaria.
Clown chose not to ransack most of the place as it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and spoils the fun of a scavenger hunt he helped create. - but that didn’t stop him from taking away what he thinks was enough for everything he has done for Verda.
So what Parrot sees might be miniscule to the amount the Clown has obtained for himself.
Because, how else can he carry out bounties if he didn’t have such frickin’ good gear?
While Parrot and Wifies were solving clues in the episode, "It's Impossible to Find this Player", they kept on asking the game masters where Clown is.
What if.... that's the segment of Clown taking Branzy out on a vacation, doing vacation-y stuff... because think about it. Clown could have been driving Branzy crazy from the pressure of constant death threats, creating redstone traps, build great castles, and other stuff....
At least Clown threatened Wato to create the elaborate escape rooms, giving Branzy the much needed break
So the entire escape room group of islands is actually a vacation home, and the scavenger hunt slash social experiment is their live entertainment.
Then signs that Clown and Branzy were watching from a distance were little Cluckers running around the fields and spaces.
They both love their silence, because the noise is reserved for the private rooms.
--- I'm tossing this into my idea pool of the uu Clownzy backstory ---
-- although, I'm not a good artist, it'll be cool to see this in a drawing--
ꨄ︎ Challenging small snippets. This time in the Unstable Universe
ꨄ︎ Welcome to the Madhouse (AO3 Link)
A what-if scenario presents itself:
When Parrot decided to try and kidnap BranzyCraft again just to get him to talk about his relationship with ClownPierce, to find a way to defeat him in a duel... Parrot seemed to have found himself in a web of conspiracy.
do fic readers know that their comments actually influence the course of the story sometimes? i don't mean in a "you need to write it this way because i say so 😡" type of comment, i mean when people are asking questions or really engaging with the plot and the themes in the comments they sometimes bring up things that i didn't even think of, or dig into parts of the story that i've overlooked, or get really interested/fixated on something i was going to just kind of glance over--and it has me going 'oh wait that's actually really interesting, that's a good point' and fully adding or tweaking or changing things about the story going forward. i'm literally adding an entire additional chapter to something right now because someone's comment had me like "oh i didn't dig into that as much as i could have." you have impact!
I like writing backstories. My current distraction involves the killer clown and the freaky prankster. And, I'm thinking of challenging myself to make them a backstory involving the Unstable Universe and Killer Chickens.
ꨄ︎ An Alternate Ending to Willows of Devotion, a Whitepine Tale
Note1: What if BranzyCraft didn't die in the war and lived together with ClownPierce in Emberton?
Note2: Original story route is in this link (tearjerker alert)
Note3: This is also posted in AO3
ꨄ︎
Every middle of spring, ClownPierce goes on his annual vacation to his residence at the edge of Emberton for two weeks. No one amongst the family, not even Mr. Zombie Hemlocke truly knows what he does during this time. It was one of the strictest conditions in his contract with the Hemlocke family.
Another strict condition that Clown was able to negotiate on the first renewal of his contract was that he stayed in town every weekend fortnight. It was a privilege he had earned for his stellar performance as head household manager under the Hemlocke family. It seemed to be a good deal for Zombie. He had no clue how ClownPierce effectively and efficiently handled postmortem proceedings of his late wife Mrs. Hemlocke.
At the foyer leading to the main door of the manor, Zombie Hemlocke personally waited for his head house manager to come up. When he saw ClownPierce come out from a hallway, carrying a large rucksack over his shoulder, and a long coat on his arm, he motioned for Serapter to open the door.
“Enjoy your leave, Mr. Pierce,” Zombie said.
“You know you don’t have to always see me off, Mr. Zombie,” Clown answered in reply.
Zombie chuckled, “I’ve made a habit of it. I am a respectful master.”
Clown bowed briefly, and exited the door. Serapter followed him out to manage the manor gates.
As the pair casually walked the path towards the main gate, Serapter caught sight of an unusual break from Clown's attire. The head manager always wore black silk gloves at work, regardless of the task at hand. Now, he’s just dressed normally like any other citizen in Emberton.
Serapter noticed that Clown’s hands were bare, calloused, with darkened scars. On the left ring finger, he caught the glimmer of a golden wedding band.
Being the inquisitive young man, he piped a question, “Mr. Pierce, I didn't know you were a married man.”
Clown didn't pause in his footsteps, nor did he turn around to address what was not even a question. Not a word, nor shift in his stance. He only stopped when they had reached the gates.
“Thank you for minding the gate for me, Serapter,” said Clown.
Accepting immediately that Serapter had no chance of a little gossip, the young man opened the gates. He respectfully bowed and waited for Clown to completely exit before pulling the gates back.
With the gates closed behind him, ClownPierce made his way towards the city. He always enjoyed walking more than driving the family car. The exercise gave him headspace, and the scenery had always been peaceful.
ꨄ︎
Clown had lost track of time since the war had begun years ago. He could only recall bits and pieces from his days starting with the enlistment and drafting into the battalions. Fleeting memories of undergoing grueling training beside Ashswag, even lying about their origins just to get in, to quietly competing for best marksmanship against Reddoons.
Everything just to be able to survive this war.
In the latest deployment under the command of Major Leowook, they were able to rout the enemy and cut off offensive supplies, but not without incurring damage from their own ranks. A stray cannon had struck one of their gunpowder stockpiles, sending an outpost into blazes. ClownPierce remembered that he and Reddoons had to carry to safety Ashswag who had caught a flashburn on the left side of his face.
The Leowook Battalion had successfully retreated to a nearby supply camp by the Gristle. It was at this time that ClownPierce crossed paths with the very being who will change the rest of his life.
After successfully handing off Ash to the lead surgeons to treat his wounds, Clown and Reddoons were triaged off according to the severity of their injuries. They were given instructions by the nurse who handed them colored sticks indicating their assigned cubicles.
“I’ll see you later, Clown,” Reddoons said. “Let’s see if we can visit Ash later.”
“See you later, Red,” Clown replied with a nod. He made his way towards his assigned cubicle.
He pushed through the curtain and found a silvery-white haired man bent over a cart, muttering a gibberish of words that Clown’s not familiar with. He quietly moved towards the edge of the cot, and waited to see if the physician would turn around. After almost five minutes of standing still, Clown grew impatient.
