#I know you're coming from AO3
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
jackleg-penwright Ā· 1 year ago
Text
Universal Translator head-canon
In case youā€™re actually coming to this post because you like my Tumblr, instead of coming from the AO3 link in my fic, I should probably mention that Iā€™m kind of hijacking my account here in order to break down some of the quite frankly ridiculous amounts of worldbuilding that goes into the stuff Iā€™m starting to write. Iā€™m autistic, which in my case means that I was the kid who sorted her legos for hours (by color, by width, by length etc) and never did get around to building anything. For me, the worldbuilding is the fun part, while writing the story is the work (though I do hope Iā€™m pretty decent at it too, or at least getting better).Ā 
I donā€™t want to put the worldbuilding itself into the fics, that would just distract from the story (my acting teachers would always say, never act your homework. When youā€™re on stage/camera, you have to be in the moment) - but just in case youā€™re curious, or if you want to use my aliens in your fics, or if youā€™re just a nerd like me who loves sorting details for their own sake, here it is.
This one is my head-canon for how the Universal Translator works.Ā 
Well, actually I donā€™t have any idea how it works - do you hear a real-time voice in your head translating, does a text-based translation pop up in your field of vision, does your brain just know what they mean? Not a clue.
But what I do figure is that you can choose how itā€™s translated - both for words, and for numbers and systems.
There are a number of levels that are preset for you to choose.
Thereā€™s translate everything, where everything you hear is turned into the closest approximation that you would understand. If someone said ā€œpara mi es chino,ā€ you would hear ā€œitā€™s all Greek to me,ā€ even though the Spanish version actually references Chinese. Idioms are converted to the closest with a similar meaning.
Then thereā€™s the level where you get the meanings at the level of phrases and expressions, but idioms are left intact. So if someone said ā€œme gusta pasta,ā€ you would hear ā€œI like pasta," but if they said "para mi es chino," you'd hear "for me, it's Chinese" instead of the closest English idiom.
At the next level down, you would instead hear ā€œpasta is pleasing to me.ā€ The literal meaning of the words is preserved, although the word order is rearranged to make the most sense grammatically.
Thatā€™s probably as minimalist a translation as anyone whoā€™s interested in the unique beauty of a language would choose to go, and thatā€™s the most minimalist of the pre-sets available.Ā Ā 
If you actually want to LEARN the other language, then youā€™ll switch to manual settings. Ok, thereā€™s one more pre-set, which is the ā€œvocabulary onlyā€ setting. Every word is translated literally, and left in the exact order of the other language. So if someone said ā€œme gusta pasta,ā€ you would hear ā€œto me, pleases pasta.ā€Ā 
From the vocabulary-only setting, you can manually adjust all sorts of things - you can set specific words or phrases to be entirely untranslated whenever you hear them, you can have a literal translation but use the native-speakerā€™s original prefixes or suffixes. You can have the parts-of-speech information thatā€™s embedded in the grammar be added to the translation (so ā€œme gusta pastaā€ might include information like reflexive verb first person singular etc). The skyā€™s kind of the limit with the manual settings - you can even take a preset level and modify it so that you hear the native suffixes to your own words (which I suspect is where fan-terms like ā€œfederajiā€ come from).Ā 
My headcanon is that when they recorded the episodes, there is a universal translator embedded in the recording equipment, and which settings it is on is chosen by the director for the purposes of his or her artistic vision for the episode. Thatā€™s why we hear Klingons speaking English - except when we donā€™t.Ā 
Thereā€™s a whole other set of settings when it comes to numbers and units of measurement etc, which I may or may not get to in another note. For now, suffice it to say that the settings that both Garak and Julian use translate numbers automatically, but leave the units untranslated. So if I had those settings, and I were to travel from the US to the UK and hear people talking about a heat wave of 39 degrees, my translator would not automatically translate the centigrade to the 102.2 degrees fahrenheit Iā€™d be able to picture - Iā€™d hear 39 degrees and have to learn just how hot that actually is.Ā 
I think, as xenophiles, both Julian and Garak would find that appealing.
16 notes Ā· View notes
finemealprompt Ā· 5 months ago
Text
DP x DC Prompt #88
Superman didnā€™t know how to handle having a clone. He was fighting the urge to get close to Kon, guide him in a way no one had been able to Clark, with feeling violated every time he saw the boy. He didnā€™t want to hate Kon, but he didnā€™t know how to balance his own emotions.Ā 
When Clark admits this to Batman, he suggests someone who can help: Phantom. Dani Phantom.
227 notes Ā· View notes
crownedwille Ā· 4 months ago
Text
.
#some thoughts incoming idk if i should share but i need to put them somewhere#it's hard being in the yr fandom since the finale when you don't share the same vision and opinion as the rest#and people make future wilmon posts or write post s3 fics (which many exist now) they just don't align with your idea at all#and they're not exciting to me at all and the whole concept just makes me upset#i don't wanna imagine Wille as a 'normal' person (not that that's ever possible anyway which the show loves to ignore)#like I'm sorry but i didn't come to the show to watch an ordinary love story and have them lead an ordinary life#the idea of Wille being a future king and them navigating that royal life together is so much more interesting#i hate that that isn't canon anymore and when ppl make posts about them it's not about that or that would only be seen as a negative thing#i don't wanna imagine a life where they are 'normal' that isn't appealing to me at all and it sucks seeing everyone embrace it#and it's like you're not allowed to want something else or think differently bc that makes you the bad person and you're just wrong#i can't be excited about their future (also bc i don't really see them going strong in the future with how they messed them up in s3)#(i also didn't want to know what could possibly happen in the future i wanted that to stay open and just be in the present)#and seeing everyone else excited and happy about it makes you feel horrible and very alone and disconnected in the fandom#i don't wanna take it away from them but i also would love to see other takes but that's basically impossible now#am i the only person who feels this way or are there any other who can relate? pls let me know#i already feel like ppl are gonna attack me for this but it's been hard especially now with Simon's month and seeing so many interpretation#navigating ao3 has also become difficult now#it's hard finding fics to read where wille stays crown prince and you don't have to be scared for that to change#i just can't read any canon compliant fics anymore and i hate it bc i hate to disagree with canon#i normally don't do that bc canon is important to me and i don't want to reject it and create my own fantasy#and that's what's upsetting#anyway sorry i had to write this#personal
25 notes Ā· View notes
lollipopsie Ā· 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
going crazy. goobbye.
23 notes Ā· View notes
batsplat Ā· 4 months ago
Note
your negative takes on recent tennis rivalries pleaseeeešŸ™šŸ™šŸ™
ps. youā€™re a treasure
okay so I'll do the copy paste thing from what I did just cut from the initial post, which was my polite 'I'm attempting to write a reasonably neutral post' approach
so, this may come as a shock, but obviously I'm a bit of a fan of rivalries. we do have some bangers in tennis history, rich narrative texts, but... well. the landscape out there hasn't been great for the past decade or so. sometimes you can get invested in match-ups between specific players that are fun to watch and interesting tennis-wise, but it's all very much about the sport rather than the personal relationships between the different players. I enjoy matches between all three or ryba, sabs and iga!! but also. they are coworkers. you do kindaaaa get the sense sabs and iga aren't particularly fond of each of other, but it's all perfectly cordial. again, the tennis is great, I support them in all their endeavours, but it's very much the tennis itself you need to look for for the drama (also they don't play each other as much as I'd like, but that's a conversation for a different day)
you do still sometimes get some fun beef but it's very much isolated dumb stuff like the fritz/rinderknech "have a nice flight home" thing. this isn't going anywhere story-wise but it's fun in the moment
speaking of men. obviously the most important rivalries for the last however many years have been between various big three/four members, and federer/nadal specifically is extremely popular. tennis-wise, I still think federer/djokovic was the most fun match-up, and at least there was a little tension there because federer used to hate djokovic. they've played a lot of matches that are worth watching!! also they've finally mostly retired so it's not super relevant any more, but well tennis fans as a collective are very big three-pilled so you'll hear a lot about these blokes
and now there's alcaraz/sinner. they've only really had one match that was good start to finish (uso 2022), but definitely some fun ones (miami 2023 and wimbledon 2022 are probably the other ones that stand out, their most recent match was very much in the 'long does not equal good' category). plus, they're quite good at producing highlight reel content, like this one point everyone remembers (shown here from every angle... tennistv produces longer videos for single points than the wta releases for most finals). it's an interpersonally warm rivalry between two young guys who are both very successful and will presumably win everything for the next decade. again, I'd suggest trying to become a fan of one of those two
this was the polite way of phrasing it!! everything below here is quite rude and negative, peace and love to all
okay, let's ditch the thin veneer of neutrality, here's what I actually think: it is completely baffling to me how popular quite a few of these rivalries are, I don't get it, I have never understood it, I will never understand it. tennis went 'what if we had rivalries without narrative tension' and everyone just kinda rolled with that? mind you federer/nadal early confrontations were happening at the same time as clijsters/henin, who were like?? dude it got so bad henin said she had never been friends with clijsters so nothing clijsters and her father said could hurt her ("nothing was broken between us because there was nothing to break" ???? ffs). which is obviously not true!! but it's so... she denied the friendship ever existed and called it all pr like that's so SAD! look, this is beside the point, I'm not talking about henin/clijsters here, I do understand why people aren't that into a rivalry that was at its peak like two decades ago and federer/nadal were still playing slam finals in 2k17 (a dark dark time for some fans, federer had already HAD his decline and then he was suddenly winning slams again like tf). and to some extent I go 'well clearly people will just be into anything if you have two successful blokes' but there's clearly quite a lot of genuine passion there? like I'm not denying the passion EXISTS, people do clearly care about these guys, it's not all a psyop by Big Fedal who have suckered people into caring for these two dudes. and I'm not denying the tennis is great! I still personally prefer the match-ups that involve djokovic, and also the match-ups that involve none of those three, but fundamentally I have been watching these matches for like!! so many years! it's part of my childhood, I have enjoyed plenty of these matches, the tennis is obviously otherworldly. I have hot takes on a bunch of their matches, I can have the goat debate with you, I can give you the rundown on surface-specific match-ups and how long since nadal won a set on hard court against djokovic and federer's peak year domination rate and what they all did at madrid and blue clay and yec and golden masters and all that shit, of course it's part of my dna as a tennis viewer too!! I did usually have a slight order of preference in my head when I was watching big three match ups to have someone to root for (it's different now but back when I was a kid it was djokovic > nadal > federer, these days federer's redeemed himself a little bit in my eyes by having the decency to retire and I was radicalised against nadal). but like!! what's the narrative hook! I need somebody to explain to me what the story here is. these guys are all very good at tennis and they are racking up their titles and it's so!! whatever!! no tension no arc no real interpersonal development once federer stopped being so bitchy about djokovic. twenty plus slams who CARES, what are they doing this for! it's all so?? ugh
anyway now that I've taken a potshot at the most popular rivalry in men's tennis, I should quickly back it up by saying I feel almost the exact same way about the second most popular one (at least on tumblr) and also feel nothing for alcaraz/sinner. that one was still like... vaguely palpable? when alcaraz was clearly a way better player but struggled in that match up and also was way more invested in the rivalry than sinner was. but well, sinner is world number one now so THAT'S been ruined. again, sit me down and explain to me what the narrative stakes here are. like, if sinner wins that roland garros match, he'll be fine? alcaraz will be fine? everyone will be fine? their relationship is basically 'friendly coworkers', zero chance of anything more substantial developing there. now, don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna pretend like I'm massively into the current state of the women's game when it comes to rivalries either, but at least I have a base level of fondness there for the top players and am ideologically inclined to hype up any rivalries there whenever they come along. also, quite frankly, it DOES matter viscerally more to them!! iga spends a lot of her time kinda like,,, on the edge, the way she was in tears when getting physio after the naomi match, united cup last year, a bunch of her 2021 matches, like she's so intense and so tightly strung on the court that you do really get the sense that a loss could just cause her to have an existential crisis. there's so many unanswered questions about her ultimate potential off clay, I'm still proper curious about her story develops. and then with aryna, she's obviously ALSO so intense but in a different way, and she feels every single emotion so completely and entirely and iga has beaten her in one of those infamous semifinal chokes and it's kinda... you know, aryna also feels like she has something to prove, and you can tell they both really really want to beat each other. there's something there!! it's something real! I'm always seated whenever we actually get to see them play
that being said, yes, obviously I do think we're not exactly peak rivalry potential in either gender. the men's is more egregious because the way the game has shaken out since like,,,, 2004, is incredible top level domination by just a few guys. and now, yes, I'm aware I'm a fan of another sport where this was also incredibly true. but. the key difference is that the aliens had the decency to not be so fucking boring about it. sure on paper they were as a PACK winning everything, but good lord were they screaming crying throwing up whenever things went mildly wrong for them. like!! they despised each other and they needed to beat each other, which makes ME care!! I'm not saying I NEED rivals to hate each other, though it sure does help for my investment levels, but I need a narrative hook! borg/mcenroe had a narrative hook, evert/navratilova had a narrative hook (unfortunately that narrative hook these days is 'being united in transphobia'), agassi/sampras had one HELL of a narrative hook. noughties wta tennis about fifty million narrative hooks!! when I watch alcaraz/sinner, I just try and enjoy the tennis (though their roland garros match was mid as shit so what's that all about) but like... I don't care? or I care because one of them has pissed me off recently. I do fundamentally watch most of men's tennis as a hater, and admittedly this is accumulated bitterness over way too many years, but I do also think it's frustrating! tennis gets in its own way with this whole gentleman's sport business, the amount of wanking people do over federer/nadal in particular is truly insufferable... this is a sport filled with millionaire tax evaders and they'll have you believe that smashing a racquet is not only not fun (obviously it is) but also some kind of arbiter of morality. congrats to nadal for not smashing a racquet in his career!! could we please get his thoughts on gender equality in prize money? oh... okay. hm. this isn't supposed to be some gotcha, these guys all suck. but ultimately I would prefer not to engage with this sanitising and pearl clutching, given they do all suck, over shit that fundamentally does not matter while giving them a pass over all the stuff that DOES and instead maybe just have some fun. maybe you need to be single-minded and kind of dull to be good at men's tennis these days, maybe it's inevitable, doesn't mean I don't find them boring and pointless. there's some people who just enjoy like,,, watching greatness, endlessly racking up numbers and reaching the pinnacle of the sport or whatever, that's not me, I need there to be a story
thing is, right, obviously I'll still watch these matches (though I have massively turned it down this year, especially on the men's side - I did have a kind of breaking point this january where I was like 'wow I don't think I can ever care about anything any more?' and broadly speaking this has proved to be correct). I've tried hard to like a lot of these men because, god knows, it'd be a way more pleasant experience if I could trick my brain into it, but I can't! I think they're dull! fundamentally I'm too embedded in this world to ever be able to leave it. but I think it's funny when fans go 'oh people who are into drama don't appreciate the actual sport' like buddy I can basically guarantee I know more about the sport than you do. I Just Think that actually interpersonal relationships do also enhance the actual sports, like this shit is a conversation right,,, it has its history, it's a development over time in terms of your tactics and your knowledge of your opponent's tactics and so on, your expectations going into every match. when you have an interesting interpersonal dynamic, the sport also becomes more interesting... it's actually pretty straightforward lol. a lot of tennis is in the head, rivalries are also in the head, you're playing the other guy (gender neutral) as much as you are the actual ball. I get super annoyed by fans who are too busy being nostalgic to actually enjoy the players we have now, and I really don't like it when people call iga boring for instance, but I do also have a little bit of that. love the game, hate a lot of the players, simple as. bring back agassi calling his pet parrot more interesting than sampras in his autobiography, we used to be a proper sport
5 notes Ā· View notes
1am-s0-veryt1red Ā· 8 months ago
Text
STOP MAKING "PLACEHOLDER FICS" ON AO3 FOR YOUR WORK IN PROGRESS. AO3 IS AN ARCHIVE. IT IS NOT A FYP. THERE IS NO "TAGGING FOR REACH". IT IS BY DATE AND TIME OR RELEVANCE.
WRITE WHAT YOURE GOING TO WRITE AND THEN POST IT. EDITING YOUR PLACEHOLDER DOES NOT PUT IT BACK ON THE FRONT PAGE.
4 notes Ā· View notes
freyjaprompts24 Ā· 1 year ago
Note
I'm sorry but my comments is generic and if that makes me look like a bot then I may as well stop. Because I do not have the mental capacity to think up something unique for every comment I write, or to try and recall what line I liked or something about a character. I just want to give the writer the added encouragement when I read, usually re-read and therefore can't leave kudos, but that is unwelcome now I guess.
Hi anon. I'm sorry you feel that way, but that's not what was said. You don't have to leave something unique for every comment you write! You don't have to try and recall anything complex if you can't! We're not expecting complete originality - of course not! And no comment is unwelcome. We just want to know you're not a bot.
What I said was, word for word:
Readers: if you comment like this usually, add in some identifying detail from the fic (a character name, a line you liked, the name of the fandom, etc.). Don't let this stop you from commenting, please!
What this means is:
Write the comment exactly the way you would normally. Then, if you want to, before you hit post, add in one identifying detail. Even by tacking it on the end, if you like.
(Pro tip: Ought always implies Can. What that means is, if something says 'do this' and your response is 'I can't', then that suggestion wasn't for you.)
Examples using modified versions of the comments from the original post:
Fantastic story! I couldn't stop reading it, and the character development was incredibly engaging, especially for [Crowley]. Bravo!
The way you describe the settings is incredibly vivid. I felt like I was right there with [Aziraphale and Anathema], experiencing everything. Fantastic writing!
The dialogue in this fic is so natural and true to the characters. It felt like I was eavesdropping on their conversations, especially the [dolphins] one. You've captured their voices perfectly.
Or alternatively, add one of these onto whatever you wrote otherwise:
(Not a bot, btw. Thanks for writing for the [Good Omens] fandom!)
My favourite line was "[pasted line you highlighted and copied while reading]".
The [Good Omens] fandom is so lucky to have you!
I love [Madame Tracy] so much!!!
(The bits in bold are my additions to the originals. You would just swap out the [bracketed] sections for the identifying detail relevant to the fic. Very minimal changes to the comments as they existed, but immediately more personal.)
That's it! That's all that was suggested.
Again, suggested. Sorry if you thought anything else, but this is fandom and everything you do here is completely up to you. This is advice! It's not compulsory! Not mandatory! Not essential! Just a nice idea to stop a writer from worrying that you're a bot and fearing that their fic was just scraped for an ai.
And I've said it before, but I'll say it again - if you don't have the energy for actual sentences, that's fine!! Emojis are a fantastic way of getting your emotions across, and the bots aren't using them yet. They also appear to be going for dictionary words, so keyboard smashes ("asdfghjkl") and extended screaming ("aaaaahhhhh oh my goddddd") are also great! As are "extra kudos" or "came back for a re-read, thank you again!" or "re-read number five, this fic is incredible" or whatever else. We're not expecting essays. (They're appreciated when they show up, of course! But never expected.) We just want to know there's a real person there.
Anon, I'm sorry you feel dispirited by my comment on that post. But I hope this makes it clear that you're not required to do anything at all if you really don't want to. It was just a simple idea to help someone out. I (and others in the notes on that post) thought it would just be a nice gesture to save an author from stress, if you can.
Please keep commenting. If you don't have the mental capacity to change what you're doing, then don't. But if you do, adding just a couple of words can make all the difference.
6 notes Ā· View notes
archaeren Ā· 5 months ago
Text
How I learned to write smarter, not harder
(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)
A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.
The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.
As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!
Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!
2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)
Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.
Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.
I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.
Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!
This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.
As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.
When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD
People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.
What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!
What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.
You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.
And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.
And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.
If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?
And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD
In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.
Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.
Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)
And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)
26K notes Ā· View notes
hauntedhopeghost Ā· 1 month ago
Note
been debating on what to say for longer than i've expected, going anon for this ( although i mayyy suspect you may already know who i am just by my writing style but- welp! xd ) ; if i say anything even remotely wrong, you are free to ignore this ask /gen
you're enough. i think one big step is learning you don't have to be enough for everyone else because it's impossible to do that. you can't please everyone, you can't not please everyone aswell ; 8 billion people in the world, it's almost destiny that atleast 100 of them will be bothered by your existence, and other 100 will not.
although, it's okay to feel that way. it's okay to feel like you have to please everyone, to feel like you have to make everyone happy, to feel worthless if that's not the case. it's okay and you're allowed to feel that way. you are not to blame for feelings that you cannot control.
i won't say i understand, but as a fellow people-pleaser, i can say that i can atleast get the feeling. and i want you to know that it's okay. feel free to open up, to be vulnerable, to cry, to feel worthless, to feel like you're not good enough, to feel like your entire existence is entitled to only making people happy - you're allowed to feel all of those things and more. that's okay.
embrace those feelings instead of shoving them away, be kind to yourself by allowing yourself to just feel. it's okay.
it's so easy to just say you're worth, but you're not gonna believe me if i say you are. so i ask you to say those things to yourself instead, and the multiple times you feel like that's just luck, or you're being a fraud ; that's when you know you're doing great. that's when you know you are worth much more than what that voice in your head tells you.
your worth as someone is much more than what your acchievements tells you ; accept yourself as someone who is allowed to feel, to mess up, to regret, to cry, to be successful, to be kind to oneself, to feel and be all of those things and more.
that can be quite hard to do, but look how far you've gotten. you're still here, aren't you? easier said than done, i know. and it won't get easy, not even one bit - but, and i mean it genuinely : you got this. you genuinely got this.
not sure what to say anymore, so i'm just gonna say that i'm here if you wanna talk. my dms are open for you , and i will be there to give my support to you just as much as i can.
<- sincerely, a moot.
...
hey. thanks. /gen
I'm surprised that you even bothered to write out the message. it's odd because I had a weird thought of "they'll just ignore it"/"I want someone to notice this."
I'm still here. Yeah. That is something.
