Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Good evening, everybody… today we graciously invite you to feed us requests and suggestions!

First, however… We must set our rules. Those who wish to request shalt follow these commandments or face… no punishment besides being ignored, we suppose.

1. No proshipping. We encourage victims who use proshipping as a coping mechanism to seek out help and better alternatives. Note that this does not include mirrorshipping/selfcest.
2. No zoophilia, necrophilia, or otherwise gross things of that nature. Again, we encourage victims to seek help.
3. Feel free to request cross/crackships. We sincerely do not care if the characters you wish to see together have never even been on screen together; we aim to please the people.
4. Smut requests will likely be of lower priority unless we find that one is particularly interesting. We (the author) are a minor and also have a real-life friend who knows about this account so… better make your suggestions good and/or beg us to consider you.
5. Otherwise SFW requests that include suggestive material or small portions of NSFW content (i.e. off-screen or implied sex, sexual tension/jokes/language) are fine. If you are unsure about whether or not a portion of your request is too frisky, you may add it in at the end of your comment.

Now, we provide you with a format in which to present your requests:

Hello adored author! May I, a humble plebian compared to your radiance, request … (Use however many sentences you wish to describe your vision to us; ships, characters, key events, etc. More details are always appreciated). Should your divine mercy find it fit, we also request that you include … (This section is for optional elements, as mentioned in Rule 5). Thank you for honoring my suggestion and giving even a moment of your gracious time to the foolish wants of me, a foolish mortal.

…Of course, you do not have to follow this formatting exactly. Variety is the spice of life, as they say. You must only include the information stated in parentheses and a thank you to us.

Below is a list of the accepted suggestions, along with their progress:

1. toxichero fluff (completed; chapter 2)
2. pizzatime fluff (completed; chapter 3)
3. toxichero angst (unstarted)
4. player x calypso (unstarted)

Chapter Text

               Griefer’s “crib” was, in short, disgusting. Half-drank cans of Witches’ Brew were piled up in any corner with room for them, staining the floors and walls and making a great feast for the ants and roaches that found their way up Sacred Hollow. The “I LOVE GRIEFING” posters that adorned the wall were stupid, the foliage covering what parts of the floor weren’t reserved by sticky soda seemed surprisingly healthy considering the environment, and the unkempt bed at the far back looked VERY small compared to everything else. And yet, despite all that grime and filth, the player couldn’t help being endeared by Brad.

               Their relationship had started rocky, sure; the calls of the Venomshank and Brad’s unpleasant “Griefer” persona had made it difficult for the player to get past his edgy exterior and truly come to know him. Hell, he was the main obstacle on the player’s quest for the Venomshank, he’d even STABBED himself with it and morphed into a terrible plant monster. It was a wonder that they even tried to get closer with Brad at all, considering that they rarely had much free time between retrieving Swords and there were much better things to do with that spare time… but what happened happened. Whenever they got the chance to do so, they’d visit Brad and his treehouse in Turitopulis once again.

               Today had been a particularly rough one; Sword swings never seemed to land quite right, the player’s timing on their dodges was, agonizingly, always just a bit off, the whole nine yards. Even the usually peaceful walk up Sacred Hollow was grueling. The player’s calves ached as they got to the end of their uphill trudge, whacking away one last low-level enemy with a hard swing using the flat side of their sword. There wasn’t really a door to knock on, so they just assumed the sound of their footsteps would be enough to notify Brad of their presence. They strolled in, tossing their heavy backpack next to the archway once inside.

               The fearsome Griefer was essentially bedridden right now, still wobbly and out of sorts from his transformation escapades. His current body was much better than the bubonic plant, but the extra leaves and visible ribcage were going to take some getting used to (despite the player’s reassurance of how cool he looked). Locally made medicines and herbal remedies accompanied the spilt soda cans this time, retrieved by Mayor Thaniyel in hopes of alleviating some of his son’s lingering pains. The pills and syrups mostly remained untouched and unopened, however, as Brad insisted on “THUGG1NG 1T 0UT” whenever his father nagged about it. He instead opted to bring his laptop on his bed to continue his griefing.

               Brad’s recovery (or lack thereof) meant that he didn’t even notice the player until their shadow appeared over the keyboard of his laptop. His head snapped up, the practiced look of disdain dissipating from his face as soon as he processed who was standing at the foot of his bed.

               “Y0, PUNK. Y0U EV3R H3ARD 0F KN0CKING?” Despite the change in their relationship, the nickname seemed to stick.

               The player shrugged, hands coming to rest in their pockets as they came to stand at the side of the bed. “No door.”

               “...0H, Y3AH,” Brad observed, blinking slowly as his eyes got used to being away from the radiant screen of a computer. “BUT Y0U C0ULD’VE D0NE SOM3TH1NG L1KE TH4T. ALM0ST TH0UGHT Y0U W3RE MY D4D, L0L.”

               “Speaking of which, your dad asked if you were taking your medicine.”

               “PSSH. 1 D0N’T N33D ANY DUMB P1LLS.”

               “Brad.”