“Uh, hello?” Clown spoke.
His voice was loud enough to catch the other man off-guard, nearly knocking over a tray of medical tools over to the floor.
“Geez, you scared me there!” the man yelped, turning around to face Clown. “How long have you been standing there? Don’t I get some respect around here, soldier?”
Clown was silent and looked down. He was not sure how to respond to the man’s comedic outburst. He looked through the eye slits of his mask, observing the situation.
“Apologies, for scaring you, sir,” he said.
“That’s Captain BranzyCraft of the Army Medical Corps, mind you,” the smaller man snapped back at him. “You’re in my camp, and as the busiest surgeon… Well at least until my better skilled comrades come back… You better be grateful that I’m the one assigned to you. Now sit on the bed.”
Clown obliged. He quietly registered the man’s features and etched it to his mind. There was something strangely attractive with the man in front of him. He was slim framed, but he could appreciate some muscle bulk through the shoulders. Behind the intelligent glimmer in his deep purple eyes, there seemed to hide a sardonic view against the horrors of the ongoing war. He was sort of grateful that he kept his mask on, so that this man called BranzyCraft wouldn’t be able to dissect his thoughts on the spot.
“So, Mister Scary Mask Guy,” Branzy’s voice cutting Clown’s thoughts. “You got a handle or something?”
“ClownPierce, first lieutenant of the fifth battalion under Major Leowook’s command, sir,” Clown answered quickly, complying with military etiquette.
“Oooh, what a deadly name you got there,” Branzy replied. He pulled up his tray of medical equipment beside him. “Now, go ahead and take off your clothes so I can take a good look at what needs to be stitched.”
Clown complied with Branzy's instructions. He unbuttoned his jacket, and took off his undershirt. He could see that he had a lengthy wound on the side of his abdomen, but it was deep enough to need stitches. There were a few minor cuts and bruises, but none too lethal. He lied down at Branzy’s gesture.
“Okay Lieutenant Clown, or can I just call you Clown? I will perform a physical examination, check every single wound you have gathered, inquire where you got it, and patch it up,” said Branzy. “Don’t worry about the pain. I got some good whisky here, and some local anesthesia too.”
“Understood.”
Branzy flashed a mischievous smile towards Clown. He exclaimed, “Well look at that, you’re actually the first soldier who’s not afraid of me!”
Clown clenched his hand around the edges of the cot as Branzy began touching his skin with gloved hands. He was used to getting treated by other physicians, and had quite the pain tolerance to needles. But, this was different. Branzy was acting more than just being a physician, he was taking his time savoring Clown's physique, and touching every single line of healed scar.
He could hear the silver-haired man mutter under his breath. “What a specimen, such perfect muscular hypertrophy. It seemed that the skin was so battle-hardened, that stitching wounds would be like going through thick leather.”
What Clown anticipated to be just another pain in and out of the stitching needle, he was surprised that Branzy was pretty light and quick with his hands. The physician applied an adequate amount of numbing on key areas that it was easy for Clown to remain still as instructed. He quietly observed the focus the surgeon had on him.
“I don't know what it is with my other colleagues in this camp, they can't seem to get stitching skin flaps right.
“But don't you worry Mr. ClownPierce, I will make sure that the stitches are fine, it looks like you just had a happy accident along the road!”
Despite yapping on and on to himself, Clown somehow found Branzy's voice soothing.
“And just a few more snips here and there,” Branzy said, and cut the last stitch. “And, we’re done with the first part!”
Branzy got up from his seat, turned around to look for a new set of bandages to secure the stitches. Clown immediately sat up, and placed his military jacket over his crotch. He could feel the heat reach his cheeks, and was thankful that his mask had not yet fallen off to reveal his physiological mess.
“Are you doing okay there, Clown?” Branzy’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Clown looked up, the fear effectively disrupting his urges. He no longer flinched when Branzy touched him again to instruct him to move as Branzy completed bandaging the necessary areas of his body.
“There we go, all done!” Branzy announced.
The soldier pushed his legs off the cot and stood up. His tall frame clearly overshadows his benefactor. “Thank you, Captain BranzyCraft,” said Clown.
The physician skipped a step at the sound of his name and title. “Since I am kind of expecting that you will be a regular customer for my stellar medical service, I will allow you to just call me Branzy,” he said. “And before I let you go, I want you to keep a secret for me.”
Clown asked, “What is it… Branzy?”
Branzy leaned close to Clown, and flashed a smirk.
“I know a closet when I see one, ” Branzy teased. He opened the cubicle flap and pushed Clown out. “Now off you go.”
While Branzy was correct with his prediction that Clown and, sometimes, his friends were regular visitors to his medical camp; the surgeon seemed to find himself often being moved to medical camps near wherever Clown was. Not that he was mad about it, he was actually secretly brimming with pride every time he got to hear the adventures from his favorite band of misfits, how they earned victories and accolades. He didn’t even care that he was still stuck being Captain. Because rising through the medical ranks would mean he would be pulled further into the safer bases at the rear, and not where Clown would be.
And he wanted to be where Clown is.
ꨄ︎
Clown had stopped by a few shops, buying essential items such as food, and a few gardening tools.
The last stop was a small bookstore that allowed a rental. He quietly browsed through the titles, and was able to pick a few he believed he could finish. He made his way towards the cashier and placed the books on the counter.
“Hello Mr. Pierce, I see you have selected a contemporary genre this time,” the bookstore owner commented.
“How long can I rent them for?”
The owner thought about it, “You know what? Since you're a loyal, regular customer, take the books. No return needed.”
“Ah, I am… touched by the gesture. Thank you very much.”
ꨄ︎
As war raged on, ClownPierce and his comrades rose through the ranks. His strong communication, strategic planning and near-perfect execution of missions, earned him the position of Squadron Commander of one of the army’s special strike units. With this position, it came with quite the responsibility. With the responsibility, followed great power that allowed him to request for a particular officer to join his ranks.
BranzyCraft.
It seemed like the logical choice to have the regular surgeon be pulled on board, knowing each medical history and whatnots. Unbeknownst to the higher ranks, it was meant to serve a different purpose as well.