(Holy shit you made me cry with this /gen /pos)
I think I've grown relatively desensitized to people caring about me (not because of them, but because I've truly forgotten what it's like to have someone actually comfort you, especially when said person barely knows you.) but I seriously, seriously appreciate people (like you!) that bother to send me messages like this.
it does help make things better. like- seriously.
(still somewhat in shock because why would anyone care about how I'm doing and take time out of their day to write or do anything for my sake?) but I want to say this did make me feel a lot better. not okay, but a lot better. /gen /pos
be kind to yourself. now hang on a minute didn't I write something literally about this-
oh. i guess i'm just not taking my own advice.
#ghost's smol ask box#ghost vents to the void#for the record: yeah. i do know who you are. most likely.#and i want to thank you. i know i did but thank you. thank you.#my blog is currently titled as ā€œimposter syndrome. stop coming in uninvited.ā€ and it sums it up pretty well#it would be so easy to just tell someone to stop. like snap your fingers and suddenly you can internalize the fact that#you are enough and you deserve everything#but it isn't as easy as just saying it to someone#it's so easy to judge people who have a depleted sense of self-worth from an outsiders perspective#and go: ā€œpsh- why is this person bending over backwards to please everyone? they are clearly good enough.ā€#ā€œall of the validation they could ever get is right there in front of them." (even if it's more complicated than that)#*cough cough*#i might not just be talking about me here. there's a certain someone who this also may or may not apply to (try and guess who)#problem is: even if the whole world tells you that you're good <- highly unlikely you'll still see yourself#as undeserving and worthless and everything inbetween#validation/approval addiction is very much a thing and even at the end of the day you KNOW you can't please everybody#you still try even though it's a lose-lose situation at the end.#oopsies i turned this into rambling lol currently trying to get back to writing on ao3 but i'm contemplating deleting all the things#people might not like or might be sick of.#...OH NO-#did the new episode teach me NOTHING šŸ˜­#but i'm being serious. this takes so long to try and untangle. especially when your entire life feels like to please people for your worth#maybe i'll write something about it. idk.#it's really hard to be kind to yourself. but I'm trying. /gen#i wish younger me can hear this. they seriously need this.
0 notes
tiny-space-platypus Ā· 3 months ago
Note
Do you have an ao3 account? Even if it is just for bullet point fic's I would love to read your stuff there.
I do not, might make one at some point tho. Probably going to if I keep making parts lol
1 note Ā· View note
jackleg-penwright Ā· 1 year ago
Text
Why six is an important number in Anzoni culture
Back on the subject of the ridiculous amount of math-based worldbuilding I ended up doing for a simple Star Trek: Deep Space 9 fanfiction, we get to the part that doesnā€™t really come up much all in this first fic. Because, with the number settings that both Garak and Julian keep their universal translators on, any numbers they hear are going to be automatically rendered in the base ten number system that is ubiquitous in the Federation. I donā€™t actually KNOW if Cardassians use base ten or not, but at the least as someone who does a lot of trade with multiple species and cultures, Garak is quite familiar with it. For that reason, the way that the Anzoni people THINK of numbers isnā€™t going to come up much in the main fic. But since sixes and twelves are really important numbers in Anzoni culture (hence the sixth anniversary being a big deal), I think itā€™s relevant enough to put this out there now.
--- --- ---
Because itā€™s really practical for mental math, the Anzoni number system is built around base twelve, which the universal translator calls dozenal. The base place values (each twelve times the previous place value) are ones, dozens (12), grosses (144), zengrosses (1728), grubbs (20736), tooks (248832), thags (2,985,984) and buches (35,831,808).Ā 
Ones, dozens and grosses are the actual English terms, a zengross is my coinage and comes from a dozen grosses, and the last four are from Bilboā€™s birthday party speech in The Fellowship of the Ring (book version), in which he mentions the number 144 and refers to it as a gross. Grubbs and Tooks are the family names of guests, and Thag and Buch come from his recounting the time in the Hobbit when, on his fiftieth birthday, he had a terrible cold was unable to say much beyond ā€œthag you very buch.ā€
In practical terms, this means that Anzoni people think of numbers in clusters of 12. We actually do that too, in the right contexts. So a carpenter might think of a window as being 54 inches across, but in their head, theyā€™re probably picturing it in terms of four and a half feet. If your tape measure reads 306 inches, youā€™re probably more interested in the side that says 25 feet 6 inches.Ā 
Iā€™m not going to get into the details of how to translate back and forth between dozenal and base ten, because if youā€™re mathy enough to follow it, youā€™re probably mathy enough to either already know, or interested enough to google it and learn how from someone whoā€™s a lot better at explaining than I am.Ā 
A side effect of using base twelve instead of base ten, the Anzoni people are all really comfortable with mental math (when youā€™re just dividing things into fractions of half and third and variations thereof, itā€™s much easier to make a picture of what youā€™re working on, so itā€™s easier to hold numbers in your head long enough to manipulate them at will). While they recognize that other species often have a hard time sorting out numbers in their heads, the skill is so ubiquitous that NOT being good at it is as puzzling as someone being illiterate is in our culture. So theyā€™re always amused at aliens who get lost on the simplest of sums.
5 notes Ā· View notes
whumptober Ā· 3 months ago
Text
WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Welcome to Whumptober 2024 ā€” Seventh Time's a Charm!
Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This yearā€™s AO3 Collection can be found here.
This year's playlist can be found here.
The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.
And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.
Weā€™re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2024 Prompt List
No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.ā€ (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)
No. 2: TRUST ISSUES
Amusement Park | Role Reversal | ā€œYou got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.ā€ (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)
No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE
Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."
No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS
Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | ā€œYou're still alive in my head.ā€ (Billy Lockett, More)
No. 5: SUNBURN
Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)
No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."
No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES
Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."
No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION
Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)
No. 9: OBSESSION
Broken Window | Bruises | ā€œFrame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.ā€ (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)
No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD
Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."
No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE
Convenience Store | Loneliness | ā€œLeave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.ā€ (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)
No. 12: STARVATION
Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."
No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY
Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)
No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD
Hunting Gear | Blackmail | ā€œBecause I want you to know what it feels like to be hauntedā€ (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)
No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA
Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"
No. 16: NECROSIS
Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."
No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO
Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."
No. 18: REVENGE
Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | ā€œI see what's mine and take it.ā€ (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)
No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL
Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)
No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST
Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."
No. 21: BODY HORROR
Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | ā€œLet the bedsheet soak up the tears.ā€ (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)
No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES
Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."
No. 23: FORCED CHOICE
Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."
No. 24: RADIATION POISONING
Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | ā€œI never knew daylight could be so violent.ā€ (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)
No. 25: SURGERY
Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."
No. 26: NIGHTMARES
Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | ā€œI'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.ā€ (Poe, Haunted)
No. 27: VOICELESS
Laboratory | Muzzled | ā€œI have no mouth and I must scream.ā€
No. 28: DENIAL
CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."
No. 29: FATIGUE
Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"
No. 30: RECOVERY
Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"
No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP
Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)
Alternatives List:
Body Swap
Communication Barrier
Finding Old Messages
Forgotten
Friendly Fire
Motion Sickness
No-Holds-Barred Beatdown
Regret
Secrets Revealed
Shivering
Survivor's Guilt
Time Loop
Used As Bait
Venom
Vermin
Event Info & Rules
WHUMPTOBERĀ is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There areĀ 31 official themesĀ this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way youā€™d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you donā€™t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is ā€œflame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ā€˜old flameā€™ - an old relationship. Itā€™s truly down to you!
In total, there areĀ 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.Ā  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.
Creators canĀ PRODUCEĀ work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators canĀ PARTICIPATEĀ as much or as little as they want (i.e. you donā€™t have to do ALL the prompts if you donā€™t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:
#whumptober2024 ā€¦..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, ā€¦..(theme number)
#bruises, #stabbing, ā€¦..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#altprompt ā€¦..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)
#fandom or #OC, ā€¦..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)
#medium ā€¦..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #etc ā€¦..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add ā€œtwā€ in front but only use the word/trigger itself)
#nsfwhump ā€¦..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the officialĀ @whumptober-archiveĀ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.Ā An elaborate post about our tagging system can be foundĀ [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are consideredĀ event completionistsĀ and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.
Frequently Asked Questions
Please read this before you send an ask!
TIMELINE
July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. Itā€™s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.
PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION
Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this yearā€™s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? Weā€™ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And youā€™re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if youā€™re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, itā€™s okay if that fic isnā€™t finished by the time October ends, youā€™ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though itā€™s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
PROMPTS
Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you donā€™t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a characterā€™s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as youā€™d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you donā€™t have to produce 31 separate works.
WORKS
Q: Whatā€™s whump? Hurting a character, whether thatā€™s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if itā€™s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic ā€œwhumpee,ā€ OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything weā€™re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, itā€™s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.
POSTING
Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You donā€™t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if itā€™s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldnā€™t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We wonā€™t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a dayā€™s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. Weā€™ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, thatā€™s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! Weā€™ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (donā€™t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).
Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!
9K notes Ā· View notes
tvntheatre Ā· 10 days ago
Text
Hey author, did you really have to punch me in the heart like that?
And do it again? And again? In fact, tore my soul apart by the seams.
Y'know what, just entirely incinerate me won'tcha?ā€” annnd I'm outta tags. Aw dang it.
And JESUS the artwork for this, Gods./pos
Tumblr media
A picture is a moment in time captured forever - A reminder of the key events in your life, preserved for eternity. As you gaze into the past, you might even feel like you can reach through the frame and pull those feelings, those events, those people back into the present.
Thanks to The Second Coming, this feeling becomes reality for Mango, giving him a second change he'd never thought possible. Together with Purple and his past self, he may be able to change fate and have his whole family together. Of course, things are never that easy. Especially when the sins of the past still hang heavy over his head.
------------------
With a single click, the moment was captured forever.
Mangoā€™s kid, his shimmering Gold, grinned brightly at the lens from her spot on top of the podium, arms stretched up to triumphantly display her silver trophy. Sheā€™d been disappointed to have lost the final round of the tournament, of course, but the young stick had always rebounded quickly. Sheā€™d wiped her eyes, offered a handshake to the kindly Ruby kid whoā€™d won, and accepted her place on the second highest podium with victorious pride.
The picture Mango took was glorious; not quite as precious as the real sight of his childā€™s accomplishment, but it would serve as a fond reminder. A window back on this precious day for years to come, even long after his child was grown and far from his side. A wistfulness grew in the tall stickā€™s chest at the thought. The day heā€™d be without his child was still a long ways away, but he knew heā€™d never be prepared for Goldā€™s inevitable departure from the nest and into the greater world. He couldnā€™t even begin to imagine a life without her.
ā€œWoohoo!ā€ The excited proclamation broke the older stick from his thoughts, looking down at his child just in time to see Gold kick open the front door of their abode. A broad, excited grin stretched from cheek to cheek across her face, illuminating the room like the little ray of sunshine she was. The trophy in her hands was thrust up into the air above her head as Gold continued to cheer, exclaiming wordlessly in her zealous excitement.
Mango took a moment to chuckle at his childā€™s antics before switching into dad mode to parent her out of this sudden hyperactive state, setting his camera aside for the moment to focus entirely on the present Gold. ā€œEasy there, honey.ā€ He gently scolded, taking the trophy into his own arms. It wasnā€™t particularly large, only about as long as Mangoā€™s forearm, but it was more than heavy enough to break something if Gold got overexcited and began swinging it around. ā€œLetā€™s put this somewhere we can show it off, eh?ā€
As he spoke, Mango hoisted the trophy onto the nearby bookshelf, where the sunlight from the window caused the metal to sparkle. It stood tall and proud, glittering silver standing out against the more earthy tones of their living room.
ā€œOkay, okay!ā€ The young stick agreed, a bubbly laugh mixed in with her words. She bounced on her heels as she gazed up at the silver trophy. ā€œBut Iā€™m not stopping here! Next tournamentā€™s in six months, and this time-ā€ Her first pumped excitedly in the air, ā€œ-Goldā€™s going for the gold! Youā€™re gonna be so proud!ā€
ā€œIā€™m already proud!ā€ Mango insisted joyfully, delighting in Goldā€™s squeal as he scooped his kid into a firm embrace and spun them around, ā€œYou worked so hard for this, Iā€™d be proud even if you got last place!ā€
Goldā€™s only response to Mangoā€™s praise was to continue to laugh, pretending to struggle in his hold while reveling in the twirling motions. He brought them down slowly, gently, only releasing her when her feet touched the ground. She bolted from his hold as soon as she could, little firecracker that she was. How Gold could still have so much energy after a fifteen-round tournament was beyond Mangoā€™s comprehension. Just watching that final round had made Mango tired.
But still, he kept his chin up as he informed the younger stick, ā€œAfter all that hard work today, I think itā€™s only fair that I let you choose dinner tonight. You can have anything you want-ā€
ā€œSecret ingredient pie!ā€ Gold cheered, throwing her arms up in celebration.
Mango frowned, annoyed for more reasons than that heā€™d have to throw together the family-famous, overly complicated secret ingredient pie. ā€œ-Anything you want thatā€™s an actual dinner food.ā€ He amended. ā€œIā€™ll make the pie for dessert later, but you need to eat real food too, honey.ā€
ā€œAww.ā€ Gold groaned, momentarily put out, before springing right back up. ā€œTacos, then?ā€
ā€œTacos sound good.ā€ Agreed Mango, already compiling a list of ingredients in his head. ā€œIā€™ll need to grab a few things from the store, but that shouldnā€™t take too long-ā€
ā€œWait!ā€
Mango had not taken but three steps towards the door when his childā€™s call caused him to spin around. She barreled towards him, the discarded camera clutched in her hands, and her skid to a stop came a few seconds too late, resulting in Mango having to reach out and steady her before she bowled him over. Gold didnā€™t miss a beat, immediately hopping back and holding out the camera for her father to take.
ā€œWe gotta take one more picture!ā€ The younger stick insisted, ā€œYou took like a million pictures of me at the tournament, but we donā€™t have any of us together!ā€
Taking the camera, Mango briefly flicked through the photos and found that Gold was right: though he had taken plenty of her preparing for the tournament, at least one from each match, and had those perfect, precious shots of Goldā€™s triumphant smile at the podiums, there were none of the two together. Of course there werenā€™t. This was Goldā€™s special moment, Goldā€™s time to shine, and the fact that her only complaint of the day (besides no pie for dinner, which was just typical kid nonsense) was that her dad wasnā€™t sharing in this victory with her wasā€¦ just so Gold.
How a stick like him ended up with a kid like her heā€™d never know.
ā€œSo we donā€™t!ā€ Mango agreed lightheartedly, playfully tussling the kidā€™s hair. ā€œGo get your trophy, weā€™ll take one real quick before I head out.ā€
While she did just that, Mango took the time to adjust the settings on the camera so the indoor photos wouldnā€™t be too dark to see. Mango heard her thundering footsteps approach before he was ready to look up. Gold, the little rascal that she was, pressed the cold metal of her trophy into the side of Mangoā€™s face as she whined at him to hurry it up. Mango chuckled at her, chiding her gently even as he obeyed her request.
His arm outstretched to put some space between them and the camera, Mango alerted his child he was ready with a simple, ā€œSay cheese!ā€
Trophy held high above her head, Gold cheekily replied, ā€œMascarpone!ā€
A click, a flash, and the moment was captured forever.
Gold snatched the camera out of Mangoā€™s hand before he could move it back, trophy quickly discarded on the ground, and the older stick could only shake his head in response to her overeager antics. Her bright smile shined brilliantly as she gazed down at the photo, but in the span of a few seconds it grew duller and duller, until her smile transformed into a confused frown and her eyes reflected apprehension.
As a father, Mango was well aware that he had a weakness for his childā€™s frown. Logically he knew that he couldnā€™t just magically make everything in her life all sunshine and rainbows all the time. That just wasnā€™t realistic. But knowing this didnā€™t stop the curdling in his stomach at the thought that something in her life just wasnā€™t perfect, or the urge to fix it, no matter what it took.
ā€œHoney?ā€ He asked gently, ā€œWhatā€™s the matter? Did the photo not come out right?ā€ He leaned over her shoulder to take a look himself.
Gold didnā€™t resist, tilting the camera so her father could see the picture. ā€œThereā€™s something else in the background. I thought it might be a smudge, butā€¦ it has eyesā€¦ā€
Tumblr media
Mango didnā€™t need his child to point out the problem with the picture ā€“ he could easily see it for himself. At first glance it did indeed look like a bit of grime had gotten on the cameraā€™s lens, but a closer look indicated that this wasnā€™t the case. The top of the figure looked like a stick, with a hollowed out head and brilliant emerald eyes, but the bottom half was more distorted, like a number of monstrous limbs sprouting out from their body in distorted blobs of flesh. Locking eyes with the figure caused Mangoā€™s entire body to stiffen.
It was like it wasā€¦ staring at him through the camera.
Unease stole the breath from Mangoā€™s lungs, leaving him unable to vocalize his confusion. There was nothing like thatā€¦ thing in their home. He was certain there wasnā€™t, even before he whipped his head around to stare at the spot in their kitchen where the figure would have been. Of course there was nothing there, just the scratched up kitchen table standing where it always did.
Now Mangoā€™s expression matched his childā€™s confusion, ā€œWhat is that-?
A strange noise, like the distorted buzzing of television static, drew the tall stickā€™s attention back to the photo. Mangoā€™s breath stilled again, for an entirely different reason this time. The figure had moved. Its arm was stretched out towards them, hand open as if inviting the two sticks to take it, to pull them into that picturesque world with it and remain in that moment of time.
A chill ran down Mangoā€™s spine. ā€œDelete the picture. Now.ā€
The sudden command ā€“ or maybe the unnaturally stern tone in which it fell from Mangoā€™s lips ā€“ caused Gold to jump, briefly fumbling with the camera as her little fingers search desperately for the delete button. When Mangoā€™s eyes connected again with the picture, he could feel his heart stop as the ghostly imageā€™s eyes seemed to glow brighter, its hand extending to grab rather than invite. Goldā€™s fingers found the delete button, but one tap did nothing. The second tap did nothing. Third, fourth, fifthā€¦ Gold mashed the button repeatedly, but the picture remained, the figure remained, the emerald illumination of its eyes growing brighter and brighter, closer and closer-
ā€œItā€™s not working!ā€ Goldā€™s obvious panic jolted Mangoā€™s brain back into place and jump-started his fight-or-flight instinct. He snatched the camera out of her hand, noting how the glow of those eyes seemed to have reached the other side of the cameraā€™s screen, threatening to melt through the frozen image and into reality. The only thing Mango could think to do was hurl the camera as far as he could and put himself between that ghoul and his kid, holding her close so that every inch of her was protected from the green light that had finally broken free of its glass prison. The emerald beam engulfed them both, expanding to completely swallow the father-child duo without even a second for them to move out of its way.
Then, in a flash, the green light vanished. All that remained of the Ochre family was a camera, cracked and abandoned on the floor of their small home.
-------------------
ā€œ-And weā€™ll finish this off with some fresh basil on top. Then, voila! The perfect lasagna!ā€ Mango concluded, sprinkling the green leaves atop the lasagna with a touch of dramatic flair. Purple, predictably, was enraptured by the showmanship, their eyes alight with enchantment as they clung to his every word. It was always like this with them, though ā€“ whether it be cooking or fishing or whatever hobby of the week Purple had picked up, the kid would drag him through all of it with those same warm eyes, like the ā€˜Old Manā€™, as they oh so affectionately called him, could do no wrong. It melted Mangoā€™s heart, and heā€™d often wonder if Purple was doing this to him on purpose.
He wasnā€™t the same stick heā€™d been on the day heā€™d lost his child, and heā€™d never be again, but slowly, surely, Purple was helping Mango grow into somebody new. That was a debt heā€™d never be able to repay.
Purple hummed over the meal, inspecting it exaggerated scrutiny. ā€œNot bad, not badā€¦ā€ They agreed, nodding in approval, ā€œBut itā€™s missing a little somethingā€¦ā€
ā€œOh?ā€ Mango cocked a brow at the younger stick. Knowing Purple, this could be a pleasant surprise worthy of a Michelin star restaurant, or the grossest thing heā€™d ever put in his mouth. Never in his life did Mango think heā€™d become a gambling man, and yet, here he was.
ā€œYeah, I think it could use a littleā€¦ā€ Purple quickly whipped a white bottle from behind their back. A wild grin spread across their face as they held it precariously over tonightā€™s dinner, ā€œMAYONNAISE!ā€
ā€œNO!ā€ Mango yelled back. He reached out to snatch the squeeze bottle, moving just slow enough for Purple to yoink it back with ease.
Vicious cackles fell from Purpleā€™s lips. ā€œIā€™m kidding! Iā€™m kidding!ā€ They assured him between chortles. The kid laughed like a jackal, far louder and scratchier than Goldā€™s delicate giggles, but Mango still found it charming all the same. So much so that it took actual effort to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.
ā€œYouā€™d better be.ā€ Mango warned with faux gruffness in his tone. ā€œYouā€™re enough of a heathen as it is. Thereā€™s only so much blasphemy one stick can take in his own home.ā€
ā€œHmph.ā€ Purple huffed dismissively at him, the effect somewhat diminished by the wide grin they couldnā€™t keep off their face. ā€œIf you ask me, you donā€™t blaspheme enough. Still,ā€ A subtle change in Purpleā€™s demeanor signaled the end of the game. Mango let himself relax and lean against the counter, confident that Purple wouldnā€™t destroy their dinner now that theyā€™ve had their fun, ā€œwe havenā€™t even put this in the oven yet, and it looks incredible! I didnā€™t realize cooking was so much fun!ā€
Honestly, neither had Mango, before Goldā€™s presence had forced him to make the jump from an all-instant food diet to cooking from scratch. ā€œItā€™s quite relaxing.ā€ Mango agreed. ā€œIf youā€™re interested, I can teach you to make all sorts of new stuff.ā€
ā€œOh?ā€ Purple glanced at him from the corner of their eye before looking down and beginning to play with the hem of their shirt, which Mango had quickly come to learn was something the kid did when they were nervous. It happened more or less whenever they tried to ask him for something, which just about broke Mangoā€™s heart. ā€œThen maybeā€¦ maybe you could teach me how to make your secret ingredient pie?ā€
Mango tried not to wince, but couldnā€™t help the sudden stiffening of his shoulders. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted from Purple to the picture hung beside them; The day of his last tournament, with the luster of Goldā€™s second place trophy being completely out-shined by her smile as she playfully pushed the trophy into her fatherā€™s face.