               “G0D, Y0U ACTU4LLY M1GHT BE MY D4D,” he groaned in fake annoyance. “WH4T’S UP W1TH Y0U, PUNK? R0UGH D4Y? Y0U’R3 EV3N M0RE DRY TH4N USUAL!” Brad laughed at his own remark. He beckoned the player to come lay down by scooting over, tossing his laptop to the ground as if it wasn’t a fragile electronic.

               “Yeah, rough.” They slid underneath the blanket, choosing to ignore the mysterious green stains for now. “Off my game, or something. The Ghostwalker was a pain to get through, don’t think I’ve fully recovered.”

               “TH4T MAK3S TW0 0F US, 4MIR1TE?” Brad smirked, wrapping an arm around the player’s waist. His other hand lifted their shirt and rubbed gently at the scars beneath their chest. They closed their eyes. “MY F00T’S B33N K1LLING M3 ALL D4Y, DUD3.”

               “Maybe… Just maybe… That’s what the medicine is for?” The player shivered slightly as a leaf sprouting from Brad’s wrist grazed across their skin. They moved in a bit closer, imperceptibly so—didn’t want to seem too big a fan.

               “Y3AH, Y3AH.” He grumbled, poking their ribs to punctuate himself. “1’LL T4KE S0M3 EV3NTU4LLY. D4D G0T WAYYY T00 MUCH STUFF.” Brad didn’t seem all too concerned with looking like a fan himself, moving his head closer and kissing the spot he’d just poked. “F33LIN’ BETT3R R1GHT N0W, TH0UGH.”

               “Of course you are,” the player teased, earning themselves another jab to the ribs. They winced before laughing again. “…I am too, I guess.” They rubbed circles on Brad’s exposed back, lightly pressing into the spine showing through the translucent flesh. It was his place, they supposed, he didn’t have to be wearing a shirt.

               “H3Y, QUIT ACT1NG S0 T0UGH! TH4T’S MY TH1NG!” Brad’s finger pressed harder against a scar, causing the player to grimace. “00PS, MY B4D Y0.” He traced over the scar apologetically. “…C0ULD G3T US3D T0 THIS.” Brad mumbled.

               “Huh?”

               “HUH? D1DN’T SAY N0THIN’, PUNK.”

               “You sure?”

               “TH4T GH0STWALK3R D3F MESS3D Y0U UP, LOL. 1’M SO C0NFID3NT R1GHT N0W I C0ULD KISS YOU. I M3AN WH44T—” He pursed his lips, staring into the player’s eyes. “L1KE. 1F Y0U WAANT3D, H3H.”

               They sighed and shook their head. “You’re so stupid sometimes, dude. C’mon.” The player shifted to make their lips even with Brad’s, leaving them close yet not touching. “We’ve done crazier things than kiss.”

               “1 KN0W,” he sighed. “IT’S JUST TH4T IT’S 4LL ST1LL S0 NEW. I GU3SS.” He tacked on the last two words mockingly. “W4S T00 BUSY B3ING AN AWES0ME GRI3FER T0 GET CHICKS, EH?” Brad couldn’t help the way the corners of his lips quirked up; he looked really stupid.

               “Too busy being a college dropout, more like.” The player quipped. They took advantage of Brad’s stunned reaction, kissing him before he had the chance to come up with some dumb retort. Tongues started to move against each other, increasing in intensity once Brad got more comfortable with the action. The hand they had on his back glided up his spine, massaging the back of Brad’s neck. He tried to mumble something, probably a “Y0U SUCK”, but it was too muffled to hear in the moment anyways. Brad’s hands moved to cup the player’s face, accompanied by the sound of rustling leaves.

               A thin line of saliva connected their mouths once they broke apart, the player removed it with a quick swipe of their finger. Brad was always a full-faced blusher, but he looked even more red than usual. They both allowed each other a moment to catch their breaths, Brad breaking the silence.

               “Y0U SSUCK,” He sputtered, having fully lost his ‘tough guy’ attitude a long time ago.

               The player smiled, being oh-so cruel with how gentle they were holding him now and with how lovingly they looked into his eyes.

               "I love you too, Brad.”

Chapter Text

               TwoTime sprinted on the balls of their feet, weaving around the corners of Pirate Bay. They crouched down with their back to the wall; the shadows enveloping their form. Their smile, previously toothless and subtle, grew wider as they tightened their grip on the ritual dagger, preparing to make their move.

TwoTime’s muscles twitched in their tidal waves of anticipation. Their breathing was shallow and swift in their attempts to keep the secret of their ambush. They knew their pursuer was drawing closer, the crescendo of glitches and alarms proved it true. A hum—a giggle—escaped TwoTime’s larynx, pushed out by the breeze they generated as they released their growing tension lunged forwards.

               What occurred next was a grand meeting of blade and air—TwoTime had entirely missed their target, 1x1x1x1. They pulled their stainless dagger back in shock, fixing their posture in time for a sword to slice across their chest. Better than letting it bash their head in, they supposed. TwoTime sucked their teeth in pain, spinning on their heel and scurrying away.