The latest mission assigned to Clown’s squadron was to stay at the border of Redhills, with instructions to be on standby should they need to be utilized for quick battles against their enemy. To the soldiers, it simply meant, they have free time.
To Clown, it was the perfect window of opportunity.
As soon as Branzy had arrived at their outpost in Redhills, Clown wasted no second to take the man out for a ride along the beach. They had subtle outings before, often in short scouting missions with small detours. Always keeping things between them, that the higher ups would never figure out - except their closest friends.
It was the best kept secret, this devoted love they had for each other.
The car slowed to a stop at the end of the paved road. Clown turned off the ignition, and alighted from the car. Branzy had followed suit. He took in a deep breath of salty sea air, and stretched his limbs from the ride.
“It’s my second time going to the beach, but it’s my first time seeing a sunset here,” Branzy said. His purple eyes reflected the orange hue of the setting sun.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” was Clown's ever brief reply. He had reached out and took Branzy's hand into his.
“It is more beautiful, with you by my side.”
Branzy couldn't resist forming a smile. His heart fluttered with delight. He was here, on the beach, with the most important person in his entire world. The man who had grown beyond a few words, who had stood by him and protected him, and kept them safe from harm… The man who had subtly infiltrated the depths of his heart.
No amount of declarations of love would be enough to describe what they have. Societal perception and military rank would never acknowledge the possibility of their partnership. But, Branzy wasn't afraid, as long as Clown would always be there for him, he would do so for Clown.
Branzy broke away from his thoughts when he felt Clown's hand let him go. He immediately searched for Clown and was astonished to find the masked man kneeling in front of him on one knee.
“Clown, what are you doing?” Branzy asked softly. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and ears.
Clown reached behind his head, and unclapsed his mask and let it fall down the grass. With his face bare, and his dark eyes connected with Branzy’s, he pushed forward with his plans with nothing else to hide. Still on one knee, and with Branzy’s left hand on top of Clown’s palm. The soldier used his free hand to bring out a golden band from his pocket and gingerly rested at the tip of Branzy’s ring finger.
“BranzyCraft, I kneel now before you,” Clown started. He gathered his strength to declare the lines he had practiced over and over again. “To profess my love, my devotion to you and to the promise of a future we will create, together.”
Branzy kept his patience, allowing Clown to shine with his words. He couldn’t help but stare lovingly into the deepest eyes.
“Will you honor your love for me by becoming my married partner for this lifetime?”
There was no need for second thoughts. Branzy knew from the moment the masked man stepped into his presence, their fates were forever intertwined.
“Yes, ClownPierce. I do,” Branzy replied. His heart swelled with joy and tenderness to the man before him. He nodded his head, and felt the gold band reach the base of his ringer. He pulled Clown back up to his feet, before tossing himself into the officer’s embrace. Their lips locked in, sealing their promise.
“About time we get married.”
The Redhills chaplain of the town at the time, who was indebted to Reddoons before, officiated the wedding. It was a small ceremony, with only those who do not fear societal norms present. As the ceremony commenced, Branzy walked down the aisle in real bridal wear - that shocked even the chaplain. Ash swore it was the first time he ever saw Clown shed true tears of happiness.
Branzy was his Silver Bride.
The reception then followed in a bar that was reserved just for them. The townspeople somehow managed to join in, but never did they suspect that Branzy was a man in a white wedding dress.
ꨄ︎
“You're just in time, Mr. Pierce. I was about to close up.”
It was a detour. Clown had added a stop by the florist. He recalled spending a lot of time here during the preparations for Mrs. Hemlocke's funeral.
“Can you prepare a bouquet for me?”
“What is the occasion?"
“Nothing grand.”
“Alright,” the florist replied. “Please, have a seat. This will take a few minutes.”
The florist came out from the backroom, holding a decent sized bouquet in his hands. It was a variety of spring flowers and rare wintry foliage.
“It’s very pretty,” Clown commented, unable to truly find the right words for it.
“I am well aware that if you said nothing grand, it usually means, make it special,” the florist responded with a knowing wink.
ꨄ︎
It was a summer evening. The newlyweds had secretly rented a house near the beach, far away from the bustling town of Redhills where the wedding was just held.
The cool sea air seeped through the windows, dissipating the heat that had accumulated in the bedroom. Clown laid on his back, with his arm outstretched, elbow bent around the crook of Branzy’s neck.
“Clown?” Branzy murmured, wondering if his lover was awake.
“Yes, darling?” was the reply.
Branzy took a deep breath, and exhaled with a puff of warm breath against his lover’s bare chest.
“Do you think we’re winning this war?”
Clown’s heart stirred an anxiety he couldn’t place. It had been a few days since they had secretly tied the knot. While there were talks of a possible truce, it would only be a brief respite before the war would begin again.
“Ever thought of just, you know, disappearing for a while?”
Clown adjusted his position, allowing Branzy to lie on his stomach more comfortably. The smaller man was like a cat sometimes, after some passionate bouts. He was picky with their positions, but he always took Clown’s comfort into consideration.
“There’s this town down south, a bit far from the border, it’s called Emberton,” Branzy said idly, drawing an imaginary map on Clown’s chest. “My gramps used to live there. He had a nice house with a hill for a garden, and the land was transferred straight to my name after he died. But, I haven’t gone back there for quite some time.”
Clown could tell that Branzy was getting tired of the war as he was. However, he lauded Branzy’s tenacity and resistance against its horrors, despite going on a few runs with him at the frontlines.
Who was he kidding when that’s what Branzy was trained to do? Treat the gore and blood with careful hands and draw a smiley face on bandaged amputations and fractured limbs.
While he did his best to shield Branzy from the bullets, it was Branzy who shielded Clown from his personal nightmares from this war. In one of their many quiet nights together, Clown would wake up from nightmares of death and despair, only for Branzy's tight embrace and soothing voice to calm his tormented mind.
It worked for quite a while, the restful nights helped Clown focus on fighting and decision making.
“Do you want to retire there after everything’s over, Branzy?” Clown asked. “Grow senile together like a pair of old wives?”
He could see the purple eyes light up with renewed vigor.