There were more differences between Purple and Gold than Mango could possibly count, but every day he seemed to find just as many similarities. One of which was their shared love for that confounded secret ingredient pie. It wasā€¦ fine, as far as pies went. Sweet and soft, with a hint of tartness. Nothing you couldnā€™t get from any bakery standard fruit pie, and certainly not good enough to warrant the ridiculously complicated recipe that had been passed down through the generations of the Ochre family. And yet, somehow Mango had managed to end up with not one, but two kids who absolutely adored the taste of the stupid treat.
For every special occasion, little Gold would trail at his fatherā€™s heels and tug at his pants, begging to lick the spoon or mix the filling. With age Goldā€™s interest in the pie hadnā€™t wavered, begging time after time for her dad to teach him the recipe. But it was always such a pain, so Mango put it off. Not right now, heā€™d say. Iā€™ll do it later. Maybe next time, again and again, and thenā€¦
And then Gold was gone. There would be no more ā€˜next timeā€™.
Some part of Mango recognized that this was a chance to make up for his mistake, to knock away one of the many regrets he carried on his shoulders, and yetā€¦
ā€œWell, itā€™sā€¦ a bit much for your first time baking.ā€ Mango waved away Purpleā€™s request with a too wide smile. His cheeks hurt from forcing his grin so large. ā€œWhy donā€™t we start with something simplerā€¦ like cupcakes?ā€
Purple deflated a little, but much like Gold before them, they bounced back quickly, matching his fake smile with a sincere, if mildly sad one. ā€œI do like cupcakesā€¦ā€ They brought their eyes up to meet Mangoā€™s, and the sheer affection reflected back at him, even after being denied, was almost too much for his heart.
ā€œThen we can make cupcakes tonight.ā€ Mango compromised, talking over the twisted wrenching of his heart. He then gestured over to the pile of dishes from their dinnertime prep work that laid in the sink. ā€œAFTER you finish cleaning the kitchen, of course.ā€
ā€œAww, what?!ā€ Purple whined.
ā€œWell, I warned you, didnā€™t I?ā€ Mango laughed off the complete horror on Purpleā€™s face at the prospect of doing their daily chores. ā€œI told you, ā€˜itā€™s your turn to clean the kitchen, so think carefully about what we cookā€™, and you still chose lasagna for dinner.ā€
An adorable pout was the only response Purple had for Mangoā€™s proclamation, crossing their arms and glaring menacingly at the pile of prep dishes soaking in the sink. After a moment of the dishes not being intimidated into cleaning themselves, Purple spun around towards Mango and fluttered their lashes, sidling up to Mango and staring up at him with big, watery eyes. ā€œOld man~!ā€
ā€œNo.ā€ Mango responded coolly, slipping and letting his smile show at Purpleā€™s aghast expression.
ā€œBut- but- we both made the mess, so we should both clean it up!ā€ They argued back.
Already the older stick was shaking his head. ā€œNope. We already agreed on a chore schedule, and Iā€™ve done all my chores for today, including cleaning up many of your messes. You canā€™t change the rules now just because they donā€™t suit you anymore.ā€
With that the oven timer dinged, and Mango redirected his attention back to tonightā€™s dinner. He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and delivered the lasagna to the oven, all the while Purple was muttering agitatedly behind him. ā€œSo not fair.ā€
ā€œLifeā€™s not fair, kiddo.ā€ Mango replied back, slamming the door to the oven shut. ā€œGet used to it.ā€
The kitchen then went silent, save for Purpleā€™s irritated muttering, which in itself was slowly petering out. Mango liked to think that Purple was maybe going to accept their lot and just do the stupid dishes, but he knew that it was far more likely the kid had only shut up to try and scheme their way out of their chores. There were only so many ways one could escape the ever-present threat of dirty dishes, however, and Mango was confident enough in his counter-strategies to not pay Purple any mind, instead directing his attention to setting the table.
Peace reigned for only a short time in their home, however, before a cacophony of shouts and blur of colours tore through Mangoā€™s kitchen like a tornado, sucking Purple in as the colourful gang that made up Purpleā€™s friend group trampled through his kitchen. The five sticks emerged in waves; first Green and Red, leading the pack with enthusiasm and gusto as they embraced Purple eagerly. Following suit was the Yellow one, the bright kid to whom Mango had entrusted that stupid staff heā€™d made, easily slipping behind the others to startle Purple with a poke to their back. Blue was next, a little slower but with no less fervor that her friends as she pulled Purple into a headlock to grace them with a playful noogie. Finally, there was Second. They hung back a little from their friends at first, only approaching the group once everyone had calmed down to throw their arm around Purpleā€™s shoulders in greeting.
Now, Mango didnā€™t necessarily dislike the kids. He honestly thought their positive and forgiving nature was a good influence on Purple. That saidā€¦ ā€œHow the hell did you all get into my house?ā€ He demanded flatly.
Yellow grinned back at him, using Purple as an armrest to prop herself up. ā€œYou left the front window unlocked.ā€ She informed him breezily, entirely too calm.
ā€œI did not.ā€ Mango crossed his arms as he retorted, subconsciously bristling as five of the six kids began to snicker at him. The last one, Second, merely twiddled their thumbs in the back of the party, focused entirely on their fingers even as their entire body stood tensed behind the others.
ā€œNot the bottom front window.ā€ Blue chimed in, pointing to the clerestory window just above the front entrance. Sure enough, the thing was open, but Mango was absolutely certain heā€™d have heard the kids come in through that thing. They were many things, Purpleā€™s friends. Subtle was not one of them.
Sharp squealing cut the conversation short, and before Mango could find its source Purple suddenly yelped and fell to the floor. Mangoā€™s heart jumped into his throat, suffocating him for a prolonged, painful second before playful laughter restored his breath. In the middle of all that commotion, nobody had noticed the friend groupā€™s infamous pig until it had tackled Purple to the ground to shower the young stick in licks and snuggles. Purple responded in kind, petting the pig atop its head with a little chuckle.
ā€œWhoops!ā€ Red ran forward to scoop his precious pet up. ā€œSorry Purple! Reuben hasnā€™t seen you in a while, so he got a little too excited, didnā€™t you boy?ā€ Redā€™s voice went high-pitched and cooing as he praised his pig. ā€œYes, you did! Yes you did, you silly little man!ā€ Purple could only laugh at the tone of Redā€™s voice and continue to scratch the top of the pigā€™s head.
As precious as the moment was, Mango couldnā€™t even bring himself to savour it before reality caught up with him. ā€œOh no,ā€ He interrupted, pushing himself to the center of the crowd. ā€œNo, you all know the rules: No Minecraft stuff on the main floor! Keep it in the basement, or take it home!ā€
Red gasped, holding the pig close. ā€œReubenā€™s not a stuff! Heā€™s a member of the family, arenā€™t you boy?ā€ Red scratched under the pigā€™s head as Purple scratched its ears, utterly lavishing it in attention.
ā€œI donā€™t care if its your twin!ā€ Interrupted Mango. ā€œIā€™m not getting arrested for video game smuggling because of you chuckleheads!ā€ Back during the ā€˜Planā€™, Mango hadnā€™t really cared about taking such risks, but now he had something to lose if he went to jail. He was willing to make exceptions for Purple ā€“ this was Purpleā€™s home too, after all, and he could trust the kid to be careful with their elytra. The rest of the gang? Not so much. ā€œIt stays in the basement, or it goes home. Pick one.ā€
Red made a show of his reluctant acceptance, sighing theatrically as he picked up his pet. ā€œIā€™m so sorry, Reuben.ā€ Sobbed the sorrowful stick, clutching the pig close as if this were a eulogy and not just sticking it in the basement. ā€œYouā€™re just too much pure goodness for thisā€¦ sinful world!ā€
The display had even Purple, monarch of melodrama themselves, rolling their eyes. ā€œWeā€™ll go down and spend some quality time with him later.ā€ They promised, ā€œWe canā€¦ uh, play catch?ā€ They suddenly looked a little lost, ā€œDo pigs like catch?ā€
This seemed to be enough to placate Red, for now. As they walked towards the basement, Mango turned to Yellow. ā€œAnd you-ā€
ā€œStaffā€™s already down there.ā€ Yellow promised, briefly flicking through her inventory to demonstrate its emptiness. ā€œTeleported it when we got here, donā€™t worry.ā€
That suited Mango perfectly fine. In addition to the whole not being arrested thing, heā€™d rather not have to handle that staff again. It was a brilliant feat of engineering, a masterful display of game code. It was also the catalyst to a near apocalypse Mango himself had caused for the sake of punishing everyone ā€“ anyone ā€“ for Goldā€™s fate. By the time heā€™d realized what heā€™d done, Mango had nearly lost a second child, and almost killed Notch knows how many innocents.
So, needless to say, heā€™d prefer to not have to look at that thing.
By this point Red and Purple had returned, sans pig. Greenā€™s elbow into his side and whisper into his ear caused Red to suddenly perk up, dour expression brightening exponentially as if suddenly reminded of something. Blue and Yellow, on the other side of Purple, exchanged a knowing look as they smirked at each other. And Second, whoā€™d taken advantage of Redā€™s scene to withdraw to the shadows behind the group, was suddenly pulled back to the forefront with the others.
Alarm bells once again rang in Mangoā€™s head. ā€œDid you kids, uhā€¦ want to stay for dinner?ā€ A whole lasagna was probably enough to feed all seven of them. Though heā€™d hoped to have leftovers for the next few days, Mango supposed he could make the sacrifice. For Purpleā€™s sake. ā€œWeā€™re having lasagna.ā€
Blueā€™s eyes immediately lit up in interest. ā€œOoh~! Lasagna! Thatā€™s a recipe I donā€™t have yet!ā€ As if by magic, a pencil and paper appeared in Blueā€™s hands. ā€œIā€™ve been meaning to try recreating a dish from taste alone. I bet I can identify all the ingredients-ā€
ā€œThe food can wait!ā€ Unable to contain the excitement heā€™d clearly been holding this entire time, Green finally let loose, cutting Blue off at the pass as his patience ran dry. He jumped on his heels before rushing towards Purple, taking the startled stickā€™s hand to pull them forward. ā€œWe came here because we have big news! Huge news! GIGANTIC news! And youā€™ll never guess what it is!ā€
Purple squirmed back and forth in the otherā€™s hold. ā€œUhhā€¦ā€ They leaned away from Greenā€™s entirely too close face, and Mango took that as his cue to intervene before the kid exploded from embarrassment or something.
ā€œGo on, guess!ā€ Insisted the green stick, his hold on Purple not loosening until Mangoā€™s firm grip pulled Purple out of the smog of excitement to get some calming fresh air.
Once he was certain Purple had gotten a gulp or two of tranquil space, Mango set the young stick down and directed his attention back to Green. ā€œJust get to the point.ā€ Mango insisted for all of their sakes.
The denial didnā€™t do anything to diminish Greenā€™s excitement, or the enthusiasm of the four fighters as they worked together to push Second into the limelight. Being thrust into the center of attention only caused the already nervous stick to grow ever more anxious, their entire body going stiff at the sudden sensation of eyes trained on them from every direction. Now, Mango didnā€™t know know these kids quite as well as Purple did, but heā€™d squared off against Second more than once in his quest to destroy Minecraft, and the orange stick never showed fear like this, even when things were at there most dire. So what could be causing them such distressā€¦? Combined with the excitement of the other four sticks, Mango could hear the alarm bells getting louder.
Oblivious to their friendā€™s blatant discomfort, Green blurted out, ā€œWe just found outā€¦ that Sec has super powers!ā€
Mango could feel his eyebrows skyrocket up as he stared at the excited group of children, mouth agape. At his side, he could hear Purple exclaim, ā€œYo, what?!ā€ Followed by the sound of excited arm flapping.
Second scratched at the skin on their arm, holding themselves with all the rigid attention of a child at the principleā€™s office. ā€œYeah, heh. Surpriseā€¦ā€
ā€œWhoa, thatā€™s so cool!ā€ Purpleā€™s proclamation only brought Second more discomfort, and Mango reached over to take hold of the kid and force them to calm down, lest the downcast and blushing Second keel over and die on the spot, but Purple slipped away before he could make contact. In a blink of the eye Purple was in Secondā€™s face, bouncing energetically on their toes as they eagerly questioned, ā€œWhat kind of powers? What can you do?ā€
ā€œOh, you know, just the typical stuffā€¦ā€ Second trailed off, their eyes focusing on a spot on the ceiling instead of Purpleā€™s wide, bright expression. ā€œFlying, telekinesis, healing, electricityā€¦ uh, eye lasersā€¦ā€
Each item added to the list only caused Purpleā€™s smile to grow and grow, until a wide grin was stretched across their face. In any other circumstance such a look would cause Mangoā€™s heart to melt, but at this moment it only caused an electric tingle along his spine to signify incoming danger. Flapping their arms again, Purple demanded, ā€œYou HAVE to show them off!ā€
A cacophony of agreements came from the rest of Secondā€™s friends. They were all varying levels of excited; Green seemed most eager, strongly encouraging Second by lightly shaking their shoulder. Red squealed in open excitement, and Blue immediately started pleading with wide puppy-dog eyes. Only Yellow kept some modicum of self-control, but curiosity and excitement still lit up her eyes. Despite the discovery being fairly recent, it seemed none of these kids had any experience with Secondā€™s powers, and that caused a pit of dread to form in Mangoā€™s stomach. This was a recipe for disaster.
Hurriedly, he tried to speak up, ā€œI donā€™t think-ā€
Mangoā€™s attempt to interrupt was completely bowled over by Purple in their excitement. ā€œWhat should we have you do?ā€ They wondered aloud. ā€œMaybe we can set up some targets for you to shoot down?ā€ The other kids seemed eager, nodding along to that idea. ā€œOr you can race me flying with my elytra! Or-!ā€ Purple suddenly gasped, hands covering their mouth as they smiled wider, ā€œOr you can use your powers to clean up our entire kitchen!ā€
For a brief moment, annoyance trounced Mangoā€™s anxiety, ā€œPurple, thatā€™s your chore for the day. You canā€™t just use your friends to do your chores for you.ā€
Purple only paused to give Mango a smug, satisfied look, before completely disregarding his words. If anything, Mango was certain his disapproval had only prompted Purple to go ahead with the request. ā€œPlease, wonā€™t you clean the kitchen? Pretty, pretty please?ā€
The fluttering lashes and puppy dog eyes worked better on Second than Mango himself, but not quite enough to completely convince them. Conflict clear on their face, Second shrunk in on themselves and dug their nails into their arms. None the wiser to Secondā€™s inner turmoil, each of their friends began pilling into them, begging incessantly.
ā€œCome on, please~!ā€ Red whined, pulling on Secondā€™s arm.
ā€œIā€™ll make you all the cookies!ā€ Blue promised from their other side, pushing her head into the crook of their neck. ā€œLike, so many cookies!ā€
ā€œWith that much stuff? Itā€™ll be epic to see if flying all around!ā€ Yellow mused. ā€œI bet with enough practice you could pull off a ā€˜Wizardā€™s Apprenticeā€™!ā€ Her arms flapped at the thought, ā€œOoh, man! That would be the coolest!ā€
ā€œYou gotta show Purple what you can do!ā€ Green pleaded, giving Second a sorrowful pout that would put even Purpleā€™s best acting to shame. ā€œPlease! Please! Please! PLEASE!ā€
The kid demonstrated an iron will as they shook off their friendā€™s clutching hands and pleading eyes to put some distance between them. ā€œGuys, I dunnoā€¦ā€ Second kept their eyes away from their friends, focusing instead on a spot on the wall. ā€œIā€™m still pretty new at thisā€¦ and I donā€™t want to mess anything upā€¦ā€
Despite their clear reluctance, Secondā€™s friends kept egging them on, and Mango stepped forward to put a hand on Secondā€™s shoulder. ā€œI agree.ā€ He stated, giving the kids a glare when they started to protest. ā€œThese powers sound like theyā€™re still new, and using them so haphazardly would be blatantly irresponsible, especially for chores. You kids could stand to be a bit more thoughtful about this.ā€
Mango looked down, prepared to reassure Second that they were indeed doing the right thing, only to find Second staring up at him. Their lips were pressed thin as they pierced him with a burning, non-laser glare for a long, long moment, as if trying to see into his very soul. After a moment, the orange stick turned back to their friends. ā€œOn second thought, letā€™s do it.ā€
ā€œWhat?!ā€ Mango shouted in disbelief, his exclamation drowned out by the cheers and hollers of the others. The rainbow whirlwind sucked Second back in and absconded to the center of the kitchen, their voices blending into a single tangle of noise as they discussed the upcoming show. The sudden change in Second caused Mango to freeze in place, staring stupidly after the group. Thisā€¦ well, if Mango was being honest, this was far more like the Second he knew from their previous encounters than the skittish stick that had stepped into their home only a few minutes prior. But the fact that Second had even been that nervous to begin withā€¦
Well, there was nothing else Mango could do but swallow his apprehension, make a silent vow to try reverse psychology on the rebellious brats next time, and trail after them.
By the time Mango had rejoined the group, the others had forcibly propped Second up onto the table Mango had just set like, not even ten minutes ago. Though clearly still wracked with nerves, they took a moment to gain their balance atop the structure, knees a little wobbly.
Despite the resistance heā€™d faced previously, Mango tried one more time to talk sense into Purpleā€™s friends. ā€œYou donā€™t have to do this, you know.ā€
Mango was surprised to see that Green was the first to turn to him, a fierce glare aimed directly at the protesting adult. Everyone else seemed to have varying levels of exasperation and confusion at Mangoā€™s interference. After a moment of silence, Second responded. ā€œYeah, I know. But itā€™s fine. I can do this.ā€ Second looked down at their own hands, gaze unfocused. ā€œI can do this.ā€
Secondā€™s eyes fell shut, and when they opened again, their natural green colour had sharpened into a bright, illuminating emerald shine. Electricity crackled and zapped as it crawled over their form, stretching away from Secondā€™s body to spread across Mangoā€™s kitchen. The faint scent of ozone began to permeate the air. Mango could feel static run across his exposed joints, causing him to shiver. After a moment of just this, Secondā€™s body lifted off the table, hovering in the air a few meters above the floor. Soon enough, other things in the kitchen began to lift up as well ā€“ the clean dishes on the dining table, the table itself, the chairs. In the span of maybe thirty seconds, everything in the kitchen lighter than the microwave was hovering weightlessly in the air, as though being touched by Secondā€™s sparking power had turned off the gravity.
In spite of his early complaints, Mango couldnā€™t help the awe that washed over him as he took in the display of power. There was a pattern to the movement of the objects, to the flowing of electricity, that was nothing short of graceful. To his side, Mango could hear Red oohing and awwing over the display, drowning out Yellowā€™s mumbling as she thought aloud to herself. There was buzzing on Mangoā€™s other side as well; whispers between Blue and Purple as they observed the show. When he glanced over at the kids, Mango found Green also present at Purpleā€™s side, watching Second with a painfully familiar expression. One Mango saw every time he looked at a picture of himself and his Gold: Pure, unadulterated pride.
Secondā€™s power soon brought order to the chaos theyā€™d made of Mangoā€™s kitchen, conducting the flying dishware in a delicate ballet. Every single item bobbed and weaved around each other to the rhythm of an intricate melody nobody but the Second Coming could hear. The swishing and swirling of water drew everyoneā€™s attention to the sink, where a stream of water began to bend and twist upward to form rings between the layers of dancing cutlery.
ā€œHydrokinesis!ā€ Yellow gasped. ā€œThatā€™s a new one!ā€
The scratching sound of pencil meeting paper was only barely audible over Blueā€™s inquiry, ā€œIs it really hydrokinesis, though?ā€ She scratched her chin, ā€œOr justā€¦ telekinesis used on water?ā€
ā€œIs there a difference?ā€ Red asked.
All three of them were immediately hushed by Green, ā€œLet them do their thing.ā€™ He scolded roughly. Mango hadnā€™t considered that there was a second in command among the group of friends, but given how everyone immediately shut up at Greenā€™s order, it seemed the most melodious stick took that role when Second was out of commission.
Once everyone had quieted down, Mango returned his attention back to Secondā€™s show. Along with the ring of water, globs of what Mango assumed was soap had joined in the choreography. The tempo and melody of Secondā€™s inaudible song changed, transforming the ballet into something more of a waltz. The dishes flowed from water to soap to water, two steps forward, one step back, before the clean dishes were added to an entirely new ring of floating tableware to dry. On and off flickered the ceiling lamp as Secondā€™s power crawled across it, and combined with the jade sparks of lightning that flowed freely through the room, it completely transformed Mangoā€™s kitchen into a much larger, more ominous space. Mangoā€™s fingers twitched, itching with sudden nerves, and to sooth them he reached around Blue to take one of Purpleā€™s hands. Though he couldnā€™t see Purpleā€™s face, Mango could feel the kid squeeze his hand back, and for a moment all fear was erased from his mind.
Then a plate broke.
Its shattering echoed loudly through the entire house, trampling over any thought Mango could have formed and forcing all attention on it. Throughout the entire performance, Secondā€™s face had been one of pure concentration, serenely focused on the energy surging about, but the sound had utterly destroyed any illusion of control Second had beforehand. Panic flittered in their illuminated eyes as they stared down at the shards of ceramic littering the kitchen floor, no longer affected by Secondā€™s power.