…

               By the time TwoTime had without a doubt shaken the adversary off their tail, they were left destitute. The damage 1x1x1x1 had done left them with little-to-no hope of a second life, the Spawn symbol branded on their chest cleaved in half and stained crimson by its wearer’s blood. Their heart pounded, stimulating their alertness like the beat of a war drum. Another encounter would surely spell their damnation; they could not afford another mistake.

Unless they were to be blessed with healing, that is.

               A med-kit may be the easiest to procure, but it would be selfish of them to take such a valuable item for themselves; wouldn’t it? Perhaps, despite the risk, they could try to stab the killer once more… That should only be a last resort. It’d be much more strategic to preserve their energy for another chase.

               That left one other option: the pizza boy. A moving target, yes, but not one hard to locate. As unflattering as that uniform was, the contrast it created with Elliot’s yellow skin made him easy to track down. For better or for worse… usually worse.

…

               Elliot’s round hadn’t started on a high note either. His previously mentioned appearance and healing ability meant that he was, usually, the killer’s number one target. He’s hunted down first so many times now—he could even say he was used to it (Well, as used to getting chased and slaughtered like a prey animal as one could get, anyway). He liked helping people, he really did, but surely it isn’t too much to ask for that he isn’t gored and gutted just for doing his job! He rubbed his eyes, trying to get himself to focus. There wasn’t any use in complaining, he told himself. These were just the cards he was dealt.

               His injuries were standard for this place: Lacerations on his back and arms, a puncture wound from when 1x1x1x1 had caught him off-guard with Entanglement, and the weird corruption(?) that made the wounds writhe and twitch as if his skin was trying to upheave itself from his body. As awful as it felt, he’d seen and sustained worse before. Elliot recalled, with an odd sort of fondness, the time Chance’s eye had become dislodged from its socket after their flintlock misfired. Things like that just sort of became… normal after a while.

               Elliot’s daydreams were interrupted by a faint tap on his shoulder. He yelped, noticeably startled when he turned around to have a med-kit thrust up towards his face.

               “You seem like you could use this.” TwoTime wasn’t someone Elliot talked to often. They seemed nice, always making sure to thank Elliot when they got healed. They’d also… bless him? It was kind of weird, since he didn’t know what religion they followed, but it didn’t seem malicious. He wasn’t really religious himself, though.

               “Oh, uhm.” He took the med-kit by the handle. “Thanks! But, uh, you don’t really… look too good yourself.” Elliot smiled, returning the favor with a slice of pizza. TwoTime gladly accepted the gift, murmuring something about ‘the Spawn’ between ravenous bites.

               Even if they didn’t chat that much, Elliot found there was something endearing about them and the way they conducted themselves. TwoTime looked sort of, well, wild: messy hair, thin frame, the way they could eat a slice of pizza in like, three bites. He reached up without thinking, using his thumb to rub away at the tomato sauce that remained at the corner of their mouth.

               “You’ve really gotta slow down sometimes, dude,” He laughed. “You’re always eating like you’ve been stranded in a desert for 2 weeks!” Their eyes were looking at his hand now, making him realize how this could look. His eyes widened in embarrassment. “Oh—shit, my bad! Sorry!” He cursed himself internally, lowering his head and praying to any sort of ‘God’ they weren’t weirded out.

               TwoTime kept looking at Elliot’s hand, even as it went back to dangling at his side. They were obviously thinking about how weird he was being! It was over—all over—for him! Where’d this even come from? He had to avoid them for the rest of his life now! He—

               “It’s… okay.” They leaned down, forcing him to make eye contact. “Thank you for your concern. It’s very sweet of you.” They grabbed his hand, rubbing the webbing between his pointer finger and thumb. This is really weird. But at least they weren’t upset!

               Elliot continued having mixed feelings as TwoTime pulled him in closer, dragging them both to sit down against a wall. But when they asked him if this was okay, if this wasn’t too sudden, he didn’t pry himself away. Running and dying was so exhausting, this was a welcome change of pace—for both of them.

               He didn’t mind letting them dress his wounds for him, or watching their slender fingers wrap bandages around his arm. It was nice, even—listening to TwoTime mumble something drowsily, feeling his heart skip a beat when they pressed their ear to his chest. Elliot ran his fingers through their hair, apologizing when they got caught in one of many tangles.

               They slowly pressed their whole body weight onto him, forcing him to lie down as well. Skinny or not, they were still pretty heavy, so Elliot couldn’t get out even if he tried (not that he wanted to, though). He started to rub their back like it was second nature, taking note of the small nubs between their shoulder blades that (he presumed) sprouted wings once TwoTime received their second life. Elliot wasn’t sure how having those would feel, but he assumed they’d probably be sensitive. He decided to take extra care in making sure he wasn’t pressing too hard on them, being rewarded with a content hum and absent-minded kisses to his collarbone.

               He felt warm and fuzzy, which were two things he really shouldn’t be feeling in the middle of a match. They both still had teammates to support, after all… He’d really get an earful for slacking off like this.

Oh, who cares? They can have this. Sue them.