“You bet we would,” Branzy answered. Before Clown could react, Branzy had managed to crawl back on top of Clown, straddling the soldier’s waist between his legs. His back arched forward, his precise hands cupping Clown’s face, his lips drawing the other into another passionate night.
ꨄ︎
Clown arrived at his true residence midafternoon. The sound of birds chirped their melodies above the trees. He could see the drooping branches of the willow tree atop the hill just behind the house. He quietly entered through the gate with the old key. He made his way through the stone path, with flower bushes guiding his way. He stopped in front of the door and fished another key from his pocket. He inserted the key and twisted the lock open.
The door made a small creaking sound as it swung open inside and squawked when it closed. Clown entered the quaint living room, guided by the sunlight that peeked through the windows. The furniture was minimal, just enough to make the house livable with a few notes of luxury.
He passed by a room with the door left open. He could see it filled with a mess of pens, paper, books, and small contraptions. An inkwell was on the floor, tipped over, with its contents already dried up on the carpet.
Clown had set his items on a counter by the simple kitchen. The loud thud was enough to catch anyone's attention, but no one came through.
He was alone.
ꨄ︎
When the duration of the truce was fulfilled, war had resumed. The generals had ClownPierce’s squadron reunited with his closest comrades, Ash, Reddoons, and included a rookie sniper named MinuteTech. Although it was against Clown’s wishes, his husband Branzy was re-enlisted to be their combat medic.
The mission assigned to them was to eliminate a key general who held a firm communication line amongst enemy lines. If they disrupt the line, it would disrupt enemy progress, which would turn the tide of war to their favor. However, they were faced with the challenge of elite snipers from the enemy side.
At the sendoff camp, it was almost time for the squadron to depart. Branzy was already up and about, fascinated with the new weapon in the hands of a rookie.
“So these things, called sniper rifles, pack a punch, don’t they?” Branzy asked the young MinuteTech. “You got pretty good eyes then.”
Minute nodded, “Yes sir.”
Branzy had gone off on another tirade of how speed, trajectory, and bullet caliber were so precisely computed to do the most damage at certain parts of the human body. His yapping only stopped when a firm hand rested on his shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Clown!” Branzy greeted cheerfully. “I seemed to have engrossed myself with something new.”
Minute imagined Clown had an amused smile behind that mask. There was mirth in the commander's voice when he spoke, “You never fail to share what you learn as well.”
The playful aura shifted to a serious tone when the commander faced Minute.
“You must be MinuteTech.”
Minute straightened up and saluted, “Yes, sir. At your service, Commander Pierce.”
“Taking down the enemy snipers is your most important role, Minute. I put my full trust in your capabilities,” said Clown.
“Affirmative, sir,” Minute replied.
Clown nodded, “Let us move out.”
Branzy walked off with Clown. Side to side, the commander sneaked to wrap his pinky finger around Branzy's pinky finger, the latter didn't pull away. This caught Minute's eyes, puzzling the sniper.
Minute opened his mouth to make a comment of what he witnessed. However, he received a hard nudge on the ribs by Ash who simply shook his head.
The squadron arrived at their designated drop off point. Ash and Minute positioned themselves uphill, hidden amongst the tall grass. Reddoons led another team to another position, while Clown and Branzy coursed through the rubble of the ruined town.
They had a plan to draw out the enemy general. It required setting up a desirable bait. Who else could fill that position but ClownPierce?
He had become known to be the Deathstride, an ominous moniker for pulling off the near-impossible missions with the least amount of casualties.
They had reached the end point of their course. It was the most crucial location to draw out the enemy sniper. Clown knew this was suicide as pointed out by Ash, but he had trust in his squadron to deliver their expected outcomes. Although he felt some guilt leaving Branzy out of this part of the plan, he had faith that his beloved would be there for him.
“On me, Branzy,” Clown said, as he made his way to cross the open space.
Branzy quickly identified that it was a bad spot to be in. “I… uh… don't think it is safe, Clown.”
On cue, with just the exposure of his head, Clown heard the sound of a sniper rifle. He had pulled back his head, just to hear the whirring sound of the bullet graze through his mask. The force and speed of the bullet was so powerful that it broke through the porcelain and knocked Clown to the side.
“C-CLOWN!” Branzy yelped. He instinctively pulled the man back to their cover. Ignoring their bulk disparity, Branzy used his own body to cover Clown, shielding the injured man from further debris and projectiles.
How was that even possible? The reaction time to evasion was superhuman. A fraction of a millisecond late would have ended Clown’s life then and there.
Another shot fired from an allied location. It was followed by equally spaced sounds. Their sniper landed all his marks, as Ash would eventually file in his report. Their mission would end in a resounding success.
“Clown,” Branzy gasped. He moved into a straddle position on Clown’s thighs. His hands already immediately assessed the officer's exposed face. He was able to identify a long shallow wound along the brow line extending to the temple. He deemed it simple enough to patch up. “Can you see with your left eye?”
Clown sat up from the ground and found himself staring into Branzy's face. It was clear with the registration of his beloved's worry. He could feel the blood from his forehead wound irritating the side of his eye. The ringing in his ears from the impact of his mask breaking was fading away. His breathing slowly went back to normal. His heart pounding less against his chest, a dizzying headache fading away. His senses and body returned to his control. His only response was holding on to Branzy’s hand.
After Branzy had completed his initial assessment, the surgeon threw his arms around Clown and held him tight. He no longer cared if someone else found them like this, he was committed to resigning from the army after the mission. He buried his face into Clown's neck, and let out a long sigh of relief.
“Please don't do this to me, Clown” Branzy pleaded. “Never, ever, ever, pull this stunt again. If you die, out here, in front of me, I won't be able to live with it.”
"Oh, my heart won't be able to take it," he could hear Branzy murmur to his ear.
Clown instinctively wrapped his arms around Branzy. A realization settling in on his mind and his heart. He would not be able to live with it too, should he lose Branzy that day.
ꨄ︎
The sun had begun to set on the west. The air was becoming colder as it greeted the night. Clown had returned from the backyard, setting the firewood he had prepared for the night on a low-set tray.