ā€œAhh!ā€ They cried out, startled by the mistake. Immediately Secondā€™s body language changed, shrinking in on themselves as they focused their attention on the broken plate. Their power forced the shattered remains into the air once again. ā€œUhh, d-donā€™t worry, I can fix it!ā€
The change of attitude caught them all off guard, and Mangoā€™s dread returned tenfold, churning his stomach. Green was the first to speak up, stepping forward with arms held out in an attempt to placate Second. ā€œHey, dude, itā€™s okay-ā€
Unfortunately for Green, his attempt at reassurances only startled Second further, and a glass cup exploded into millions of tiny shards against a wall. Mango subconsciously pulled Purple closer at the sound, heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. Second themselves squealed frightfully, their attention redirecting again. The once meticulous dance had grown discordant in response to their distress, the dishware weaving and bobbing in random, quickening movements around the kitchen. Secondā€™s uneven breathing could be heard over the sharpening crackle of lightning and thunder that was slowly growing louder and larger as the kid lost control. One of the larger bowls hit the corner of a chair, chipping it and causing more distress to the stick in the center of the chaos.
ā€œSec! Stop!ā€ Red cried out. It was unclear if Second had even heard him; they were hunched over in the center of the room, practically hyperventilating as all their focus centered on the broken objects. More things began to break in the chaos; A cracked cup here, a bent fork there. The longer their panic continued, the faster the rings of crockery spun until the kitchen had become a veritable tornado. At this point even the appliances had begun to join in the anarchy.
Purple, still firmly clutching Mangoā€™s hand, stepped forward. Not enough to be caught in the tornado, but enough that Mango could see fear in their eyes, and it only made him hold on all the tighter. ā€œDude!ā€ Purple called over the noise. At this point the chaos had created a cacophony so loud Mango could barely hear the kid over it. ā€œYou need to calm down! Youā€™re gonna destroy the entire house at this rate!ā€
The loud hiss of, ā€œPurple!ā€ From Mango came too late. The idea was already out there, and it only increased the sense of panic from every stick present. A pathetic whine signaled an increase in the speed of the spinning kitchenware. Green surged forward the instant he heard it, with Yellow barely being able to pull him back before he could get clocked in the head by a flying food processor.
ā€œH-hey!ā€ Blue worked her way in front of the group, hands held out placatingly in front of her. ā€œSecond, try and focus on me, okay? Itā€™s going to be alright. Iā€™m going to approach now ā€“ slowly.ā€ True to her word, Blue made small, cautious steps forward. The wild winds whipped her hair violently, but she showed no signs of distress against their might, ā€œIā€™m going to make my way to you, and youā€™re going to calm down, and nobodyā€™s going to get hurt. Weā€™re going to be fine.ā€
And, for a brief moment, it seemed like she was right. Secondā€™s eyes were glued to her approaching form, and the sight of her smile eased the tension from their body.
ā€œLook out!ā€ Red shouted suddenly, then tackled poor Blue just moments before a spinning plate shot through the air where her head once was. Instead the dish continued to whirl through the kitchen, straight over the ceramic shards of another broken plate and right towardsā€¦ towards the photo on the wall-!
Mangoā€™s heart leapt into his throat. Without thought he started forward, maybe to throw himself between the flying dishware and one of his last memories of Gold, but by the time heā€™d released Purpleā€™s hand and made the first step it was already too late. Though it took only a second in real time, to Mango it felt like it was playing out in slow-motion. The plate shattered against the frame, shards of ceramic and glass flying in every direction, and the frame fell to the ground. Wood splintered apart with a deafening crack as it finally hit the linoleum. The picture fell, face down, on the ground.
Around him, Mango could barely hear the sound of audible gasps and whispered exclamations over the ringing in his ears. The tips of his fingers felt cold and numb. For just that moment in time, nothing existed but him and the broken remains of Goldā€™s memory.
Green sparks crawled over the pictures, shaking Mango from his stupor and forcing him to tune back into reality. From the center of the kitchen he could hear a tangle of jumbled words and accelerated breathing, ā€œNo, no, this is okay, I can fix it, itā€™ll all be fine, I can fix itā€¦ I-I can fix itā€¦!ā€ Once the picture was levitated up, a miracle was revealed to Mango; though the frame was broken beyond repair, the picture itself appeared mostly in tact.
ā€œKid, hold up-ā€ Mango tried to call out, turning to look at Second. Sharp emerald lights met his eyes in return, freezing the tallest stick in place for a bone-chilling instant.
ā€œI can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix itā€¦!ā€ The haphazard promises fell from Secondā€™s lips along with their labored breaths. Then they clutched their head and screamed, ā€œI CAN FIX IT-!ā€
An explosion of emerald light knocked everyone back. Mangoā€™s body tumbled maybe a meter or so before coming to a grinding halt. Mango winced at the burning sensation on his limbs, but the second he was able to move he immediately crawled over to the kids in order to put himself between them and the violent storm Second had made of his kitchen. The green energy had formed an opaque tornado, completely hiding The Second Coming from view. Through the chaos Mango could see shattered remains of plates, randomly bent cutlery, and even full-on appliances that had been forced airborne by Secondā€™s power poke out of the squall before being sucked back in.
Mango barely had a minute to take in the catastrophe that Secondā€™s show had become before the kidsā€™ chatter redirected his attention. ā€œOkay, letā€™s not panic!ā€ Yellow instructed, pushing her glasses up as she picked herself off the ground. ā€œWe can- uh, we got this! If we just ground the lightning-ā€
ā€œGround it with what?!ā€ Red snapped back, gesturing wildly at the mess in front of them. ā€œSecā€™s power isnā€™t like normal lightning, that wouldnā€™t work!ā€
ā€œAnd you have any better ideas?!ā€ Purple demanded. Thankfully for Mangoā€™s poor heart, the kid stayed down close to the ground, even as they joined in the argument.ā€œWe canā€™t just do nothing!ā€
Blue joined Yellowā€™s side quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. ā€œIt-Itā€™s just because Secā€™s panicking! We just need to wait for them to calm down, and-ā€
ā€œAnd what, just leave them like this until then?!ā€ Yellow questioned sharply, causing Blue to flinch back. If Yellow noticed, it didnā€™t show on her face. ā€œI am not going to abandon them! Not after everything, I canā€™t-!ā€
Everyone seemed to wince in response to Yellowā€™s outcry, and the following tense silence was quickly filled with a pitiful, mournful wailing from the kitchen. The sound seemed to echo in Mangoā€™s head, plucking at the strings of his heart painfully. And he barely knew Second; he couldnā€™t imagine how this must feel to the kids, who had known The Second Coming for their entire life.
A hitched breath drew Mangoā€™s attention behind himself; Green had gotten a little lost in the chaos, overshadowed by the others yelling over themselves in an attempt to find a solution. That cry, however, had him marching ahead of everyone until he was standing directly in front of the entryway, his green form seeming to glow in the luminescence of the emerald lightning that surged along the tornado. Greenā€™s fists were shaking, but if the expression on his face was anything to go by, it was not fear that caused him to tremble, but sheer determination.
After a moment of simply staring ahead, Green finally spoke aloud. ā€œScrew it,ā€ He said, and that was the only warning any of them had before he charged forward. ā€œHang on, Sec! Iā€™m coming!ā€
Everyone watched him disappear into the chaos in stunned silence, before Yellow gritted her teeth and shouted, ā€œDonā€™t worry, weā€™re on our way!ā€ as she followed suit.
Blue and Red spared a moment to glance at each other, nodding as they each reached the same conclusion. Though they both jumped up at the same time, Red was on his feet first, running directly into the tornado with a battle cry.
Trailing directly after the others, Blue cried out, ā€œItā€™s going to be okay, Second! Weā€™re on our way!ā€ as she barreled ahead.
Movement at his side jolted Mangoā€™s attention as Purple stood up against the winds of the storm. Though their body was rigid in fear, conviction was strong on their face as they, too, began to run forward. Everything seemed to slow in that instant. Tension squeezed Mangoā€™s lungs in his chest. All air escaped him in one startled gasp. Purpleā€™s body seemed to transform, going from violet to deep yellow. The green light threatening to engulf them turned to black corruption. Red lights flashed at the corners of his vision. A fatal error has occurred, this connection is terminated.
ā€œNo!ā€ Mango managed to force out, leaping to grasp Purpleā€™s hand once again. His hold on them was tight like a vice. Though he could hear his own heavy breathing, his lungs burned with a craving for oxygen.
Though startled, Purple quickly began to struggle against Mangoā€™s hold. ā€œWhat are you doing?!ā€ They asked, voice laden with desperation and fear in equal measure, and it only made Mango hold on all the tighter. ā€œWe- I have to get in there! Sec needs us- needs me!ā€
ā€œI need you!ā€ Mango forced out in a single, painful gasp. ā€œI- I canā€™t lose anotherā€¦! Iā€™m not going to let you run to your death!ā€
Though the slip up made Purpleā€™s expression soften some, they still held firm. ā€œIf we do nothing, then Secā€™ll, like, I donā€™t know, explode or something! Then weā€™ll all die!ā€ Instead of trying to get away, Purple clasped Mangoā€™s hand with their other, meeting the taller stick's gaze with fire alight in their eyes. ā€œI can do this! I promise, nothing will happen to me!ā€
Mango glanced down at their intertwined hands, Purpleā€™s fingers gently rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Subconsciously his breathing began to follow the rhythm of the motions, and the burning fire in Mangoā€™s chest was extinguished. With a deep breath and one final look into those pleading eyes, Mango relented. ā€œOkay,ā€ He said, but refused to release Purpleā€™s hands. Instead he pulled the both of them up to a standing position. ā€œThen weā€™ll go together.ā€
After a serious nod, Purple broke the tension with a playful wink. ā€œTry to keep up, Old Man.ā€ They teased, and something in Mango felt lighter, even in the face of oncoming danger.
With his hold firm on Purple, Mango began walking against the fierce winds of Secondā€™s maelstrom. The gales of the tornado roared louder and louder the closer and closer they got, until its rumbling was all Mango could hear ringing in his ears. The sharp cold of it stung at his face, but Mango kept firm, doing his best to stay in front and shield Purple from the worst of it. One of Purpleā€™s hands slipped from Mango, and a near heart attack was mitigated when he looked back to see Purple pulling Red down from where heā€™d been sent flying back. Looking around, Mango could make out the three other friends scattered in various directions, struggling to walk against the wind only to be pushed aside by a particularly strong gust or forced to jump away from a large piece of debris haphazardly flying around.
ā€œWe canā€™t get close!ā€ Red yelled over the rushing tempest. ā€œWe keep getting knocked back by all the stuff flying around!ā€
As if to demonstrate, a chair flew straight at them, only visible once it was moments away from hitting them. King quickly moved to pull Purple and Red down to the floor, covering their heads with his arm in order to protect them.
Purple was the first to lift themselves up, gritting their teeth. ā€œThen how are we supposed to get throughā€¦?ā€
Yellowā€™s shout, barely audible above the roaring winds, drew Mangoā€™s attention up and towards the irritated stick as she charged forward. She got close to the eye, a mere arms length away from the goal, before Green yanked her out of the way of a swarm of flying knives set to impale her in five different ways. His heroic efforts were rewarded by Blue being tossed into him and Yellow, knocking all three back to where Mango, Red, and Purple were hunkered down.
Not even a second after being tossed back, Blue was already back on her feet. She went to charge forth one more time, but was stopped by Green grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. ā€œThis isnā€™t working!ā€ He scolded, sounding angrier in his attempt to yell over the hurricane. ā€œWe have to try something else!ā€
ā€œWell, what else can we do?!ā€ Blue asked tearfully. In lieu of an answer he couldnā€™t give, Green instead took hold of her hand.
The gears in Mangoā€™s head began to turn. They couldnā€™t get anywhere near the center of the storm; the winds were too strong, blowing so hard that it was impossible to make it to the center before being hit by the dangerous debris flying haphazardly around. A stick alone wouldnā€™t be able to breach the maelstrom without getting blown away, but there was no way a group could move through without getting hit by one of the large appliances or pieces of furniture caught in the tornado. Not without a shield to guard them.
Mango knew what he had to do. With a shaky breath he picked himself up, bracing his knees to stand against the storm. Purple made a concerned noise as Mangoā€™s hand slipped away from theirs, but in spite of that Mango instead focused on his surroundings, on every little sliver of glass or lump of wood flying around that could hurt them. As he focused, Mango called back to the kids, ā€œI have an idea!ā€ Everyone looked up at him, all of the young sticks suffering various degrees of battery from their attempts to reach Second. ā€œAll five of you, huddle together and move in tandem! If you keep a firm hold of each other and work as a unit, youā€™ll be able to stand against the wind!ā€
ā€œBut what about all the stuff flying around?!ā€ Red asked, even as he and the others moved to take hold of each other. Red was at one end, Blue next to him, then Green in the middle, with Purple at his side and Yellow on the opposite end.
Mango took a deep breath, focusing on the rapidly approaching microwave as it flew closer and closer. Once it was within range, Mango demonstrated exactly what would happen with all the stuff flying around. He braced himself against the floor and was only pushed back a few centimeters as he gripped onto the heavy appliance. Though taking the force and weight of the microwave made his arms ache, Mango spun around and tossed the now useless contraption to the side.
ā€œIā€™ll take care of that.ā€ He assured the children as he turned to them, forcing down the anxiety and pressure he felt and forcing up an encouraging grin. ā€œYou all just focus on getting Second out of there.ā€
Purple swallowed down their nerves before matching Mangoā€™s smile. ā€œJust be careful, Old Man. Iā€™m not taking care of you if you throw your back out.ā€
Snorting, Mango turned away from the kids to focus on his job. ā€œIf youā€™re my nurse, I think Iā€™ll take my chances with the lightning.ā€ His voice then dropped, turning serious. ā€œNow get moving!ā€
All of Mangoā€™s attention then focused on the winds around him. He played the role of guard for the children as they inched along, using each other as support against the harsh gales. The friend group moved together in near perfect harmony. Purpleā€™s inexperience, in comparison, was obvious. They stumbled where the others stepped smoothly, needing to glance at their feet or their friends while everyone else seemed to simply trust that the others would step where they needed to. Even with the handicap of Purpleā€™s inexperience, however, they made surprisingly quick progress through the raging storm. Mango moved as quickly as he could to knock back any debris, any heavy machine, any sharp piece of glass or ceramic that could harm the kids. They were encouraging each other behind him, counting down the steps until they reached their goal.
ā€œJust a little closer!ā€ Purple cried out as Mango wrangled a cabinet door away from the group. Their voice was almost entirely lost in the wind that surrounded Second. ā€œJustā€¦ a littleā€¦!ā€
And then the five disappeared into the heart of the storm. Mango breathed a sigh of relief, switching up his focus to dodge the hazardous kitchenware instead of blocking it head on. Nothing in the tornado ventured any closer to the eye than where the children had just entered, so Mango could be certain theyā€™d be fine from then on. A bone-deep ache made itself known as Mango let himself relax a touch, but he didnā€™t fall back. Instead Mango rooted himself firmly nearby, alert for any kind of disturbance in the maelstrom; any sign that the kids were distressed or injured.
That was all he could do for now, besides put his trust in them.
---------------------
Second could barely hear the sound of the winds whipping about over their own heart pounding in their ears. Every part of them burned; their throat, their lungs, their arms, their eyes. Shaking fingers yanked at their long, flowing hair. The cycloneā€™s violent winds pressed down on them harder with every haggard breath they took, stealing the air from their lungs as they slowly suffocated in their gale storm of despair.
The storm had started as a seed of panic within them, planted as the sound of shattering ceramics itched at their skin. With very new mistake, every blatant screw up, every near miss on their dearest friendsā€™ lives, the seedling began to sprout, bringing with it a harsh, ashy wind that left a bitter sensation on their skin. The photographā€™s destruction had been like bone-meal, escalating the growth of the squall until it swallowed Second whole. The winds raced at the same rate as their heart as it pounded within them, fighting to escape the cage of Secondā€™s body. With each forced beat the ache inside of them grew and spread. They were dying, Secondā€™s thoughts screamed at them from within their fuzzy brain.
They were going to die here.
They were doing to die here.
And it was allā€¦ theirā€¦ faultā€¦
This wasnā€™t the first time Second had ruined everything. Every new experience they brought to their friends was marred by pain and death in some form. The darkest corner of their mind swirled with memories of their torn-apart, dying bodies slowly fading into distorted code, or disappearing in a puff of gray smoke as their programs were ended without a second thought. Their own hands tingled with the memory of a cold steel blade pierced through Greenā€™s body, or violet bruises ringing on their fists as they looked down at Redā€™s frightened face. At every step, through carelessness or powerlessness or their own unhinged actions, Second was always forced to watch the most important parts of their life suffer and agonize and absolutely languish in pain.
Why had they thought they could fixthis? Second knew theyā€™d lose control, knew that this power would poison what theyā€™d built, but theyā€™d made the mistake of giving in, and now they were going to die.
They were goingā€¦ to dieā€¦
All aloneā€¦ after ruining everythingā€¦
Theyā€¦ they wereā€¦ going toā€¦
ā€œSec!ā€ A sharp voice cut through the cyclone, jolting Second out of their thoughts with a wave of prickles along their body. Before they could even register the origins of the sound, a pair of arms encircled their waist. The touch was soft and sweet, causing the burning of Secondā€™s body to ease just a little bit; just enough that they could make themselves look down to lock eyes with Green. He smiled up at them, not so much as flinching against the blazing heat of Secondā€™s shining emerald gaze. ā€œIā€™m here! Iā€™ve got you!ā€
Stunned, Second couldnā€™t even bring themselves to return the embrace before another pair of arms forcibly wrapped around them. ā€œDonā€™t worry, Sec!ā€ Red assured through a large, vibrant grin. ā€œItā€™s just a little thunder, nothing we canā€™t handle!ā€
Another jolt to their side signaled Yellowā€™s entrance, squeezing them so hard that rough burning churning within them was squeezed out, to be replaced a soft, bittersweet pressure. ā€œTold ya, didnā€™t I?ā€ Yellow asked, never once letting her hold loosen. ā€œIā€™m not letting anything tear us apart.ā€
Next to join in the group hug was Blue, her shimmering eyes taking in the fierce, violent green of the lightning and reflecting back only a soft, gentle aura of emerald. ā€œI know you must feel so scared right now,ā€ She consoled, her voice feather-light on their skin, ā€œBut youā€™re not alone ā€“ everyoneā€™s here! Weā€™re all here with you!ā€
Last but not least, Purple forced themselves into the hug by worming their way between the others to snake their arms around Secondā€™s middle. ā€œPfft, if youā€™re trying to get rid of me,ā€ They scolded jokingly, ā€œItā€™s gonna be a lot harder than that, Sec.ā€
Though the storm raged on, Second found themselves unable to tear their focus away from their friends. The many arms around them were velvety smooth, sweet on their skin with a tang of desperate heat. Their voices caressed Second with gentle softness as they whispered fluffy comforts for the winds to carry to their ears. Warmth flooded over Secondā€™s entire body, forcing out the various aches from all over. Secondā€™s shoulders relaxed as they took in a deep breath. Oxygen hit their lungs for the first time since the picture broke. Secondā€™s eyes fluttered shut as they let themselves relax.
What had they been so worried about? Despite the accidents, the threatening villains, the near-death experiences, they always came through it together on the other side. Mistakes were forgiven, wounds were healed, and no matter what came their way, Second could stand against it, firm in the knowledge that their loved ones were at their side, supporting them all the way.
As long as Second had them, theyā€™d be okay. They could fix anything.
Second opened their eyes. Beyond the twister they found a pair of silhouettes, a tall one and a short one. Second couldnā€™t make out their faces, but the tension in their limbs betrayed their obvious fear. The emerald eyes of the super-powered stick remained trained on the nervous figures,
Itā€™s okay, Second tried to tell them, to reassure the clearly frightened figures, but all that escaped their mouth was a staticky noise that made their friends hug them all the tighter. Upon realizing that their voice was turned off for the time being, Second instead reached out to the pair, to try and show them that it would be alright, that they werenā€™t alone, that help was right there and ready for them.
The strangers grew more panicked, and Second stretched their arm further to reach for them. All of Secondā€™s attention was hyper-focused on the two upset figures, to the point where everything beyond them and the arms around Secondā€™s waist disappeared from their mind. All they wanted was to give the two strangers a little taste of the comfort that everyoneā€™s presence granted them. To fix the pain they could sense on the pair and stop the fear that was clearly growing stronger and stronger within them as they fiddled anxiously with something in the smaller oneā€™s hand. Second felt something deep inside them urging them to keep extending their arm, to keep pulling at the two figures. To fix the distress on their face and bring them home.
All they had to do was reach a little furtherā€¦ furtherā€¦ just a bit moreā€¦
Tumblr media
And then everything disappeared in an explosion of brilliant emerald light.
--------------------
Between the ringing in his ears and the throbbing in his head, Green was certain heā€™d be in for a world of hurt the moment he opened his eyes. Despite this, the distant murmurs of fear and horror from his friends had Green forcing his eyelids up, inviting a piercing beam of light and agony into his brain. Seconds stretched into years as Green waited for the discomfort to fade enough for him to focus his eyes and look out over what was once the Ochre familyā€™s kitchen. Now the room was in absolute shambles; everything, from the smallest plate to the gigantic refrigerator, was damaged in some way. The linoleum floor, cool on Greenā€™s aching legs, was positively littered with shards of glass and ceramic. A food processor was stuck in the wall, its cord dangling uselessly over a crack in the tile beneath it. Water formed small pools throughout the room, one dangerously close to an electrical outlet on the opposite wall. The only electronic in the room that still functioned a little bit was the ceiling light, which flickered on and off rapidly enough to compound Greenā€™s growing headache.
Green forced down a swallow as he took in the wreckage. The memory of Secā€™s pleading, of the fear on their face, played in his mind like a broken record, and then his eyes began to burn anew. Just a few minutes ago theyā€™d all been having fun, and Second had finally begun to relax. Heā€™d thought that maybe, just maybe, they were finally starting to accept themselvesā€¦ and then everything exploded. The thought of how Second must be feeling was like his heart was sinking to the bottom of his stomach, swirling its contents into bile.
Still, there was much to be done, so despite the nausea and tears threatening to break through Green pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as the pounding in his head compounded. He fought through the fuzz at the edges of his vision and the painfully loud ringing in his ears to focus on his friends, to try and ascertain their current condition. Mango was the first one he was able to pinpoint, and naturally the taller stick had rushed to Purpleā€™s side. Other than a few bumps and bruises, neither of the two looked too badly injured. Red appeared to be fine too, sitting next to Yellow and speaking unintelligible words to her. Yellowā€™s one leg was splayed out in front of them, and when Red made contact with her ankle she winced. Green couldnā€™t see how badly it was swollen, or if there was any sign of a break, but the fact that she was injured at all nearly brought Green to tears again. He forced it down and left Yellowā€™s care to Red, scanning across the room until he found Blue, also mostly unharmed, hovering anxiously over Secondā€™s body with her hand on their neck.
The sight of his motionless friend caused Greenā€™s breath to catch in his throat. Noā€¦ were theyā€¦ did he cause his best friend toā€¦?
Mere moments later Blueā€™s shoulders relaxed and she visibly exhaled, a small smile forming under her tired eyes. Green echoed her relieved sigh. Second wasā€¦ alive, at the very least.
In the little time between awakening and checking on his friends, the ringing in Greenā€™s ears had died down. Not completely gone, but low enough that he could now hear the others chattering amongst themselves. Their voices blended together into a cacophony of noises, and Green found himself unable to tell his friends apart. He could catch the occasional word, but without context they made virtually no sense.
Mango unexpectedly stood up at the other end of the room, his shoulders stiff with tension as he immediately stood to put himself between Purple andā€¦ something. Because they hadnā€™t moved Green had initially overlooked them, but following Mangoā€™s gaze Green could seeā€¦ someone in the corner of the room. An extra person- no, two extra people, lying unconscious on the floor nearby. Green struggled to focus entirely on them and Mango, who made a hush motion in response to Purple opening their mouth to say something, before steadily approaching the two new entities. His face was set with grim determination as he approached the figures, but as he got closer, it gradually shifted. Mangoā€™s eyes widened, beginning to bulge out of his head, and Green forced everything into focusing on the older stick as he inched over to that dark corner, truly taking their new guests.
And then he started laughing.
A loud, humourless cackle that reminded Green more of the mad king whoā€™d almost killed them all than Purpleā€™s sarcastic guardian. Green continued to push through the fuzz in his brain as Purple picked themselves up and raced over to the old man. They paused once they reached him, staring in shock at the source of Mangoā€™s distress.
ā€œItā€™s finally happened!ā€ Mango declared between laughs, his eyes completely glazing over with a sheen of distress. ā€œIā€™ve finally gone insane!ā€
Purple, eyes wide, stepped in front of Mango with their arms stretched out in an attempt to placate him. ā€œNo, no!ā€ They assured him, words rushed in their panic. ā€œYouā€™re not crazy, I promise, I see them too! P-please stop laughing-!ā€
ā€œ-Iā€™m fine! Iā€™m not the one who, exploded, you need to go help Blue-!ā€
Green winced, struggling to stay focused as everyone elseā€™s voices began to pick up volume, fighting each other for his attention.
ā€œOkay, cā€™mon, wake up-!ā€
ā€œYou canā€™t walk on that, are you nuts-!ā€
The voices pounded in Greenā€™s ears to the rhythm of his racing heart.
ā€œH-hey, come on, take some deep breaths-!ā€
ā€œSeriously, let go-!ā€
ā€œPlease, Sec, please-!ā€
He groaned as he held his throbbing skull. Every noise was blending together; the voices of his friends, the dripping of water from the sink, the buzz of the malfunctioning light as it flickered on and off, on and off, on and off, poking at his brain through his pupils. The bile in his stomach churned again, fighting to rise up his esophagus.
ā€œI- This isnā€™t real. Thereā€™s no way this is real, this has to be-!ā€
ā€œC-come on, Old Man, focus-!ā€
ā€œYellow, will stop trying to-!ā€
ā€œGet off of me-!ā€
ā€œCome on, Blue, think-!ā€
ā€œWill you all just SHUT UP?!ā€ Green shouted over all of them. Every single stick in the room went totally silent, finally relieving a little bit of the pressure in his skull. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Green used the wall to help himself stand. Though his limbs ached, the worst of the pain was in head, allowing Green to stand without opposition. Looking out over the chaos, Green felt something well in him at the scared, desperate looks his dearest friends were giving him; Guilt and determination and sorrow. It fueled the flame within him, and Green took charge, immediately pushing past the pain to issue commands. ā€œYellow, let Red help you to the living room.ā€
ā€œIā€™m fine-!ā€ The injured stick tried to object.
Green immediately shut that down. ā€œNo, youā€™re not. If you were, you would have walked away from Red by now.ā€ Green sighed. ā€œLook, I donā€™t want to be mean, but if you try to walk on that ankle youā€™re going to make it worse. And the last thing we need right now is for things to get worse. Itā€™ll only take a few moments for Red to help you walk to the armchair. Let him do that, and we wonā€™t have to worry anymore, alright?ā€
Any protests died on Yellowā€™s lips as she absorbed Greenā€™s argument. Though she may not have been happy about it, the logic won her over, and she huffed in irritation even as she hooked an arm around Redā€™s shoulders. The two began to stand in order to limp out of the room, and Green shifted his focus.
Mangoā€™s breakdown had been halted by Greenā€™s sudden cry, too stunned to continue, and Green used this opportunity to make his way over to him and Purple. The violet stick quickly moved to the side to let Green through, and for the first time Green was able to get a clear look at the new sticks summoned by Secondā€™s power. His eyes immediately went wide as he absorbed the sight before him.
The first of the two newcomers, the taller one, looked nearly identical to Mango. The very few differences were entirely cosmetic; his hair was a little shorter, his clothes a little neater. There were no bags under his eyes or scars on his body from the fight for Minecraft. Small though the differences may be, they made a huge impact, making this version of Mango look ten years younger than the reformed tyrant Green knew. Curled under his arm, as though shielded from the entire world, was the second, smaller stick. Their body was a deep gold, and despite not knowing anything about this stick, Green was immediately struck with a sense of deja vu. It felt like heā€™d seen them somewhere before, but the context entirely escaped him.
Green was not, however, stupid. Given how the other Mango was curled protectively around this new stick, and the real Mango had a mental breakdown at the mere sight of them, Green was certain this new stick was someone of great importance to Mango. A few theories were already cooking in Greenā€™s brain, but there were more important things to focus on at the moment.
ā€œOnce Redā€™s done helping Yellow,ā€ Green informed the two, drawing their attention to him. Though Mango was no longer laughing like a madman, his eyes were almost entirely blank. Purple was more present, holding themselves anxiously as they focused entirely on Green. ā€œHeā€™ll help you guys get these two somewhere more comfortable. Should we put them in Mangoā€™s room?ā€
A moment of silence fell over the two. Purple suddenly couldnā€™t meet Greenā€™s eye, glancing awkwardly to the side, while Mango seemed to take a moment to process the question. Eventually, the old man answered, ā€œWe can put them in Goldā€™s room. Itā€™s a little dusty, but it should be fine, I guess.ā€
Green cocked a brow at the taller stick. ā€œWait, Goldā€™s roomā€¦?ā€ That answered some of Greenā€™s questions and raised so many more, but for the moment Green restricted himself to the most important one. ā€œThere are only two bedrooms in this house. Where does Purple sleep?ā€
ā€œI gave them my old room,ā€ Mango answered without hesitation. Purple seemed to flinch at the confession, something like shame crossing their face. ā€œThese days Iā€™m usually not sleeping through the whole night anyways, so Iā€™m good with just the couch.ā€
Well, at least Purple had a real bedroom. Still, something about this revelation left a sour taste in Greenā€™s mouth. It would have to be dealt with at some point. Not now, though. Now, Red had returned, and Green flagged him over to assist, flinching a little as Redā€™s fast movements caused his head to spin.
ā€œUh, Red and I can handle, um, the old man- the other version of you, I mean.ā€ Purple muttered, stumbling over their words. ā€œYou can take Gold- i-if youā€™re okay with that, that is.ā€
It took Mango a moment to recognize what Purple was saying, eyes glazed over as he stared vacantly at this Gold character. Upon realizing what was being asked of him, Mangoā€™s breath hitched. His fingers twitched as he approached the two with heavy, slow steps. Gingerly he pulled back his other selfā€™s arm to expose Gold, who stirred slightly but did not awaken. Mangoā€™s hand lingered above them, hesitant to touch them. Slowly it lowered, flinching away from them several times in the process. Eventually, his hand met their face, and Mangoā€™s eyes welled with tears when their body held solid against his touch. From there things moved quicker, Mango taking the younger stick into his arms with delicate care. Cradling them like a baby, Mango took long, careful steps out of the kitchen.
Purple watched after him until the two were gone, twiddling their thumbs. It took a gentle tap from Red to bring Purple back to reality, the other jumping a little at the touch. ā€œUm, sorry.ā€ Red scratched his head, a little awkward in the face of current tensions. ā€œBut, err, I donā€™t know where the bedrooms are, so I was thinking you could take the feet and direct us, and Iā€™ll grab the head. You good with that?ā€
ā€œUh, yeah, sure.ā€ Purple agreed. Green watched as the two set about lifting the taller stick up and out of the room. His aching head was absolutely throbbing, pounding in rhythm to the flickering light on the ceiling. But he couldnā€™t slow down now. Not when he hadnā€™t even dealt with the worst of the damage heā€™d caused yet.
Taking only a moment for a calming breath, Green slowly waltzed over to Blue. She held Secondā€™s head in her lap, whispering soothing words and little pleas to awaken as she ran her hands through their long mane of hair. Though he knew Sec was alive, the sight of them shocked Green; their eyes had dark shadows under them, their limbs weak and limp. Second looked worse than Green had seen them since the day they had-
Green shook his head, ignoring another wave of nausea that rolled over him. ā€œHow are they?ā€ He asked instead.
ā€œWell, I canā€™t find any serious injuries,ā€ Blue updated as she continued to stroke the fluffy mess of bedhead, ā€œBut they may have internal injuries? Itā€™s hard to tell- Iā€™m equipped to deal with minor wounds and Minecraft ailments. Notā€¦ this.ā€
ā€œWouldnā€™t their healing powers take care of that?ā€ Green asked, kneeling down next to Blue to take their dear friendā€™s hand in his own. It was cold and clammy against Greenā€™s skin, which made him clutch all the tighter, willing some of his warmth into it.
As if to answer, Blue pointed out a number of bruises on their body. ā€œIt hasnā€™t kicked in yet. Maybe theyā€™re too tired to do it? Or maybe itā€™s a good sign!ā€ Blue forced herself to perk up at the thought. ā€œEvery time Secondā€™s used their healing powers itā€™s because someone got seriously hurt. Maybe theyā€™re not hurt bad enough for it to activate on its own.ā€
ā€œMaybe,ā€ Green agreed, even though that didnā€™t really sound right to him. Since Sec had become aware of their powers, theyā€™d shown the greatest connection to their healing. It was one of the strongest abilities. ā€œStill, I donā€™t think theyā€™d be too comfortable sleeping on the floor. Is it safe to move them?ā€
ā€œOh! Uh,ā€ Blue thought for a moment, her eyes scanning over Sec uneasily. Moments passed into minutes before she answered, ā€œI- I think so. As long as weā€™re careful.ā€
Green nodded, already standing to take hold of Secondā€™s legs. ā€œOkay, Iā€™ll walk backwards with their legs, you take their head.ā€ Blue nodded, taking a firm hold of Second as she slowly stood up. Between the two of them the limp stick weighed almost nothing, and Green carefully walked backwards into the living room. He could see Yellow resting in Mangoā€™s giant armchair, leg propped up on the coffee table with a pillow. Her eyes followed their movements like a hawk as Green and Blue, working in perfect harmony, brought their unconscious friend to Mangoā€™s couch and slowly, gently, set them down. Second didnā€™t so much as stir during the transfer, which only made Green all the more worried. What he wouldnā€™t give to have his best friend suddenly sit up and throw a pillow at him for disturbing their restā€¦
For now, Green once again took hold of Secondā€™s hand and watched their drained, pale face as they slept. He didnā€™t know where heā€™d even begin to apologize for this.
----------------------
While Purple had snuck into this room to learn more about the illusive Gold in the past, this was the first time theyā€™d been allowed to enter Goldā€™s bedroom, and it made their heart beat a thousand miles per second. The Old Man stood to the side, cradling his kid as he allowed Red and Purple to maneuver theā€¦ er, other Old Man into the twin-sized bed. He was barely able to fit, but once they set him on the mattress some sense of familiarity must have kicked in, causing him to curl in on himself to fit a little more comfortably. Once he was set down, Mango waltzed over and slowly, reluctantly, put his child to rest next to the bizarro world Mango. Immediately Gold curled around his father, her arms wrapping around him in search of comfort, and even unconscious the handsome version of Mango immediately returned the embrace.
Something sour slithered in Purpleā€™s gut at the sight, a bitterness that immediately made them disgusted with themselves. As much as they coveted the same kind of love so easily given to Gold when they were feeling off, to feel this kind of jealously towards a dead kidā€¦ well, it wasnā€™t like they hadnā€™t known they were a bad person, but still. Not cool, Purple.
They were a little lost in thought, so Mango suddenly lugging himself up to the bedā€™s side to stare at the two intertwined sticks startled them. Though he was looking directly at them, the Old Man seemed to not see the two, instead staring at something far, far away.
ā€œUhā€¦ā€ Redā€™s awkward voice reached Purpleā€™s ear, and they turned to look at the stronger stick as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. The old man didnā€™t seem to hear him. ā€œSo, Iā€™m gonna go, uh, check on the othersā€¦ yeahā€¦ weā€™ll be in the living room if you need usā€¦ uh, sorry again about your kitchen.ā€
Purple watched as Red sidled towards the door, staring at them with wide, unblinking eyes, as if expecting them to come at him. When nothing happened, he turned around and hastily walked back to the living room. That left Purple alone in the houseā€™s forbidden room with an Old Man, an unconscious Old Man, and a ghost.
Swallowing past their nerves, Purple approached Mango and reached across the sudden chasm between them to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. ā€œHey,ā€ They addressed softly. Mango didnā€™t so much as twitch at their touch. ā€œAre you feeling okay?ā€
It took a moment for Mango to respond. ā€œSweetheart, Iā€™m feeling a lot of things right now,ā€ He droned, not taking his eyes off of the two sticks curled up on the bed, ā€œand none of them are okay.ā€
Purple winced. Sweetheart only tended to come out when one of them was feeling particularly bad. Usually Purple themselves. Still, they pressed onward, ā€œYeah, thatā€™s fair,ā€ They agreed. Then, with a little hesitation, they asked, ā€œHowā€¦ how do you think Secondā€¦ brought them here?ā€
Mango sighed, bring his hand up to hold his forehead. ā€œI dunno. Cloning, maybe? They have art powers or something, right?ā€ He stumbled back, and, thinking quickly, Purple pulled the chair from the nearby desk and got it to Mango just in time for the Old Man to collapse into it. Once he was seated, Mango nodded his thanks to Purple and leaned over the two bedridden sticks. ā€œIā€™m not exactly in a state to think too hard about that.ā€
Okay, fair. Purple tried to think of something else ā€“ anything else ā€“ that they could do in order to make Mango feel better. After fumbling over their words for a moment, they eventually asked, ā€œIs there anything I can do to help?ā€
ā€œI thinkā€¦ā€ Mangoā€™s breath hitched. ā€œI think I just some time alone, kiddo.ā€
Something deep inside Purple shattered at the request. Still, they nodded obediently. ā€œOkay, Iā€™ll go check on the others, then. Weā€™llā€¦ be in the living room.ā€
Purple knew if they turned back to look at Mango, whatever theyā€™d see on his face would push them to tears, so instead they kept their eyes trained on the floor as they walked out the door and shut it behind them. Despite their proclamation, Purple lingered for a few moments, just long enough to hear soft sobs come from the other side of the door. Their heart ached, urging them to go back in, to let him know that it would all be okay, but that single, weak request kept Purpleā€™s twitching fingers at their sides. With great effort they forced themselves to trail back from the bedrooms, leaving the Ochre family alone to process the events of that day.
Once back in the living room, Purple was met with another tense scene. Each member of the gang was idling around in total silence. Green was sat by Secondā€™s side on the couch, holding their hand and petting their hair as he watched them warily. Blue also hovered over their orange friend, fretting over them as she searched for any change in their condition. Red stood in place in between the armchair and the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. Yellow was the only one who was entirely still, slouched uncomfortably in the armchair with her foot propped on the coffee table. Her eyes were trained firmly on the wall opposite the couch. The air was thick with tension and nerves.
Steeling their nerves, Purple asked, ā€œHowā€™s everyone doing?ā€
ā€œOkay,ā€ Green murmured, briefly looking up to meet purpleā€™s gaze.
ā€œIā€™m good!ā€ Red assured, plastering on a huge smile that didnā€™t quite meet his eyes.
ā€œDonā€™t worry, Iā€™m fine.ā€ Blue assured gently, tapping her fingers on Secondā€™s arm as she checked their pulse again.
ā€œPeachy,ā€ Yellow spat sarcastically, glaring at the ground.
Then, after a pregnant pause, all four turned towards Secondā€™s unresponsive form. The tension returned tenfold.
Red finally spoke up, cutting off the pressure as he smiled awkwardly at the group, ā€œYou know, if Sec were awake, theyā€™d probably say something like, ā€˜At least they let me sleep in for onceā€™.ā€ The turn of phrase was made in a terrible impression of Secondā€™s voice, followed by a nervous laugh that quickly petered out, ā€œHehe, hehe, heā€¦ā€
More silence.
ā€œTheyā€™ll be okayā€¦ right?ā€ Blue asked softly.
ā€œOf course they will!ā€ Cut off Green, looking mildly insulted at even the suggestion that they wouldnā€™t be. ā€œTheyā€™re Sec! Theyā€™re always okay!ā€
Yellowā€™s already haggard face wrinkled, making her look far more tired than just a few moments prior. Her eyes reflected the ghosts of memories past as she once again cast her gaze away to avoid looking at Second. ā€œYeah,ā€ She agreed absently, though she sounded like her mind was somewhere far, far away. ā€œTheyā€™re always okayā€¦ā€
Immediately Purple got the sense that they were missing a few pieces of the puzzle. Like, maybe half of the pieces. And the box. And it was was one of those obnoxious white puzzles, so it was hard to put together in the first place.
Desperate to escape the pressure of the moment, Purpleā€™s eyes scanned over the group, and soon came to rest on Yellowā€™s ankle. Though mildly swollen, it didnā€™t look broken, so Purple hazard a guess that it only needed rest and icing. They piped up, ā€œUm, why donā€™t I get you some ice, Yellow?ā€ The query broke through whatever spell Yellow was under, dragging her mind back into the present.
Before she could respond Blue let out a sharp gasp, immediately turning to Yellow and waving her hands in a placating way. ā€œOh my gosh, Yellow, I am so sorry! I didnā€™t even think about that- I was so focused on Second that I forgot- I canā€™t believe I-!ā€
ā€œHey, hey,ā€ Yellow consoled, sitting up straight for the first time, ā€œItā€™s alright. We all know the rules: The one whoā€™s hurt worst gets priority treatment. And itā€™s just a little sprain, itā€™s not like itā€™s broken or anything.ā€
ā€œBut stillā€¦ā€ Blue kept her eyes trained on Yellowā€™s propped up foot, swallowing audibly past a lump in her throat.
Purple winced, mind racing as they searched for a way to cut through the tension, but Red beat them to it with a cheery, upbeat proclamation: ā€œPersonally, I blame Green.ā€
ā€œWhat?ā€ Green snapped back, looking vaguely offended by the accusation.
ā€œYou have two working legs,ā€ He explained in a matter-of-fact manner, ā€œYou couldā€™ve gotten up up at any time to take care of Yellow, but noooā€¦ā€
Purple snickered openly at the look on Greenā€™s face, which only got louder when he turned his glare at them. Yellow, snorting, chimed in, ā€œYeah, Green, arenā€™t you supposed to be the responsible one?ā€
ā€œOh, we all know thereā€™s no ā€˜responsibleā€™ one!ā€ Green put strong finger quotes around the word responsible, causing a wave of roaring laughter to engulf the living room. And just like that, the atmosphere grew lighter.
While the others fell into their normal banter, Purple used this opportunity to slip into the remains of Mangoā€™s kitchen. The place certainly looked like a tornado hit it, with every object damaged in some way or another. Purple stepped around cracks in the ground and puddles of water splattered around on their way through, taking note of the damage as they went. Literally all of their cutlery and tableware was in pieces. The food processor was firmly embedded into the wall, its glass cracked and its cord swinging sadly in air. Purple stepped over the dented door of the microwave, and had to glance around for a moment to find the rest of it crunched up and tossed to the side.
Convincing insurance that a super-powered stick created a twister in the middle of their kitchen would be a pain in the rear, Purple mused as they sidled over to one of the cabinet drawers that had been forced out of its place. There they found a cloth rag, which they quickly grabbed before heading towards the tipped over, broken refrigerator. If they wanted a payout good enough to rebuild their kitchen to its former glory, theyā€™d have to come up with a good story. The damage was too extensive to be explained by a burglary turned fight, so they doubted that would pass the smell test. A bear attack, maybe? Were there even bears in this areaā€¦? Honestly, the best thing Purple could come up with was an explosion. The microwave was relatively new, and still under warranty, so with a little ingenuity Purple was certain they could alter the scene of the crime to fit that narrative. Perhaps theyā€™d even get a bit of a payout from the company that made the microwave.