He immediately noticed that the house was warmer than he first came into. There was a distant sound of a fire cackling in the living room. A salty, hearty aroma wafted from the kitchen, mixed with the scent of burnt bread.
Clown made his way to the living room. He saw that the fireplace was lit and the bouquet of flowers he had bought were already arranged in a vase by the coffee table. On the side, he found a slim, lanky man standing with his back facing him - engrossed in one of the books he brought home. The man was wearing a clean white shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing an intricate tattoo covering the left forearm. Only Clown knew the extent of that tattoo, it was one he would trace over and over during their bedroom routines.
The ex-soldier quietly let his presence be felt.
The man instinctively felt the added presence, but not a flinch to his reflex. He casually folded a dogear on the page and set the book down. He slowly turned around, and extended his left hand, exposing the other golden wedding band, towards the man behind him.
Silence was their music to this slow dance.
Clown reached out and held on to the other man's hand, and pulled him to a warm embrace. Their hearts synced against their chests, their minds at peace in each other's arms. Clown looked down and found himself staring at deep, purple eyes. Wavy, silvery-white hair and a wide, mischievous smile that he pined for every day. He surrendered himself to his beloved's machinations, allowing his mask unclasped, his face revealed to his truest love.
“Branzy Pierce,” Clown’s voice was gentle and adoring.
Precise hands held his face, and gently pulled his lips to the other. It was a kiss filled with longing, devotion, and rekindled promise.
Note1: It started with a headcanon by @bakupon. Think of the set-up as a pre-Ivory entry to the Whitepine Estate. Please do check out her Tumblr, the art was enough to set this angsty ship to sail.
Note2: Since this is a work of fiction within fiction, art is meant to be appreciated, and criticisms should be civil and constructive. By no means, do they reflect the true content creators of such wonderful characters. Find me on AO3.
Note3: I'd probably put this at around rating 16+, a lot of things are implied, and a bit bloody on some bits. But it should't be too... bad... right? Please take heed of the tags, proceed if your heart is ready to be stolen.
Therefore, I present:
Willows of Devotion, a Whitepine fanfiction ꨄ︎
Every start of autumn, ClownPierce goes on his annual vacation to his residence at the edge of Emberton for two weeks. No one amongst the family, not even Mr. Zombie Hemlocke truly knows what he does during this time. It was one of the strictest conditions in his contract with the Hemlocke family.
At the foyer leading to the main door of the manor, Zombie Hemlocke personally waited for his head house manager to come up. When he saw ClownPierce come out from a hallway, carrying a large rucksack over his shoulder, and a long coat on his arm, he motioned for Serapter to open the door.
“Enjoy your leave, Mr. Pierce,” Zombie said.
“You know you don’t have to always see me off, Mr. Zombie,” Clown answered in reply.
Zombie chuckled, “I’ve made a habit of it. I am a respectful master.”
Clown bowed respectfully, and exited the door. As he made his way towards the gate, someone else was also waiting for him.
“Ash,” Clown greeted his oldest friend.
“Clown,” Ash acknowledged. “Off to your little sanctuary again?”
“Yes, it’s almost…” Clown paused, “... that time of the year again.”
“Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own this time?” Ash asked. “You know I could also ask for a leave from Mr. Zombie as well, even if it’s just for a few days.”
“I will be fine, Ash,” Clown reassured his friend. “You have to deal with my relapses for most of the year. You need a break from me as well.”
Ash sighed. His friend can be truly stubborn. “Do not hesitate to call us here at Whitepine for help. You got it?”
“Yes, I got it. Thank you, Ash.”
With the gates closed behind him, ClownPierce made his way towards the city. He always enjoyed walking more than driving the family car. The exercise gave him headspace, and the scenery had always been peaceful.
In between his peace, he was in a personal war against the demons of his past.
ꨄ︎
Clown had lost track of time since the war had begun years ago. He could only recall bits and pieces from his days starting with the enlistment and drafting into the battalions. Fleeting memories of undergoing grueling training beside Ashswag, even lying about their origins just to get in, to quietly competing for best marksmanship against Reddoons.
Everything just to be able to survive this war.
In the latest deployment under the command of Major Leowook, they were able to rout the enemy and cut off offensive supplies, but not without incurring damage from their own ranks. A stray cannon had struck one of their gunpowder stockpiles, sending an outpost into blazes. ClownPierce remembered that he and Reddoons had to carry to safety Ashswag who had caught a flashburn on the left side of his face.
The Leowook Battalion had successfully retreated to a nearby supply camp by the Gristle. It was at this time that ClownPierce crossed paths with the very being who will change the rest of his life.
After successfully handing off Ash to the lead surgeons to treat his wounds, Clown and Reddoons were triaged off according to the severity of their injuries. They were given instructions by the nurse who handed them colored sticks indicating their assigned cubicles.
“I’ll see you later, Clown,” Reddoons said. “Let’s see if we can visit Ash later.”
“See you later, Red,” Clown replied with a nod. He made his way towards his assigned cubicle.
He pushed through the curtain and found a silvery-white haired man bent over a cart, muttering a gibberish of words that Clown’s not familiar with. He quietly moved towards the edge of the cot, and waited to see if the physician would turn around. After almost five minutes of standing still, Clown grew impatient.
“Uh, hello?” Clown spoke.
His voice was loud enough to catch the other man off-guard, nearly knocking over a tray of medical tools over to the floor.
“Geez, you scared me there!” the man yelped, turning around to face Clown. “How long have you been standing there? Don’t I get some respect around here, soldier?”
Clown was silent and looked down. He was not sure how to respond to the man’s comedic outburst. He looked through the eye slits of his mask, observing the situation.
“Apologies, for scaring you, sir,” he said.
“That’s Captain BranzyCraft of the Army Medical Corps, mind you,” the smaller man snapped back at him. “You’re in my camp, and as the busiest surgeon… Well at least until my better skilled comrades come back… You better be grateful that I’m the one assigned to you. Now sit on the bed.”
Clown obliged. He quietly registered the man’s features and etched it to his mind. There was something strangely attractive with the man in front of him. He was slim framed, but he could appreciate some muscle bulk through the shoulders. Behind the intelligent glimmer in his deep purple eyes, there seemed to hide a sardonic view against the horrors of the ongoing war. He was sort of grateful that he kept his mask on, so that this man called BranzyCraft wouldn’t be able to dissect his thoughts on the spot.