Nodding in satisfaction, Purple paused in front of the fridge. Theyā€™d have to go over the story with Mango later to smooth over any mistakes, but they were certain they could get a full remodel covered with ease. The satisfaction the thought put on their face disappeared when they opened the freezer door a bit too roughly, resulting in it falling off its hinges and dangling from Purpleā€™s hold. Gingerly they set it to the side and dug out a few pieces of melting ice to wrap in the cloth before finally making their way out of the kitchen to return to the others.
ā€œ-and so I said, ā€˜Thatā€™s positively blue-tiful!ā€™ā€ Red recited, and Yellow groaned lightly while Green and Blue cracked up. Somehow Purple got the feeling that they were laughing more at Yellowā€™s misery than whatever joke Red had set up.
Purple suppressed a smile as they approached, holding up the makeshift ice bag as if to explain their absence. ā€œThanks,ā€ Yellow grumbled with a pout. She winced as the ice was set on her swollen ankle. ā€œYou got anything for the headache Redā€™s puns are causing?ā€
ā€œCome on, Redā€™s just trying to make you feel better.ā€ Purple scolded playfully, ā€œIt isnā€™t very ice of you complain.ā€
They almost cracked at the complete and total betrayal that befell Yellowā€™s face. ā€œPurple,ā€ She gasped in horror, ā€œI trusted you.ā€ Green, Blue, and Red all howled with laughter, Red even doubling over and clutching his side.
ā€œThat was your first mistake,ā€ Purple informed her ominously, their grave tone in contrast to the wide grin stretched across their face.
A sudden, deep voice broke through the merriment. ā€œI see youā€™re all doing well,ā€ Mango noted, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Purple could tell that his eyes had a hint of redness to them, but that was the only sign that there had been anything amiss. If anything, he wasā€¦ too composed, which made Purpleā€™s gut curl in on itself. How many times had the Old Man cried in secret, hiding his pain from Purple? How often had they stumbled across Mango post-crying session and bombarded him with their pointless complaints, completely oblivious to his suffering?
Their self-deprecating musing were ground to a halt when Mango made his way across the living room to Secondā€™s side, taking a look at them himself. ā€œHow bad is it?ā€ He asked.
ā€œN-not that badā€¦ no serious wounds or anything, I think theyā€™re just drained,ā€ Blue filled him in. She again checked Secondā€™s pulse.
Mango hummed aloud, ā€œStill, Iā€™d rather be safe than sorry. We should get them to a hospital or something.ā€
ā€œA hospital?ā€ Green questioned, suddenly looking uneasy. It quickly spread to Blue and Red.
ā€œUm,ā€ Yellow interrupted, ā€œLook, the details are tooā€¦ complicated to get into right now, but that would be a really bad idea. Especially if they decided to isolate Sec.ā€
Red and Green both went pale. Blue looked close to tearing up. The argument Mango was clearly about to get into died on his lips at the sight, but he still didnā€™t look quite ready to let this go. Knowing how the old man worried and figuring that it wouldnā€™t be the greatest idea in the world to give a vulnerable super-powered stick to the government, Purple decided to step in. They moved from Yellowā€™s side to place a comforting hand on Mangoā€™s arm, redirecting his attention back to them.
ā€œI donā€™t think you have anything to worry about,ā€ They confirmed, ā€œSecā€™s got super healing powers, so theyā€™ll be able to patch everyone up once theyā€™re rested up.ā€
Still Mango looked unconvinced. "I donā€™t knowā€¦ā€
ā€œTrust me,ā€ Purple pleaded, and they were pleased to see a little crack in the old manā€™s armour.
After a moment of hemming and hawing, he sighed, ā€œAlright, fine, for now,ā€ Mango agreed. The others slumped in clear relief at his resignation, ā€œBut if theyā€™re not up by sundown, weā€™re taking them to the nearest doctor.ā€
ā€œThey will be,ā€ Green stated with unyielding confidence.
Mango nodded, then glanced over at Yellow. ā€œYour ankle isnā€™t broken?ā€ He asked.
ā€œSprained,ā€ She confirmed, ā€œJust need to ice it and keep it elevated. Iā€™ll be fine.ā€
Satisfied with that, Mango nodded affirmatively. He looked a little more at ease than he had been back in the kitchen. ā€œThat just leaves one more. Green,ā€ Said stick flinched at being called out, ā€œHold still for a moment. You hit your head pretty hard back there. I want to make sure youā€™re not concussed.ā€
Purple winced. Come to think of it, they had heard a pretty hard thump after Second had exploded. Had that been Greenā€™s head hitting the wall? There had been so much going on theyā€™d barely taken note of it.
Nearby, Purple heard Blue whisper under her breath, ā€œI didnā€™t even noticeā€¦ā€ They didnā€™t respond to her, but placed a gentle, consoling hand on her shoulder.
Some simple questions were exchanged between Mango and Green, each one Green answered with ease and clarity. Finally, Mango asked Green how he felt, ā€œI was nauseous and dizzy at first,ā€ The musical stick explained, ā€œBut after I sat down and relaxed a little it went away. Now I just have a raging migraine.ā€
ā€œHmm,ā€ Mango scratched his chin, ā€œWell, try to take it easy, just to be safe. Head injuries are no joke. Iā€™ll ask you again later, but so far you seem fine.ā€
Some relief returned to the room at Mangoā€™s unofficial diagnosis. Red and Yellow tossed some concussion related jabs at Green while Blue smiled warmly down at him. Laughter returned to the living room, and it felt like their friends were finally at peace ā€“ save one glaring omission to the group.
They hoped Second would wake up soon.
--------------------
Line after line, form after form, their art came to life.
Through careful craft of masterful strokes, an animation came to be. Tiny little paws made contact with an invisible floor as a kitten was gently coaxed into existence. Nose pointed straight, tail upturned in the air. Little bits of fuzz were represented by stroke after stroke of line. The small kitten stood proud, ready to make the step forward, and The Second Coming looked down at her with pride. Then they clicked to the next frame, and began the process again. Frames of the same drawing were gradually altered, until the little kitten made her way across the ground in order to explore the brand new world she was brought into.
The Second Coming nodded at her, turned to save her existence, and came face to face with the Second Coming.
A reflection stared back at them, eyes aglow with soft emerald light. No words were exchanged ā€“ they were seldom needed when the Second Coming faced themselves. The quiet contained no tension, no fear. Only a sense of peace. Some moments passed, and then the mirror turned and walked away. The Second Coming tried to follow after them, as they were usually expected to, but a hand held up in a universal ā€˜stopā€™ motion kept them in place.
Carefully maneuvering down beneath them, The Second Coming waltzed through the timeline of the kittenā€™s animation without concern. Their gaze remained focused and forward until, quite suddenly, they stopped at the very first key frame of the animation. It held firm in place as they pulled at it, harder and harder, until a perfect copy was pulled free, along with a brief flash of a fresh, entirely blank timeline. Seeing the timeline empty of their creation caused a moment of panic in the Second Coming, which quickly quieted when they looked back to see the kitten sitting there, unharmed, licking her paws with perfect grace and serenity.
Quick as theyā€™d made their way across the timeline the Second Coming returned, carrying the key frame with the same care as though it was the kitten herself. A hand gesture beckoned the Second Coming over, and the Second Coming joined themselves at the precipice of the timeline and the canvas. They looked at themselves, and their self looked down at the key frame. Gently their hand stroked the top of it, before it took hold and began to stretch it larger, and larger. The Second Coming leaned forward to get a closer look, and was rewarded with a kitten jumping into their arms.
The kitten stared up at them, mild confusion on her face. She also stared at them from across the canvas, hackles raised as she noticed her other selfā€™s presence. In response the version of her in Secondā€™s arms hopped down, carefully skirting around herself as kitten and kitten inspected each other.
For a while the Second Coming and the Second Coming watched as the two kittens came to terms with each other and began playing. Though they were the same kitten, they may as well have been simple litter-mates with how easily they came together. A tap on the shoulder drew the Second Comingā€™s attention over to their other self, who gazed at them with strong, unblinking eyes. They held up the key frame, then gestured to the kittens. The Second Coming followed their movements.
From the key frameā€¦
To the kittensā€¦
To the key frameā€¦
To the kittensā€¦
And the Second Coming understood.
--------------------
Second shot up from their resting position, crying out, ā€œHoly heck I broke space time-!ā€
Just as theyā€™d made it into a sitting position they froze. Pure, unadulterated agony spread across their entire body. Burning tears built up in their eyes, and Second desperately blinked them back even as their breath hitched. It was like every single one of their muscles were trying to pull away from their bones, burning as they struggled to break free.
ā€œAhā€¦ā€ They winced, and tried to ease back into a laying position. This only caused another flare of horrible pain from every muscle that was forced to move. ā€œOw, ow, owā€¦ā€
ā€œEasy, Sec!ā€ Blue consoled, the gentle heart being by their side in an instant. She carefully positioned her hands on their back and chest to help them back down. ā€œTake slow, deep breathsā€¦ there you go, youā€™re almost thereā€¦ā€
Slow and steady, Second pushed past the pulses of torment to lie on their back. The worst of the pain faded, though uncomfortable aches still wracked their entire body. Following Blueā€™s advice, Second began to take in deep breaths, holding them for a short time before exhaling. Breathing clearly made it easier to relax their muscles, which in turn made the painā€¦ not disappear, but lessen just a tad.
Blue was suddenly shoved to the side, and Redā€™s face appeared in her place. ā€œSec! Oh man dude, you had us so worried!ā€ Out of the corner of their eye, Second could see Purple nod in agreement.
ā€œHey, give them some space!ā€ Green scolded as he pulled Red back.
Yellow snickered, and Second tilted their head as much as the pain would allow to glance at her. She was sat in Mangoā€™s ridiculously large armchair, her leg propped up on the coffee table before her with an ice bag on top. Looking over their friends, Second found that they were all sporting various bruises, cuts, and lumps. Even Mango, the least harmed of the sticks, had clearly irritated eyes and dark purple spots on his forearms.
They did this, Second realized. After everything, theyā€™d hurt the people they cared about most. Again.
ā€œAre you alright?ā€ Mangoā€™s voice, unusually kind, cut through the self-loathing that was starting to dominate Secondā€™s thoughts. He towered over Blue as he gazed down at them. ā€œI know you have healing powers, but it might be best to let a doctor look you over. I can get you to the hospital in less than ten minutes.ā€
ā€œHospitalā€¦?ā€ Second repeated, swallowing down a fresh lump of nerves. A hospital meant doctors ā€“ scientists, men in coats, isolated in tiny space, donā€™t move, itā€™s for your own goodā€¦ ā€œN-no, Iā€™m okay. Iā€™ll heal myself once Iā€™ve got a little more energy.ā€
ā€œYouā€™re sure?ā€ Asked Mango. When Second made a small sound of affirmation, he relented, albeit a little reluctantly. ā€œAlright, Iā€™ll let it go for nowā€¦ but Iā€™d like to change the topic, if you donā€™t mind.ā€ Mango took a spot on the couch, careful not to touch Second in any way. ā€œWhat did you mean when you said you ā€˜broke space timeā€™?ā€
There was a glint in Mangoā€™s eyes that brought an entirely new sense of discomfort to Second, but they ignored it and did their best to explain, ā€œItā€™s like I said,ā€ Their throat was already beginning to ache from just this amount of talking, but it was easy enough for Second to ignore, ā€œI- my powers used the picture as a sort of key frame, like in animation. You can jump between key frames to get to dynamic moments in the piece, to- to plan the pacing of-ā€ Judging from the look on Mangoā€™s face, Second guessed that they were getting a little off-topic and tried to steer themselves back on track, ā€œEr, anyway, the key frame created a portal back to the moment it was created and- and basically made a ā€˜splitā€™, to bring them back here.ā€
ā€œA split?ā€ Yellow asked, stroking her chin curiously. ā€œSo, does that mean theyā€™re copies?ā€
Second shook their head instinctively, then winced at the resulting ache. ā€œNot quiteā€¦ itā€™s more like, I split the timeline? Since everyoneā€™s memories of Purple and Mango are in tact and history clearly didnā€™t change, itā€™s likely I created an alternate worldline where those two sticks mysteriously vanished one day. You know, because I pulled them into the future.ā€
ā€œUmā€¦ā€ Red looked completely lost, ā€œOkay, can you explain that again, but in a way that makes sense?ā€
Thank goodness Yellow took point, because Secondā€™s head was already aching, their thoughts spinning as they tried to come up with another way to put it. Instead they laid back and listened as Yellow explained, ā€œItā€™s basically just alternate universes.ā€ She stated smoothly. ā€œLike, instead of the timeline exploding or all of our memories altering to account for Mango mysteriously being brought into the future, instead thereā€™s another world entirely identical to this one, except that Mango and that other stick donā€™t exist there, because theyā€™re here.ā€
ā€œIā€™m still confused,ā€ Red said.
ā€œFor now, just know that these are past versions of Mango and Gold Ochre.ā€ Purple summarized, ā€œBut, manā€¦ thatā€™s incredible. We knew you were strong, dude, butā€¦ā€
Every pair of eyes was on Second, pinning them with a sudden pressure on their chest. More little murmurs broke out between Secondā€™s friends, whispered words that they couldnā€™t quite make out, and Second forced their eyes shut. Unable to hear their friendsā€™ conversations, Secondā€™s traitorous brain filled in the blanks, shouting at them about how different they were, how dangerous they were. How they no longer belonged with these amazing, wonderful sticks. Second groaned and tried to drown out the chattering both in and out of their head, but it only made the voices louder.
Why did they have to be cursed like this? Why couldnā€™t they just go back to being normal?
ā€œAll that aside,ā€ Green suddenly said, drawing attention back to him and away from Second. Freedom from the burden of being the center of attention muted the voices in their head, at least for now, ā€œI think weā€™ve waited long enough, so I wanna know. Who the heck is Gold?ā€
Mango suddenly went rigid. He frowned coldly, glaring at nothing in particular, while Purple immediately moved to hover anxiously at his side. They reached to comfort him, but didnā€™t make contact before withdrawing and instead offering gentle reassurances. ā€œItā€™s okay. I can explain if you-ā€
ā€œSheā€™s my kid,ā€ Mango finally revealed. Everything went quiet as the news echoed in their thoughts. ā€œHeā€¦ died a few months before I met Purple.ā€ Mangoā€™s eyes suddenly darted up, meeting Secondā€™s head on. ā€œAnd you brought her back.ā€
An awkward feeling settled over Second, as though they were taking credit for something they didnā€™t do. ā€œI hadnā€™t exactly planned that,ā€ They reminded him, ā€œI just wanted to fix what I broke.ā€
ā€œFix whatā€™s brokenā€¦ā€ Mango echoed, then huffed out a gentle laugh, ā€œWell, you certainly fixed something. I donā€™t think I can ever repay this.ā€ Some sort of weight fell off of Mangoā€™s shoulders, and he gratefully smiled down at them. The weight of his appreciation sat heavy on their chest. It didnā€™t feel like theyā€™d done anything but mess things up, and yetā€¦ theyā€™d saved a life? The duality of their feelings clashed within Second, leaving them unable to vocalize their thoughts. Oblivious, Mango continued on, ā€œNow itā€™s just a matter ofā€¦ explaining this whole mess to them,ā€ He visibly winced, ā€œThatā€™s gonna be ugly.ā€
Second, sensing the discord in his tone, immediately volunteered. ā€œI can do it,ā€ They proclaimed, ā€˜Iā€™m the one who brought them here, so it only makes senseā€¦ā€
ā€œAppreciate the thought, kid,ā€ Despite his words, the disapproval was clear through Mangoā€™s tone, ā€œbut this is kind of a family matter. I wouldnā€™t feel right about having you do my job. Besides,ā€ He tossed a side eye to Red, Blue, and Green, all of whom, Second noted uneasily, were watching them with very intense expressions, ā€œI think if you try to get up off that couch, your friends are going to duct tape you to it.ā€
Unable to deny that, Second agreed, ā€œOkay, fair enough,ā€ Then they chuckled, ā€œHeh, at least theyā€™re letting me sleep for once.ā€
For some reason, Red burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
Meanwhile Purple stood up, eagerly rushing to Mangoā€™s side. ā€œIā€™ll come help!ā€ They offered.
ā€œThatā€™s not a good idea either,ā€ Mango told them, and if he noticed how their entire form seemed to slump, he didnā€™t comment on it, ā€œIf I know myself as well as I think I do, then I know exactly how my past self will react to the news that Goldā€™s dead, andā€¦ā€ A haunted shadow fell over the old manā€™s eyes, ā€œI donā€™t think you need to see that side of me again. In the meantime, hold down the fort here. Iā€™m officially putting you in charge.ā€
ā€œWait, whyā€™s Purple in charge?ā€ Yellow complained.
Mango side-eyed the lot of them, as though they were the ones whoā€™d almost blown up an entire video game world, ā€œBecause theyā€™re the only ones Iā€™m certain wonā€™t try and get themselves killed the moment Iā€™ve left.ā€ Mango stood up and walked towards the bedroom hallway, paused for just a moment, and then picked something off of his bookshelf. A dusty relic, shimmering bronze in a painfully familiar circlet. A crown.
Probably Purpleā€™s, though Mango didnā€™t seem to have any reservations about borrowing it. He waltzed out with only a wave backwards, which Purple echoed with drained melancholy.
Once Mango was gone, Red took his place sitting next to Second, plopping down with a raspberry. ā€œSo, what, we just wait around for them to wake up?ā€
Purple shrugged. ā€œI guess-ā€ They were cut off by a loud roar, fierce and angry like a lion, and Purpleā€™s face started glow bright pink.
Yellow couldnā€™t help but poke fun at the suffering stick, ā€œAw, is someone a little hungy~?ā€ She cooed.
ā€œAgh, will you shut up?!ā€ Snapped the mess of a stick, ā€œI didnā€™t exactly get the change to eat after you guys showed up. We did make a lasagna, butā€¦ā€ Purpleā€™s voice trailed off, and without further explanation they disappeared.
Oh yeah. In addition to all the other problems theyā€™d caused, Second had ruined Purple and Mangoā€™s dinner. It wasnā€™t much of an offense, in comparison to all the other events of that day, but it felt like the sour cherry on top of the melted garbage sundae.
Soon enough Purple returned, oven mitts covering their hands and a casserole dish carefully carried along with them. The look on their face was uncertain and vaguely disturbed as they presented what was supposed to be their dinner to the group. A perfectly normal, if underdone, lasagna, with the added twist that it glowed a sickly green.
ā€œUhhā€¦ā€ Second couldnā€™t tear their eyes off of the abomination. ā€œWhoops.ā€
Red twisted away from the cursed creation, staring at it as though expecting it to attack. Green and Blue each approached to investigate themselves. Greenā€™s nose wrinkled as he got closer. Uneasy silence covered the room as they all wondered just what Secondā€™s power had done to the poor thing.
Then, at last, Blue shrugged and pulled a knife and fork out of nowhere. ā€œMeh, Iā€™ll still eat it.ā€
Everyoneā€™s horrified expressions shifted from the monstrous creation to the monstrous stick. Green looked vaguely ill. ā€œDude,ā€ He stared in disbelief, ā€œThat thingā€™s like, three different kinds of radioactive.ā€
ā€œIā€™ve put worse things in my mouth.ā€
--------------------
Soft sunlight poured through the window, gently caressing Mangoā€™s face with unseasonable warmth. His eyes fluttered open, his blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal the familiar sight of his childā€™s bedroom ceiling. Spending nights here wasnā€™t an uncommon occurrence, especially when Gold was younger and afraid of what might be hiding in the roomā€™s darkest corners, but what bugged Mango were the holes in his memory. He and Gold had just returned from a tournament, that he recalled. Theyā€™d celebrated and begun planning dinner, and thenā€¦ nothing. Just a deep-rooted sense of unease and a blinding green light assaulting his eyes.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Mangoā€™s attention was immediately drawn to the divot in the mattress right next to him, where Gold was curled up at his side. She was unharmed ā€“ which thank goodness, but why would he think she was hurt? - and slumbering as soundly as she always did, her breath escaping in sweet little whistles.
ā€œGold?ā€ He grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a rousing shake.
Like the deep log-sawer she was, Gold grumbled and groaned at his prodding. Her face pinched as she resisted the toll of the living world, grumbling and groaning at Mangoā€™s attempts to awaken her. ā€œFive more minuteeesā€¦ā€ She whined, pulling her pillow around her ears in an adorable fluff sandwich.
Though he couldnā€™t shake the nerves wracking his entire body, Mango found himself smiling at the adorable sight. ā€œCā€™mon, honey, get up,ā€ He nudged her a few more times, and she complied with a ridiculous amount of effort, picking herself up like she had suddenly doubled in weight. She let out a cute little kitten yawn, stretching up so high he was sure sheā€™d reach the ceiling. Turing, who gave this kid permission to get so big? Mango would have to have words with them.
Once she got her bearings, Gold looked around and immediately put on a puzzled frown, ā€œMm, dad?ā€ He asked, his voice shifting in a subtle way, ā€œWhen did we go to bedā€¦?ā€
ā€œStill putting that together, hun,ā€ Mango answered. There was an itching at the back of his neck, a nagging sense of forgetting something important, but whatever it was kept escaping his grasp every time he reached for it.The oncoming migraine was already clawing at his skull.
The sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air, forcing every thought in Mangoā€™s head to a grinding halt. Instinct had him throwing an arm up to push Gold behind him, only barely registering the kidā€™s gasp, before he turned to glare firmly at this intruder. Then his glare dropped in shock as he found himself face to face withā€¦ himself.
Or, at least, a man who looked nearly identical to him. Instead of neatly tying back his hair he let it hang haphazardly off his shoulders, with bangs and curls jutting in every direction. Dark shadows lined hie sunken eyes, with little hints of redness indicating a level of exhaustion Mango hadnā€™t felt since Gold was an infant. Even his clothes were a wreck; ever since Gold became old enough to start doing his own laundry Mango had made a point of keeping his own clothing as neat and pressed as he could, if only to set an example. So while the wrinkled, stained clothes didnā€™t turn him off as much as it would other sticks, it was certainly startling to see.