“So, Mister Scary Mask Guy,” Branzy’s voice cutting Clown’s thoughts. “You got a handle or something?”
“ClownPierce, first lieutenant of the fifth battalion under Major Leowook’s command, sir,” Clown answered quickly, complying with military etiquette.
“Oooh, what a deadly name you got there,” Branzy replied. He pulled up his tray of medical equipment beside him. “Now, go ahead and take off your clothes so I can take a good look at what needs to be stitched.”
Clown complied with Branzy's instructions. He unbuttoned his jacket, and took off his undershirt. He could see that he had a lengthy wound on the side of his abdomen, but it was deep enough to need stitches. There were a few minor cuts and bruises, but none too lethal. He lied down at Branzy’s gesture.
“Okay Lieutenant Clown, or can I just call you Clown? I will perform a physical examination, check every single wound you have gathered, inquire where you got it, and patch it up,” said Branzy. “Don’t worry about the pain. I got some good whisky here, and some local anesthesia too.”
“Understood.”
Branzy flashed a mischievous smile towards Clown. He exclaimed, “Well look at that, you’re actually the first soldier who’s not afraid of me!”
Clown clenched his hand around the edges of the cot as Branzy began touching his skin with gloved hands. He was used to getting treated by other physicians, and had quite the pain tolerance to needles. But, this was different. Branzy was acting more than just being a physician, he was taking his time savoring Clown's physique, and touching every single line of healed scar.
He could hear the silver-haired man mutter under his breath. “What a specimen, such perfect muscular hypertrophy. It seemed that the skin was so battle-hardened, that stitching wounds would be like going through thick leather.”
What Clown anticipated to be just another pain in and out of the stitching needle, he was surprised that Branzy was pretty light and quick with his hands. The physician applied an adequate amount of numbing on key areas that it was easy for Clown to remain still as instructed. He quietly observed the focus the surgeon had on him.
“I don't know what it is with my other colleagues in this camp, they can't seem to get stitching skin flaps right.
“But don't you worry Mr. ClownPierce, I will make sure that the stitches are fine, it looks like you just had a happy accident along the road!”
Despite yapping on and on to himself, Clown somehow found Branzy's voice soothing.
“And just a few more snips here and there,” Branzy said, and cut the last stitch. “And, we’re done with the first part!”
Branzy got up from his seat, turned around to look for a new set of bandages to secure the stitches. Clown immediately sat up, and placed his military jacket over his crotch. He could feel the heat reach his cheeks, and was thankful that his mask had not yet fallen off to reveal his physiological mess.
“Are you doing okay there, Clown?” Branzy’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Clown looked up, the fear effectively disrupting his urges. He no longer flinched when Branzy touched him again to instruct him to move as Branzy completed bandaging the necessary areas of his body.
“There we go, all done!” Branzy announced.
The soldier pushed his legs off the cot and stood up. His tall frame clearly overshadows his benefactor. “Thank you, Captain BranzyCraft,” said Clown.
The physician skipped a step at the sound of his name and title. “Since I am kind of expecting that you will be a regular customer for my stellar medical service, I will allow you to just call me Branzy,” he said. “And before I let you go, I want you to keep a secret for me.”
Clown asked, “What is it… Branzy?”
Branzy leaned close to Clown, and flashed a smirk.
“I know a closet when I see one, ” Branzy teased. He opened the cubicle flap and pushed Clown out. “Now off you go.”
While Branzy was correct with his prediction that Clown and, sometimes, his friends were regular visitors to his medical camp; the surgeon seemed to find himself often being moved to medical camps near wherever Clown was. Not that he was mad about it, he was actually secretly brimming with pride every time he got to hear the adventures from his favorite band of misfits, how they earned victories and accolades. He didn’t even care that he was still stuck being Captain. Because rising through the medical ranks would mean he would be pulled further into the safer bases at the rear, and not where Clown would be.
And he wanted to be where Clown is.
ꨄ︎
Clown had changed his mask as he traversed further into town. He had shifted to a dark purple mask with an oddly imprinted smile. It was enough to keep people away, and to throw off people from knowing his identity.
He stopped by a few shops, buying essential items such as food, and a few gardening tools.
The last stop he made was at a jewelry shop that was owned by one of the regular patrons of the Hemlocke industry.
“Ah, Mr. Pierce, here for your usual order?” the shopkeeper said, recognizing the goofiest mask that visits him once a year.
Clown nodded. He placed a jewelry box on the table. “For cleaning, as usual.”
“Alright, give me half an hour and I will bring it back to you as if it’s newly forged.”
ꨄ︎
As war raged on, ClownPierce and his comrades rose through the ranks. His strong communication, strategic planning and near-perfect execution of missions, earned him the position of Squadron Commander of one of the army’s special strike units. With this position, it came with quite the responsibility. With the responsibility, followed great power that allowed him to request for a particular officer to join his ranks.
BranzyCraft.
It seemed like the logical choice to have the regular surgeon be pulled on board, knowing each medical history and whatnots. Unbeknownst to the higher ranks, it was meant to serve a different purpose as well.
The latest mission assigned to Clown’s squadron was to stay at the border of Redhills, with instructions to be on standby should they need to be utilized for quick battles against their enemy. To the soldiers, it simply meant, they have free time.
To Clown, it was the perfect window of opportunity.
As soon as Branzy had arrived at their outpost in Redhills, Clown wasted no second to take the man out for a ride along the beach. They had subtle outings before, often in short scouting missions with small detours. Always keeping things between them, that the higher ups would never figure out - except their closest friends.
It was the best kept secret, this devoted love they had for each other.
The car slowed to a stop at the end of the paved road. Clown turned off the ignition, and alighted from the car. Branzy had followed suit. He took in a deep breath of salty sea air, and stretched his limbs from the ride.
“It’s my second time going to the beach, but it’s my first time seeing a sunset here,” Branzy said. His purple eyes reflected the orange hue of the setting sun.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” was Clown's ever brief reply. He had reached out and took Branzy's hand into his.