ā€œNice to see youā€™re both awake,ā€ He commented coolly, not yet addressing the blatant elephant in the room. His voice was like a recording of Mangoā€™s own, altered mildly to add some huskiness.
ā€œWait, dad? But youā€™reā€¦ and youā€¦?ā€ Goldā€™s head spun back and forth as he looked between his father and his fatherā€™s perfect doppelganger. The poor dear seemed so lost. Finally, he pulled his head over Mangoā€™s still extended arm to whisper a little too loudly, ā€œDad, do you have a secret twin you never told me about?ā€
Before Mango could respond, Mango- the other Mango, ah heck, that was gonna get confusing ā€“ answered in his place. ā€œNot exactly, honey. Itā€™s a bit more complicated than that, butā€¦ā€ He stepped a little closer, and smiled a tiny, broken smile, ā€œItā€™s so good to see you.ā€
A sinking weight began to form in Mangoā€™s gut at the sound of his voice. There was sincere, unadulterated joy there, and while Mango would never be unhappy to see his kid, there was something under the happiness that was far more desperate than he was comfortable hearing in his own voice. His eyes, though darkened by the shadows of exhaustion, were shimmering as unshed tears reflected the sunlight.
ā€œI understand why you might be confused. Iā€™ll explain everything in a moment, but Iā€™d like to begin by re-introducing myself.ā€ To that end, his other self sauntered across the floor with surprising confidence for someone who was clearly such a mess, grabbing Goldā€™s nearby desk chair and spinning it around to sit backwards in it, in exactly the same way heā€™d always scolded Gold for, and placed some cheap looking prop crown atop his messy mane. ā€œYou may call me ā€˜Kingā€™. At least for now, so people can tell us apart.ā€
Gold blinked dumbly at his fatherā€™s doppelganger for a moment, then a bright, wide grin stretched across his face, ā€œWhoa!ā€ He cried out, pure excitement dancing in his eyes, ā€œYou look so cool!ā€
ā€œYou look ridiculous,ā€ Mango informed him matter-of-factly.
ā€œI know,ā€ King stated, dramatically tossing his hair back with one hand. He didnā€™t specify who he was agreeing with, ā€œBut to get back to the subject at handā€¦ā€ For a moment this King guy hesitated, slumping and folding his hands in his lap before eventually proceeding, ā€œThereā€™s no real way to ease you into it, so Iā€™m just going to come out and say it: Youā€™re in the future. About two years in the future.ā€
Mango could feel his eyes widen. Goldā€™s fingers dug into his arm as he gasped, ā€œThe futureā€¦?ā€
ā€œIndeed,ā€ Confirmed King, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.
This new knowledge had Mango looking over their surroundings with fresh eyes. Something about Goldā€™s room was different. Not in the sense that it had been rearranged or had needed repaired in some way, but that it feltā€¦ uncanny. It had a level of order that was very unlike Gold. There were no books left out, no school supplies haphazardly thrown around, no broken boards from Goldā€™s attempts to learn some new move. Everything was arranged like some sort of display room; too nicely, too neatly, contradicted only by the scent of dust lingering in the air.
Kingā€™s broken smile as he looked upon Gold came back to mind, and the knot in Mangoā€™s gut tightened.
ā€œWhoa, thatā€™s- thatā€™s crazy!ā€ Gold pushed past Mangoā€™s arms to crawl closer to King, totally enraptured by the infinite possibilities the future might bright. ā€œDo you call yourself King because you rule the world? Has there been some kind of crazy apocalypse and youā€™re leading the survivors? Has the Internet ended!?ā€
Before Gold could take his hyperactive, overly imaginative questioning any further, Mango took the reigns and pulled Gold back by his collar, ā€œEasy, Hon,ā€ Mango scolded lightly, ā€œRemember, itā€™s only been about two years. I donā€™t think the world wouldā€™ve ended in that time.ā€ Much less Mango becoming some sort of monarch, but that thought was so ridiculous it didnā€™t need to be said. What idiot would make Mango a king?
King stood surprisingly rigidly, lookingā€¦ too uncomfortable at questions he shouldā€™ve very well expected from his kid, ā€œA lot can happen in two years.ā€ He informed them both without any further elaboration.
ā€œStill!ā€ Gold pumped his arms up in excitement, his sunny smile shining so bright that even dull, downtrodden King seemed to lighten up, ā€œYouā€™ve gotta have so many crazy stories! Like that big fair coming up this summer,ā€ That made King visibly flinch, raising so many more alarm bells in Mangoā€™s head, ā€œor-!ā€ Gold gasped, ā€œThe next tournament! You gotta tell me how Iā€™ll do! Do I win?! Did I screw it up?! How many people did I beat?!ā€
The look on Kingā€™s face was visibly pained, and the weight in Mangoā€™s stomach became a black hole. It sucked in everything ā€“ his feelings, his attention, his damned air ā€“ as a terrible puzzle began to put itself together in his head. The dust on everything. The longing in Kingā€™s eyes. The exhaustion that encumbered every inch of his form.
No. No, Iā€™m just imagining things. Thereā€™s no way-
A sigh, and King sunk in on himself, looking every bit like a monarch burdened with the weight of the world. ā€œThere areā€¦ some things you need to know. Donā€™t get up, this is going to be a long storyā€¦ā€
--------------------
Of all the things Purple had thought theyā€™d be doing with tonightā€™s dinner, playing some odd combination of keep away and football was not what they expected.
The ball, also known as the ā€˜radioactive lasagna abominationā€™, was held high above Purpleā€™s head as Blue stretched herself to try and steal it from them. It was all in good fun; Blue wasnā€™t seriously trying to fight Purple, and Green had decided it was safe enough to not risk worsening his potential concussion. Instead he sat off to the side, offering wayward advice and vague warnings to help keep the lasagna out of Blueā€™s clutches. Red was cheering over in vaguely the direction of the couch, more on the side of chaos than either of his friends. Meanwhile Second and Yellow, while initially entertaining themselves by watching, had quickly grown tired of the antics and were quietly talking amongst themselves about quantumā€¦ something? Purple wasnā€™t smart enough to be able to figure out what they were talking about from just the little snippets they could overhear. Not when they had to focus entirely on Blue.
The thing about Blue was that she was ever so slightly taller than Purple, tall enough that Purple had to lean back to keep the lasagna away from her. This inevitably lead to them losing their balance and falling flat on their face, nose inches away from the glowing casserole. Its smell smacked Purple with a repugnant odor, like the food was three weeks out of date, and they gagged involuntarily. How could Blue even want to put this disgusting thing in her mouth?
When theyā€™d fallen Blue had landed on top of Purple, and it took almost no time for her to begin scrambling forth to get at the lasagna. Purple sharply butted her chin with their head and slipped out from under her to take hold of the dish once again. They were only up on their feet for a moment before Blue charged after them.
Panicked, Purple began frantically scanning all around the room, from table to window to houseplant, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to get rid of this radioactive time bomb before Blue could make the mistake of eating it. Finally they caught sight of the open window on top of the door, the same one Yellow had jokingly implied the group had entered through earlier, and without a momentā€™s hesitation they got into form and began to spin, building up momentum, all the while aware of Blueā€™s heavy footsteps stomping closer and closer. Just moments before Blue could grab them they tossed the lasagna like a discus, sending it flying over the door, out the window, and into Mangoā€™s front yard.
Everyone froze. Silence fell over them all before slowly, gingerly, three sticks made their way towards the door. Green first, getting up off his chair to inspect the damage, then Purple, then Blue sheepishly trailing behind. The sun was starting to go down, but there was still plenty of summer sun warming their faces as they stepped outside. It took a moment to find the lasagna ā€“ the thing had flown roughly thirty meters once it exited the house, landing food side down in one of the neighborā€™s flowering bushes.
...There was smoke coming from the hydrangeas. The entire plant withered in double speed; its leaves going black and stems drooping down. The delicate pink petals shriveled up and fell off. Soon enough those poor flowers were dead, a single wilted shrub amongst the rainbow that decorated the neighborā€™s front lawn.
Silence reigned for a heavy second. Then Blue made a sound like a small ā€˜meepā€™, her hands flying up to stroke her jaw, as if verifying that it was indeed still in tact.
ā€œ...And this is why we donā€™t like it when you put random things you find on the ground in your mouth.ā€ Green scolded, sounding more tired than genuinely angry. His fingers were massaging his temples in a vain attempt to stave off what was no doubt a resurgence of his earlier migraine.
Blue anxiously tapped her fingers as she murmured in acknowledgment, ā€œYeah, Iā€™m gonna go try and get that pan back before someone noticesā€¦ Sorry, Purpleā€¦ā€
With that Blue trudged out into the big stick world all on her own, tiptoe and tumbling across the lawn as though avoiding the gaze of some non-existent sentry. Nobody was present, of course ā€“ after moving in Purple began keeping meticulous track of the neighbors comings and goings, mostly for safety reasons but also for their own amusement, and knew none of the neighbors who would care would be home for several hours. Everyone else knew how to mind their own business, so Purple gave Green a casual shrug and made their way back inside.
If there had been any tension inside from the Great Lasagna Toss, it had completely dissipated by the time Purple had returned. Second and Yellow had roped Red into joining whatever conversation they were having, and though Red looked to be developing a migraine on par with Greenā€™s, he seemed to at least be beginning to understand what they were talking about.
ā€œSo a ā€˜fixed timelineā€™ means that nothing you can do will altar the past and change the future, even if you tried to directly?ā€ Red asked.
Yellow nodded, seemingly satisfied with how Redā€™s slap-dash time travel education was coming along, ā€œExactly. The most common reason for this is the single timeline theory. If you time travel, you will always have time traveled, and so the time travel was a canonical event from the beginning. But there are versions of this theory that say the universe will altar itself in order to course correct. Things can only go one way, and thereā€™s no changing fate,ā€ She hummed, stroking her chin, ā€œThatā€™s actually one of my primary concerns with the current situation. Maybe we can stop Gold from dying, but in doing so we may be condemning them to an even worse death later.ā€
Purpleā€™s heart jolted in their chest. They jumped over to Yellow, startling the bright stick as she scrambled a little in response to their sudden closeness. ā€œHey, hi. Maybe donā€™t say that in front of the Old Man? Like, ever?ā€ Without giving her a chance to respond, Purple continued, ā€œI think heā€™s had enough mental breakdowns for one day.ā€
ā€œNghā€¦ā€ Second groaned from where they were still laying on the couch. There had been some positive progress, in that they could now turn their head and make tiny movements without crying from pain, but they still couldnā€™t pull themselves up into a sitting position, ā€œThe more I think about this, the more I feel like I should be in there with him. I mean, Iā€™m the one who brought them here, you know?ā€
ā€œUh-huh,ā€ Yellow agreed, though her eyebrow was quirked up at the sickly stick.
Second continued to ramble to all the sticks presence, barely paying mind to Green when he joined them, having apparently gotten bored of watching Blue stealth across the front lawn, ā€œHe doesnā€™t even know about string theory, or multiple worldlines, or- or the risks of tearing a hole in space-time? Like, what if thereā€™s some sort of backlash from using that much energy at once?ā€ Secondā€™s face grew more and more tense as their rambles continued, ā€œOr what if thereā€™s actually still a microscopic black-hole in the kitchen, and it could tear open and swallow everything at any time?! Or-or-ā€ Seconds eyes seemed to lose focus as they gazed up at nothingness. Their voice got hoarser, their breathing harder, their speaking faster, ā€œW-what if we were wrong about the multiple timelines thing, and the paradox of having past versions of two people here is slowly tearing the universe apart, bit by bit, until thereā€™s nothing left but the cold, endless void-?!ā€
ā€œWhoa there, buddy, reel it back a little bit,ā€ Red was the first to break free of the stunned stupor Secondā€™s stream of madness caused, but once he did he moved to Secondā€™s side to place his hands on their shoulders. Judging by how Second didnā€™t so much as twitch at the contact, his touch must have been unusually gentle, ā€œYouā€™re doing the thing again.ā€
Secondā€™s eyes were bulging out of their face, but in a strange way their confusion seemed to ground them, forcing Second to focus on Red, ā€œW-what thing?ā€
ā€œYou know, the thing,ā€ Red leaned over Second to make sure they could see him as he continued, ā€œThat spiraling thing you do, where your train of thought hits, like, this tiny little pebble of random danger and goes flying off the rails into this insane paranoia tornado, until it goes crashing back down into the central station of common sense,ā€ A grin fit for a clown spread wide across Redā€™s face as he described this phenomenon, ā€œYou know, that thing?ā€
Whatever the intention of Redā€™s comment, it at least got Second to calm down, even if it was only by making them more annoyed than worried, ā€œI do not do that,ā€ They insisted.
Greenā€™s snickering laugh only increased the level of petty pout that Second was putting on, ā€œYou totally do, dude!ā€
ā€œMajority rules,ā€ Yellow added, smugly pushing her glasses up her nose.
In desperation, Second tilted their head towards Purple, ā€œI donā€™t do that, right Purple?ā€
ā€œI may not be a quantum physicist like you and Yellow,ā€ The violet stick crossed their arms and leaned back, ā€œbut I am not stupid enough to get in the middle of this.ā€
Howling laughter erupted from the other three sticks, and Second sighed melodramatically, head slumping back on the couch, ā€œI hate you all,ā€ They declared in a weary sigh.
ā€œAw,ā€ Red cooed, moving his hands to cautiously squish secondā€™s face, ā€œIs da wittle cwybaby feewing gwumpy?ā€
Secondā€™s face lit up in a bright green blush, ā€œWhat did I do to deserve this?ā€
Purple felt lighter as they laughed along with everyone. They hadnā€™t realized just how rigidly theyā€™d been holding themselves until all that tension was forced out of them by a little dose of joy. That was the nice things about these guys; no matter how bad the circumstances, no matter what horrors life put them through, they always managed to come out the other side whole and together. What was it that got them through the tough times? Was it one anchor that held them together, like Secondā€™s protective attachment, or Greenā€™s compassion? Was it all of their good traits coming together, making something greater than the sum of their parts? Or maybe they just loved each other that much, that they could manifest happy endings for themselves by believing hard enough?
Envy scratched at Purpleā€™s insides, just the same as it did every time they saw the colourful group together, but its insistent scratching got softer and quieter every time they got together. Though their earlier thoughts about Gold proved Purple was still a terrible person, they felt like being around the others was slowly, surely, making them better. At least, they really hoped so.
The merriment of the moment was interrupted by a loud, angry, ā€œYou son of a bitch!ā€, followed by a thump that seemed to shake the house.
Second was first to react, immediately trying to sit up, but Red vetoed that idea by pushing down on their shoulders roughly enough that Second winced. ā€œStay down, ya masochist!ā€ He scolded, ā€œWe got this! Come on, guys!ā€
The prompting shook Purple out of their momentary shock to follow Red out of the room, heart racing. Heavy footsteps behind them indicated that Green was following as well, racing along in tandem through the side hallway where the bedrooms were. They filed past Mangoā€™s Purpleā€™s door to reach Goldā€™s, and Red yanked it open to exactly the sight Purple had been afraid of. The younger Mango had knocked down the older one, pinning him with his weight and attempting to punch his lights out. Old Man Mango was barely blocking his blows with his already bruised forearms, wincing visibly with every hit. Purpleā€™s crown, once proudly displayed in the living room along with one of Goldā€™s trophies, had been knocked to the ground in the middle of the chaos.
Purpleā€™s breath hitched.
ā€œD-dad, please-!ā€ Gold was crying, visible tears running down his face. Her entire body was shaking, ā€œPlease, c-calm down!ā€
ā€œHow could you?!ā€ Younger Mango seemed deaf to everything, even his own child, at that moment, ā€œHow could you let this happen?!ā€
All Old Man Mango did in response was grunt as he was hit again.
Nobody was moving forward to stop this mess; Red and Green were utterly petrified, and Gold was clearly not in any state to do anything. So without further thought Purple leapt into action, barreling into the forbidden space and grabbing onto the younger Mangoā€™s arm. The sudden touch had him turning his tearful, angry glare at Purple. Ice spread through Purpleā€™s veins as their eyes made contact, freezing them in place for the entire half-second it took for Mangoā€™s fist to connect with their face.
Tumblr media
Pain exploded across their cheek and traveled through their entire head, and for a moment Purple felt so much younger, so much smaller. A tall stick, the same colour as the sunset the night sky towered above them, looking down at his their child with wild, frightened eyes. You need to get up, Purple! Their voice echoed through Purpleā€™s ears, ringing heavily with each throb of pain, You need to fight, Purple! I canā€™t protect you forever, Purple-!
ā€œPurple!ā€
Jolting back into reality, Purple blinked away their blurred vision and found warm orange replacing cold navy. The Old Man Mango had finally stopped letting himself be used as a punching bag and was hovering anxiously over them, hands reaching out but seemingly unable to bridge the gap between them. Beyond the clear horror, Mango wore guilt plain on his face, looking close to tears yet again. Overā€¦ Purple? Or scaring Gold, maybe?
Whatever it was, the hysteria of his current mood remained in the old manā€™s voice when he called out again, ā€œPurple! Are you alright?!ā€
The throbbing pain lingering in their jaw, but at that moment all Purple wanted was for the Old Man to stop looking at them like they were some kicked puppy. The way his eyes bore into them, with lingering tears and intense focus, was making their heart clench painfully tight and their chest fill with a strange warmth. So Purple playfully smacked away his stalling hands and smiled their biggest, brightest smile, ā€œPfft, Iā€™m fine. Iā€™ve taken hits twice that hard when I was half this size.ā€
Mango retreated a little at Purpleā€™s words, no longer bordering on the edge of hysteria but still looking very uncomfortable, ā€œI know youā€™re trying to make me feel better, but thatā€™s actually doing the opposite.ā€
Not even bothering to hide their rolling eyes, Purple quickly surveyed the room again. Poor Gold was the first thing they noticed; their eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as they covered their gaping mouth, horrified at what their father had just done. On the opposite side of the room, Green was being held back by Red. He glared daggers at the younger Old Man, who in turn was staring at Purple themselves with shock andā€¦ something else, something dark, that made Purpleā€™s insides squirm in familiar fear.
Why? What did they do besides get punched out?
Some sort of accord seemed to have been reached between Red and Green, the two briefly nodding at each other in the corner of Purpleā€™s vision before separating. Red lazily jogged along the outer edges of the room while Green approached the younger Mango and grabbed his arm roughly, ā€œWell, since you two are clearly going to behave like children,ā€ Green scolded as he dragged Young Mango over to Old Mango, only to do the same to him, ā€œThen weā€™re going to have to treat you like children. Red!ā€
A sharp squeaking noise flooded the room, signaling that Red had yanked opened the closet door, and without further notice Green pushed both adults inside. Red slammed the closet door closed immediately once the two were inside, and Purple was joining in on their mutiny before their brain could fully comprehend what was happening, grabbing the knocked over chair from Goldā€™s desk and using it to prop the door shut. With the chair wedged firmly in place, the thumps from within the sealed room had no hope of breaking free.
ā€œHey!ā€ One of the two old men called out from within, beating on the door with such force Purple could swear they could see it shaking, ā€œLet us out of here, you damned brats!ā€ The pounding of their fists against it matched the pounding of Purpleā€™s heart as they realized Holy Heck they just locked their guardian in the closet-!
Red leaned against the door with a smug aura. From the safety of the outside he taunted, ā€œNope~! Naughty adults have to be punished in the time out zone~!ā€
ā€œListen, you little-!ā€
ā€œDonā€™t bother,ā€ A more tired version of the same voice reasoned with the angry one, ā€œThey wonā€™t listen to you anyways.ā€
Maybe it was how calm the Mango heā€™d always known sounded in the midst of all this chaos, or maybe the shock of the situation was finally starting to wear off, but Purple suddenly found themselves grinning at this ridiculous situation, ā€œCā€™mon, Old Man,ā€ They teased, hearing a bristling repetition of the nickname from who they were sure was the younger of the two, ā€œYou know you canā€™t really come out of the closet until you truly accept yourself.ā€
Who the heavy sigh that followed came from didnā€™t even need clarification, nor did the mumbling of, ā€œPurple, I swear to Turing-ā€
As Green and Red went over the security on the door to be sure the two fighting adults couldnā€™t just bust their way out, Purple found themselves turning back to Gold, who had been watching the entire circus play out with utter shock. Purple had guessed from pictures that they and Gold were around the same height, but the way he curled in on himself made them look so much smaller, so much more fragile. It wasnā€™t easy seeing a parent lose themselves to their own madness, Purple sympathized. Especially when learning about your own death was the catalyst.
So Purple approached and, making sure not to startle her by speaking too loudly, asked, ā€œHey, how are you doing?ā€
Gold jumped a little at suddenly being addressed, anxiously twiddling his fingers as he answered, ā€œUh, fine, Iā€™m fine, Iā€™mā€¦ sorry, I shouldā€™ve done something to stop them, or help, but-ā€
ā€œI think we can excuse you for being a littleā€¦ out of it today,ā€ Consoled Purple. They felt like they should do comfort them ā€“ rub the kidā€™s shoulder, hug her, something ā€“ but the full weight of the situation kept them standing awkwardly still. Eventually, Purple managed to break the silence, ā€œIā€™m Purple, by the way. I usually go by they/them.ā€
They held out their hand, and after a moment of silent staring Gold took it, ā€œUh, Gold. Iā€™m- Iā€™m a guy, at least for now. Thatā€™ll probably change, but Iā€™ll let you know when it does.ā€ Despite his clear discomfort, Gold forced a familiar smile onto his face. The family resemblance between father and son was so strong it wouldā€™ve been impossible not to see the Old Man in Gold.