“It is more beautiful, with you by my side.”
Branzy couldn't resist forming a smile. His heart fluttered with delight. He was here, on the beach, with the most important person in his entire world. The man who had grown beyond a few words, who had stood by him and protected him, and kept them safe from harm… The man who had subtly infiltrated the depths of his heart.
No amount of declarations of love would be enough to describe what they have. Societal perception and military rank would never acknowledge the possibility of their partnership. But, Branzy wasn't afraid, as long as Clown would always be there for him, he would do so for Clown.
Branzy broke away from his thoughts when he felt Clown's hand let him go. He immediately searched for Clown and was astonished to find the masked man kneeling in front of him on one knee.
“Clown, what are you doing?” Branzy asked softly. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and ears.
Clown reached behind his head, and unclapsed his mask and let it fall down the grass. With his face bare, and his dark eyes connected with Branzy’s, he pushed forward with his plans with nothing else to hide. Still on one knee, and with Branzy’s left hand on top of Clown’s palm. The soldier used his free hand to bring out a golden band from his pocket and gingerly rested at the tip of Branzy’s ring finger.
“BranzyCraft, I kneel now before you,” Clown started. He gathered his strength to declare the lines he had practiced over and over again. “To profess my love, my devotion to you and to the promise of a future we will create, together.”
Branzy kept his patience, allowing Clown to shine with his words. He couldn’t help but stare lovingly into the deepest eyes.
“Will you honor your love for me by becoming my married partner for this lifetime?”
There was no need for second thoughts. Branzy knew from the moment the masked man stepped into his presence, their fates were forever intertwined.
“Yes, ClownPierce. I do,” Branzy replied. His heart swelled with joy and tenderness to the man before him. He nodded his head, and felt the gold band reach the base of his ringer. He pulled Clown back up to his feet, before tossing himself into the officer’s embrace. Their lips locked in, sealing their promise.
“About time we get married.”
The Redhills chaplain of the town at the time, who was indebted to Reddoons before, officiated the wedding. It was a small ceremony, with only those who do not fear societal norms present. As the ceremony commenced, Branzy walked down the aisle in real bridal wear - that shocked even the chaplain. Ash swore it was the first time he ever saw Clown shed true tears of happiness.
Branzy was his Silver Bride.
The reception then followed in a bar that was reserved just for them. The townspeople somehow managed to join in, but never did they suspect that Branzy was a man in a white wedding dress.
ꨄ︎
The shopkeeper returned to the counter with the jewelry box. “Here you go Mr. Pierce, good as new.”
Clown opened the box and inspected the contents. Inside were two wedding bands, each embedded with three diamonds. He took the larger ring and inserted it onto his ring finger. The other ring has a silver necklace, since it had a smaller fit. He picked up the necklace and put it on. The ring rested right on his chest.
Contented with the service, Clown paid the shopkeeper and left.
ꨄ︎
It was a summer evening. The newlyweds had secretly rented a house near the beach, far away from the bustling town of Redhills where the wedding was just held.
The cool sea air seeped through the windows, dissipating the heat that had accumulated in the bedroom. Clown laid on his back, with his arm outstretched, elbow bent around the crook of Branzy’s neck.
“Clown?” Branzy murmured, wondering if his lover was awake.
“Yes, darling?” was the reply.
Branzy took a deep breath, and exhaled with a puff of warm breath against his lover’s bare chest.
“Do you think we’re winning this war?”
Clown’s heart stirred an anxiety he couldn’t place. It had been a few days since they had secretly tied the knot. While there were talks of a possible truce, it would only be a brief respite before the war would begin again.
“Ever thought of just, you know, disappearing for a while?”
Clown adjusted his position, allowing Branzy to lie on his stomach more comfortably. The smaller man was like a cat sometimes, after some passionate bouts. He was picky with their positions, but he always took Clown’s comfort into consideration.
“There’s this town down south, a bit far from the border, it’s called Emberton,” Branzy said idly, drawing an imaginary map on Clown’s chest. “My gramps used to live there. He had a nice house with a hill for a garden, and the land was transferred straight to my name after he died. But, I haven’t gone back there for quite some time.”
Clown could tell that Branzy was getting tired of the war as he was. However, he lauded Branzy’s tenacity and resistance against its horrors, despite going on a few runs with him at the frontlines.
Who was he kidding when that’s what Branzy was trained to do? Treat the gore and blood with careful hands and draw a smiley face on bandaged amputations and fractured limbs.
While he did his best to shield Branzy from the bullets, it was Branzy who shielded Clown from his personal nightmares from this war. In one of their many quiet nights together, Clown would wake up from nightmares of death and despair, only for Branzy's tight embrace and soothing voice to calm his tormented mind.
It worked for quite a while, the restful nights helped Clown focus on fighting and decision making.
“Do you want to retire there after everything’s over, Branzy?” Clown asked. “Grow senile together like a pair of old wives?”
He could see the purple eyes light up with renewed vigor.
“You bet we would,” Branzy answered. Before Clown could react, Branzy had managed to crawl back on top of Clown, straddling the soldier’s waist between his legs. His back arched forward, his precise hands cupping Clown’s face, his lips drawing the other into another passionate night.
ꨄ︎
Clown arrived at his true residence late in the evening. He quietly entered through the gate with the old key. He made his way through the stone path, with fireflies guiding his way. He stopped in front of the door and fished another key from his pocket. He inserted the key and twisted the lock open.
The door made a small creaking sound as it swung open inside and squawked when it closed. Clown entered the quaint living room, guided by the moonlight that peeked through the windows. The furniture was sparse, just enough to make the house livable.
Contrary to what many believed, he and Branzy were able to stay in this house for quite some time - during the truce. He fondly recalled lazy morning walks up the hill, spending their days quietly reading books that they would borrow from the town library. Branzy even started a flower garden along the stone path. There was even one occasion that their closest friends visited to celebrate a surprise birthday party for Clown.
It was the happiest and most peaceful days of his life with Branzy.
ꨄ︎
When the duration of the truce was fulfilled, war had resumed. The generals had ClownPierce’s squadron reunited with his closest comrades, Ash, Reddoons, and included a rookie sniper named MinuteTech. Although it was against Clown’s wishes, his husband Branzy was re-enlisted to be their combat medic.
The mission assigned to them was to eliminate a key general who held a firm communication line amongst enemy lines. If they disrupt the line, it would disrupt enemy progress, which would turn the tide of war to their favor.
At the sendoff camp, it was almost time for the squadron to depart. Branzy was already up and about, fascinated with the new weapon in the hands of a rookie.
“So these things, called sniper rifles, pack a punch, don’t they?” Branzy asked the young MinuteTech. “You got pretty good eyes then.”
Minute nodded, “Yes sir.”
Branzy had gone off on another tirade of how speed, trajectory, and bullet caliber were so precisely computed to do the most damage at certain parts of the human body. His yapping only stopped when a firm hand rested on his shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Clown!” Branzy greeted cheerfully. “I seemed to have engrossed myself with something new.”
Minute imagined Clown had an amused smile behind that mask. There was mirth in the commander's voice when he spoke, “You never fail to share what you learn as well.”
The playful aura shifted to a serious tone when the commander faced Minute.
“You must be MinuteTech.”
Minute straightened up and saluted, “Yes, sir. At your service, Commander Pierce.”
“Taking down the enemy snipers is your most important role, Minute. I put my full trust in your capabilities,” said Clown.
“Affirmative, sir,” Minute replied.
Clown nodded, “Let us move out.”
Branzy walked off with Clown. Side to side, the commander sneaked to wrap his pinky finger around Branzy's pinky finger, the latter didn't pull away. This caught Minute's eyes, puzzling the sniper.
Minute opened his mouth to make a comment of what he witnessed. However, he received a hard nudge on the ribs by Ash who simply shook his head.
The squadron arrived at their designated drop off point. Ash and Minute positioned themselves uphill, hidden amongst the tall grass. Reddoons led another team to another position, while Clown and Branzy coursed through the rubble of the ruined town.
The sun had inadvertently peeked through the clouds, causing a quick reflection against the shiny steel of a hanging buckle on Branzy's pack.
Clown's eyes widened behind his mask. It was just a split second of their location revealed, but enough for their enemy to react.
“Branzy, get down!”
Just as Branzy was about to reach his next cover, a loud bang echoed from the distance. It was followed by a force so powerful, Branzy could feel something shattered through his chest. His eyes widened as a splatter of blood burst through him.
“BRANZY!”
Clown could feel his world slow down. He abandoned his position and took off to catch Branzy. Every step was agonizing, every breath that escaped his lips was choking the air out of him.
Three loud shots echoed above Clown’s head. He no longer cared who was firing who.
He needed to get to Branzy. He was all that matters now.
With arms outstretched, Clown caught Branzy, and pulled him close to his chest. In the momentum, he used his back to cushion their fall against the pavement.
“Branzy! Branzy! Branzy!” Clown cried aloud, shaking his beloved awake.
Branzy’s eyes flew open. He caught sight of his lover, and still managed to crack a toothy smile. His breathing was harsh, fast, bordering towards gasping. “Clown…!”
Clown had muted the noise around him. He had ripped strips of cloth from his sleeves, attempting to make a tamponade on the wound. He flinched when Branzy’s bloodied hand held on to his wrist.
“At least… you’re the one I get to see before I…” Branzy croaked, trying his hardest not to choke on blood that was gurgling from his lungs.
Clown frantically pressed a cloth against the entry wound with one hand, and another wrapped around Branzy’s back to cover the exit wound. However, it was futile. His beloved was bleeding too much.
“Just… stay with me, Clown, please?” Branzy gasped. The color was draining from his face.
“Branzy, please don’t. I… I will get you out of here… We’ll get help,” Clown found himself begging against Death. Tears erupted from his eyes. “I cannot lose you!”
Branzy mustered what remained of his strength to lift a hand and touch Clown’s exposed face. His purple eyes were so clear with intent, his bloodied lips curved to the sweetest smile.
“I love you forever, my dearest… ClownPierce.”
“Branzy, I -”
His voice had cut off from his words when he felt the hand that touched his face fell, and Clown felt his beloved’s body fall limp in his arms. Branzy’s head leaned against the curve of his neck, his eyes closed to sleep for eternity.
Clown could no longer hear the outside world beyond his own anguish, crying out the name of his love over and over.
ꨄ︎
The sun was gradually peeking through the east when he began his hike up the hill behind the house. The stone path was still there, with a mix of lavender and marigold bushes lining the path. The weather never seemed to go foul in the place, just as Branzy had always said. Maybe that's why he loved it here.
Atop the hill, a low set willow tree stood firm. Its weeping branches created a sort of curtain, guarding the bravest of hearts in its territory.
Clown pulled up a bucket of water and set it on the ground next to the gravestone. He dropped his rucksack beside the bucket, opened it, and pulled out a pair of shears. He got down to his knees and carefully cut away the weed and roots that wrapped around the stone. With a towel, he dipped it into the bucket of water, wrung it dry, and began to clean the gravestone.
It took him all morning to get the task done, as he had always done for the past years. Just in time for the sun to mark his midday meal. After completing the cleaning of the gravestone, he smiled beneath his porcelain mask, his eyes basking at the honorable memorabilia.
In loving memory of
Branzy Pierce
Genius and a devoted husband
Deciding to take a break before a small meal, Clown placed a long blanket on the grass and laid his head on the rucksack like a pillow. He closed his eyes as he let out a long sigh of relaxation. His fingers wrapped around the ring on his necklace, letting his own golden band touch against the one resting on his chest. With his other hand, he unclasped the strap of his mask, letting it fall off to the side.
ClownPierce.
Clown opened his eyes, and found himself staring at deep, purple eyes. Wavy, silvery-white hair played against the wind. A wide, mischievous smile moved to mouth out three words that he longed to hear again. It could be his mind playing tricks again, but he would always swear to heaven and earth that he would never forget Branzy’s face, or his voice.
Tears began to well up, blurring the image of his lover leaning close to him. Clown tried to blink his tears away, only for them to flow continuously. He closed his eyes completely, surrendering to the mercy of his tragedy. A gentle, warm breeze brushed against his face, as if an ardent kiss rested long on his lips.
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