ā€œThanks!ā€ Red chimed in, sliding up to them from the side, ā€œIā€™m Red, and thatā€™s Green. Weā€™re guys too! Mostly!ā€
Green rolled his eyes as he sauntered up behind Red. ā€œChill out, dude. Cā€™mon, we should leave Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dork to their suffering and introduce Gold to the others.ā€
ā€œOthers? There are more of you guys?ā€ Gold asked, too stunned to protest as Red and Green practically pushed him out of the room, ā€œD-did my dad start an orphanage or something after I died?ā€
Purple couldnā€™t hold back their snorting laughter, ā€œNah, Iā€™m the only one who lives here. Everyone else is just freeloading until further notice.ā€
---------------------
SO. Today hadnā€™t been going exactly like Gold planned.
He thought heā€™d be winning the tournament today, taking home a trophy just as golden and shiny as his colouring, but managed to flub it up at the last moment. Then, before Gold could even start to lick his wounds, he and his father were thrust years ā€“ literal years ā€“ into the future, where Gold was dead and his dad looked halfway to it. Theyā€™d gotten as far as the incident at the fair before his other father completely lost his marbles and began trying to beat himself to death, only for some poor other kid to suffer the consequences.
Now he was standing awkwardly in his own living room, so familiar yet so different, where a rainbow of strangers were hanging around with a variety of injuries.
ā€œBlueā€™s not back?ā€ Green asked as they all entered and wait, this wasnā€™t all of them???
One of them, a yellow stick with glasses, shook their head, ā€œProbably still stealthing her way back. Iā€™m sure sheā€™ll-ā€
The front door exploded open with enough force that Gold was certain the old bat next door heard (if she was still alive after two years, dear programmers itā€™d been two years-), and a bright blue stick with a cheeky grin and one of dadā€™s new two year old casserole dishes held over her head triumphantly. ā€œBehold! I have retrieved the evidence!ā€ She looked around the room, stopped her gaze at Gold, and blinked owlishly for a long moment, ā€œUh, I feel like I missed something.ā€
Green openly snorted, ā€œA few things.ā€ He agreed, waltzing past Gold without concern to plop down next to the messed of a stick laying on the couch. Without even looking he took this stickā€™s hand and continued conversing with the blue stick, poking some eating related jab at them. Looking past them, Gold did a double take as he finally caught sight of the kitchen and holy heck what happened to the kitchen?!
A violet hand on his shoulder made Gold jump momentarily, glancing back to see Purple smiling kindly despite the fresh bruise on their face. He wasnā€™t quite sure what to make of Purple; theyā€™d been so nice, even after Goldā€™s dad straight up punched them in the face. A part of Gold felt like they were taking advantage of Purpleā€™s hospitality after what dad had done, but an even bigger part was grateful for something ā€“ anything ā€“ to cling on to in the middle of this insanity.
ā€œYeah, sorry ā€˜bout the mess,ā€ Purple gestured vaguely to the ruined room, shrugging, ā€œAs it turns out, time travel has some wicked side effects. Including literally exploding.ā€
The stick on the couch, who Gold had assumed was asleep (or maybe in a coma), mumbled an exhausted, ā€œSorryā€¦ā€ before rolling a little to better face the others.
ā€œAh, right, let me introduce everyone!ā€ Purple leapt out from behind Gold to take center stage. It was obvious to Gold how they reveled in the spotlight, every gesture made being grand and graceful, ā€œFirstly, presenting the perilous potion pilferer, the gluttonous god of the grill, the mighty Miss Blue!ā€ The blue stick had seated herself on the arm part of Dadā€™s armchair, snickering at Purpleā€™s introduction, ā€œSitting next to her, measuring up at a whopping 1500 grams of brains and 50 grams of muscles-ā€
ā€œHey,ā€ The Yellow stick warned, not bothering to wipe the amused smile from their face. Gold brought a hand up to his mouth to help hold in his giggling.
ā€œ-Her sassiness, the Unyielding Miss Yellow!ā€ Purple spun around the armchair to stand between it and the couch, ā€œNow, youā€™ve already been introduced to the Wrathful Red,ā€ Purple presented Red who, despite his title, was grinning like heā€™d just won the lottery as he posed, ā€œAnd Green the Guileless!ā€ Green rolled his eyes playfully, ā€œBut be prepared, for our last friend is certainly not our least. They are the worldā€™s deadliest mom friend, a hot-headed herald of hibernationā€¦ā€ Purple presented the stick on the couch with jazz hands, ā€œThe Second Coming~!ā€
The others let out a round of whoops and hollers that didnā€™t seem particularly appreciated by this Second Coming character, who waved everyone off with a grumpy frown. ā€œYou can just call me Second,ā€ They informed Gold in a mumble. While they werenā€™t as visibly injured as everyone around them, they made up for that by looking deathly ill. Their eyes were practically swallowed by dark circles, and their exposed flesh was clammy and pale.
Dropping the act, Purple seemed a little more serious as they informed him, ā€œSecondā€™s the one who brought you here with their super powers. It kinda drained them.ā€
Goldā€™s mouth was open before he could even fully take in the information, ā€œOh, so thatā€™s why they look like a drowned cat.ā€
Immediately his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and howling laughter flooded the air from the other sticks. Why did he say that?! What in the Outernet made him say that to the stick who SAVED HIS LIFE?!?!
Second looked like they were suppressing a grimace, ā€œGee, thanks.ā€
Waving his hands frantically, Gold immediately tried to eat his words, swallow them, anything to take them back and redo his introduction, ā€œI am SO sorry! I-I donā€™t even know why I said that, that was SO stupid-!ā€
ā€œHey, hey,ā€ Second awkwardly consoled, slowly lifting themselves up into a sitting position. Everyone who could stand immediately stood at attention, watching their change of position with hyper-vigilance, ā€œItā€™s okay, letā€™s justā€¦ start over,ā€ They lifted their arm with shaking effort, managing a grin for Gold, ā€œHi, Iā€™m Second.ā€
Feeling a little relief wash over him, Gold reached over and carefully took his hand, giving it a light shake, ā€œIā€™m Gold. Itā€™s nice to meet you.ā€
Secondā€™s eyes remained trained on Goldā€™s face the entire time, watching him as if looking for something, and Goldā€™s muscles locked up as he struggled not to look away. It felt like those emerald eyes were trying to pierce through his very soul. After a moment, a wide smile spread across Secondā€™s face, ā€œWhatā€™s wrong? You look like a cat thatā€™s about to be drowned.ā€
Everyone laughed even longer and louder than before as Goldā€™s jaw dropped. Once his brain caught up with the present, Gold found himself joining in on the merriment, ā€œOkay, okay, thatā€™s fair.ā€ He agreed. Greenā€™s arm slung around his shoulder, and Gold found himself feeling surprisingly warm. Despite how crazy his life was right now, even with his dad locked in the closet for actual assault, Gold found himself feeling genuinely relaxed. He felt likeā€¦ things would be okay.
A pained stomach grumbling out interrupted Goldā€™s thoughts, and everyone turned to Purple with various levels of amusement. ā€œGeez, you still havenā€™t shut that thing up?ā€ Green teased, his arm still around Goldā€™s shoulders.
ā€œWith what?!ā€ Purple asked, ā€œIn case you havenā€™t noticed, the kitchenā€™s still wrecked!ā€
Gold perked up a little. All this time he had been allowing himself to be drawn along by the chaos, going along with everyone else and allowing himself to be comforted by the generosity. But this was Goldā€™s house too, and a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that Gold had the power to give back, at least a little, for everything theyā€™d done for him. Like giving him comfort and taking his mind off things and saving his damn life.
ā€œOoh! I can handle that!ā€ Gold informed the others triumphantly, before pulling away to sprint towards the living roomā€™s bookshelf. Once it had been neatly arranged; there had been a separate shelf for dadā€™s manuals, dadā€™s novels, Goldā€™s novels, and Goldā€™s comic books, but now books of various genres and owners were mixed up. There were also books about flower meanings and game guides mixed in, as well as novels from medieval fantasies that Gold assumed were Purpleā€™s, on account of this being a genre neither Gold nor his father were into. But pressed against the very same spot as it was two years ago was One Hundred and One Ways To Pick Up Sticks. Dad had told Gold it had been a tasteless gift after a bad breakup, but it did have its uses. Like, for example, being ridiculously large and thick for the type of book it was.
Gold opened the hollowed out book and took a wad of the large amount of cash ā€“ not as much as two years ago, he noted, but still plenty ā€“ before turning around to wave the fistful of bills for the others to see. Yellowā€™s eyes lit up as she squealed, and everyone else seemed to freeze in place at the sight of real money.
Purpleā€™s mouth fell open in shock, ā€œWait, he had a secret stash this whole time?!ā€ They scowled, ā€œThat cheap Old Manā€¦ā€
ā€œNice!ā€ Blue recovered first, grinning wickedly. She rubbed her hands together and licked her lip. On the opposite side of Yellow, Green and Red exchanged a high-five, grinning wickedly.
Only Second seemed to hold some reluctance, ā€œUh, is it really okay for us to use that?ā€
ā€œGeez, you really are the mom friend,ā€ Purple rolled their eyes, plopping down on the couch near Secondā€™s feet.
Still, the worried look on their face was making Goldā€™s stomach squirm, so he held up a finger and declared, ā€œWell, why donā€™t we ask him?ā€ Turning towards where his bedroom was in the house, Gold raised his voice and shouted, ā€œHey, Dad! Weā€™re gonna use some of the emergency fund to order out! If thatā€™s not okay, say something!ā€ Gold held a hand up his ear to amplify his hearing, and waited.
And waited.
And waitedā€¦
After a few more seconds of nothingness, Gold shrugged, ā€œGuess itā€™s okay.ā€
Second weakly smiled in response, ā€œHeh, alright then.ā€ Their eyes fluttered a little, trying and failing to resist the siren song of slumber.
ā€œPizza cool with everyone?ā€ Purple asked, already pulling out a cellular device. It was sleek and dark, with a protective jacket covered in adorable stickers. After receiving a round of affirmations, they nodded and began dialing.
ā€œOh, make sure no meat for me!ā€ Red suddenly piped up.
Blue nodded thoughtfully, ā€œIā€™ve never gone full vegetarian with a pizza. That actually sounds pretty good!ā€ She licked her lips, no doubt imagining the taste of red sauce and vegetables on her tongue.
ā€œIā€™m good with whatever,ā€ Green piped up, ā€œBut make sure to get something simple for Sec. They tend to like the more traditional pizzas, and theyā€™re already not feeling well, soā€¦ā€ His hand found its way to Secondā€™s head, gently petting through the long orange tangle of hair, and Second subconsciously pushed back into his touch.
Purple nodded along to their requests, taking clear note, ā€œOkay, so weā€™ll get three pizzas. One classic pepperoni, one veggieā€¦ā€ Gold perked up, and quickly leapt to interrupt Purple and get his own favourite pizza added on.
ā€œOh! Oh! Could the last one be Hawaiian?ā€
ā€œ-And the last will be Hawaiian, obviously.ā€
The two sentences, spoken in perfect harmony, echoed through the living room as Purple and Goldā€™s eyes met. Silence lingered in the air between them; It held no awkwardness or tension, only a strange sense of warmth and understanding. Somewhere deep inside of him, Gold could feel the spark of a new bond ignite.
Purple smiled, sauntered over to Goldā€™s side, and tossed an arm over his shoulder, ā€œGoldie,ā€ The violet stick smiled as they cheerfully proclaimed, ā€œI think you and I are gonna get along juuust fine.ā€
---------------------
Thump.
ā€œArgā€¦ come on!ā€
Thump.
ā€œWhy wonā€™t this stupid thing-ā€
Thump.
ā€œOpen?!ā€
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Behind Mango, the so-called King sighed from the spot on the ground where heā€™d made himself comfortable, ā€œGive it a rest. Those kidā€™s arenā€™t going to make it so easy for us to get out of here.ā€
Spinning around on his heels, Mango glared furiously at this pathetic future version of himself. How could he just sit there, all poised and collected like their his child wasnā€™t out there, alone, grappling with the knowledge of his incoming death and stuck with a bunch of strangers. If anything he seemedā€¦ detached, staring at the wall in front of him without an ounce of concern for what was going on. The expression on his face was completely and utterly devoid of emotion.
His blood began to boil.
ā€œMaybe itā€™d be a little easier,ā€ Mango sneered out under his breath, ā€œif you did anything other than just sit there, you useless piece of-ā€
King cut him off, ā€œOh, shut up. Youā€™re giving me a migraine.ā€ As if to emphasize this point, King began digging his fingers into the temples of his skull, ā€œTake it from someone whoā€™s been there: You donā€™t want to fly off the handle at any little thing. Trust me, youā€™ll end up regretting it.ā€
Spinning on his heels, Mango leveled a glare at King. ā€œThis isnā€™t any little thing!ā€ His fists twitched at his side, begging Mango to let them fly forth, to punish, to hurt. He held off for now, ā€œThis is my baby! My Gold! Dying! How could you not be furious?!ā€ Just the thought of Goldā€™s suffering constricted Mangoā€™s lungs in his chest, making each inhale of air a fight, ā€œHow could you just let this go?! Heā€™s the only good thing in this cursors damned world, and heā€™s gone!ā€ Turmoil churned in Mangoā€™s gut, making him vaguely nauseous. He pushed through the pain, spitting it all back out at King, ā€œHe was pulled into some game attraction, glitched out of existence, and you just sat back and watched! YOU LET HIM DIE!ā€
He could see it now. Gold, pushing back against the pull of that accursed game, desperately reaching out to him, Dad! Dad, help me! Iā€™m scared! Before his body would be overwhelmed by the errors, horror and pain spreading across his face as he was eaten alive-
Struggling to speak against his own heaving lungs, Mangoā€™s volume lowered as he growled, ā€œI donā€™t care what you say, I am not you. I would never sit back and do nothing while my child was murdered.ā€
Throughout the tirade, King didnā€™t once speak up. Didnā€™t so much as twitch. He kept his gaze level and even on the wall opposite of him. ā€œYouā€™re not telling me anything I havenā€™t already told myself,ā€ He responded coolly, far too coolly, once Mango was done. His vacant, uncaring eyes wouldnā€™t meet Mangoā€™s, which boiled his blood hotter, ā€œBut Iā€™ve been where you are. I know exactly how youā€™re feeling, and I know that giving into that anger will just make things so much worse. If you donā€™t cool off, youā€™ll end up doing something you regret.ā€
ā€œRegret more than letting my kid die?ā€ The idea was almost laughable, if it wasnā€™t so painfully stupid.
Finally King got off his lazy butt, standing and at last meeting Mangoā€™s eyes. They were as cold and empty as King himself. ā€œEarlier, when that kid tried to stop us from fighting, you swung your fists without even looking,ā€ The phantom pressure of that childā€™s face danced across Mangoā€™s knuckles, causing him to flex his fingers on impulse. He supposed the kid had been innocent in all this, but it was hard to feel bad when heā€™d caught the look on his future selfā€™s face; how could he have so much concern for this random bystander when his dead baby was right there? Oblivious, King continued, ā€œDid it ever occur to you that it could have easily been Gold whoā€™d tried to stop us instead?ā€
Now that made Mangoā€™s blood run cold, because he was certain his future self was right. If those kids hadnā€™t run in to interfere, Gold wouldā€™ve tried to stop him as soon as the shock wore off. That was the kind of kid Gold was; sweet and selfless. And then he wouldā€™ve punched his own child.
Pushing that thought of his head, Mango immediately redirected, ā€œAre you sure itā€™s Gold youā€™re worried about? Because you seemed awfully concerned about that other kidā€¦ Purple, was it?ā€ Kingā€™s brow furrowed in irritation, and Mango felt a small bit of pleasure in finally getting a reaction out of him, even if it confirmed his worst suspicions, ā€œWho are they, anyways?ā€
ā€œTheyā€™reā€¦ā€ King tripped over his tongue, looking away from Mango as he no doubt realized what Mango had, ā€œItā€™s complicatedā€¦ā€
ā€œDoesnā€™t seem too complicated to me,ā€ Mango stepped into the otherā€™s space, backing him into the wall. For a so-called King, he didnā€™t seem to have any of the qualities of a king: the decisiveness, the bravery, the poise. He was just a cowardly old man, with fear in his heart and sweat on his brow. ā€œIt seems like you just picked up some random kid off the street to fill the hole in your life,ā€ King seemed to bristle at that, which only spurred Mango on, ā€œYou disgusting, pathetic bastard. What kind of father are you, to just forget your child and replace them with-ā€
That was as far as Mango got before he was thrust against the opposite wall, a bruised arm threatening to crush his windpipe. The Kingā€™s eyes had gone wide and wild, like a feral dogā€™s, and Mango reveled the fury, ā€œPurple is NOT a replacement for Gold,ā€ He growled, voice low and dangerous, ā€œNo one could EVER replace Gold.ā€
Despite the pressure on his throat, Mango gave the other his biggest, smuggest grin, ā€œWhat was it you said about giving into anger?ā€
The single sentence caused King to remember himself, and he quickly retreated, leaving a vacuum of tension between them. He sighed, and attempted to wipe the anger from his eyes, and didnā€™t quite succeed, ā€œI know how you feel because Iā€™ve been there,ā€ King grumbled, ā€œDo not presume to know how I feel in return. Purple is not Gold. They will never be Gold, and I donā€™t expect them to be Gold. I was going to tell the full story before you lost your shit, but to make it short, after Gold died, Iā€¦ hurt people. A lot of people,ā€ As he spoke, Kingā€™s eyes lost focus, staring at the wall in front of him without seeing anything, ā€œI was going to kill them. I was going to kill myself. And I failed because of Purple. They saved me. I owe them my life- No. My life isnā€™t valuable enough. I owe them so much more than that.ā€
A ghost of a smile formed on Kingā€™s face. Mangoā€™s stomach turned. How could thisā€¦ sick monster smile while his baby was dead?
ā€œIā€™ve already been angry about Goldā€™s death,ā€ Continued King. He sounded less angry with every sentence, which began eating away at Mangoā€™s limited patience yet again, ā€œI know what that feels like, what it does to me. But this isnā€™t a time to be angry. Thanks to thisā€¦ miracle, I have a chance to change fate. Iā€™m elated,ā€ Kingā€™s hand reached up to brush his too long hair out of his face, smiling softly, ā€œI can save my child.ā€
ā€œMy child,ā€ Mango interrupted insistently. Owlish blinking was what he got in response, and he sharpened his glare as he elaborated, ā€œYour child, if youā€™ll remember, is dead. Gold is my kid, and Iā€™m not going to become you. I wonā€™t let anything happen to him.ā€
King pressed his lips together thinly and stared at Mango, but did not protest. ā€œFine. Whatever,ā€ He brushed off, ā€œThatā€™s not whatā€™s important. The only thing that matters right now is Gold,ā€ For once, the King was speaking sense, ā€œI wonā€™t try to make you like me, or pretend thatā€™s even possible. But for Goldā€™s sakeā€¦ā€ An empty hand reached out, an olive branch of peace, ā€œWeā€™ll need to work together.ā€
There was no need to elaborate further. This King was his and Goldā€™s only connection in this world. It was still unclear if there was a way for the two to return to the past. Theyā€™d need a safe place to say, and while this had once been Mangoā€™s home, it now belonged to King. Two years was not a terribly long time, but it was more than enough to rock their worlds upside down. Theyā€™d need to rebuild everything from scratch, and as much as he loathed this carefree version of himself, this King who as good as murdered his own child when he turned his back on Gold, they needed the safety and security he could provide. Furious as Mango was, he at least maintained enough pragmatism to see that.
So Mango stared the Usurper of his home in the eyes, and took the offered hand, ā€œFine. For now. But the second Iā€™m on my feet, Iā€™m taking MY kid and weā€™re leaving.ā€
ā€œAs long as Goldā€™s safe and happy,ā€ The King smiled a weary smile as he shook his hand, ā€œThatā€™s all that matters.ā€
Once the truce was firmly established, Mango pulled his hand from Kingā€™s grip and wiped it on his shirt. King took this opportunity to gently shove his way in front of Mango to inspect the sealed door. He first tried the knob, then knelled down and began banging at the door in random spots. ā€œIf youā€™re trying to break through, youā€™re going to need more force than that,ā€ Mango advised, folding his arms, ā€œI figured if we both hit it in tandem-ā€
ā€œWeā€™ll break down the door,ā€ King put a single finger up, shushing Mango like a child, and then he beckoned with his hand to his seething younger self, ā€œbut before we resort to destruction of property, hand me one of those hangers, will you? I want to try something.ā€
Automatically, Mango reached up and took hold of one of the wire hangers. Letting this bastard boss him around was far from Mangoā€™s idea of a good time, but at this point he just wanted out of the stupid closet.
King spun the wire hanger and began to methodically deconstruct it. Even the weakest of sticks were more than strong enough to bend the metal without use of any special equipment, so it was only a matter of seconds before King had untwisted the hanger out of shape. He then carefully bent the top into a hook-shape and slipped it through the crack on the side of the door. Mango leaned against the wall and simply watched. He was more than capable of putting together the plan, but wondered if it would really work, or how long it would take for Mango to take hold of the chair. If the wire metal would even have enough hold to pull the chair down with breaking or bending out of shape.
It did, in the end, but it took long enough that Mango had begun to nod off while leaning against the wall. The crash of the chair meeting the floor had been what startled him back into the world of the waking. Once his eyes were open, Mangoā€™s eyes met Kingā€™s, and it was only then that heā€™d realized that his response had been to jump at the sound. There was an unpleasant crinkle of amusement around the foolish Kingā€™s eyes as he stepped out, took back his crown, and mockingly bowed.
Smug bastard.
---------------------
Madame Marroneā€™s Pizzeria wasnā€™t the best pizzeria Purple had ever eaten at. Heck, it wasnā€™t even the best one in delivery range, but it was fast and cheap and good for what it was, so it was Madame Marroneā€™s chocolate brown visage on their pizza boxes when theyā€™d finally arrived. Everyone was eager to dig in, and despite the initial scramble for the best, hottest slices, everyone worked in tandem to best serve each other. Green poured soft drinks with showmanship and flair, and Blue took care of Yellow and Second, so that they could get their fair share despite not being able to stand.
The Hawaiian pizza, which everyone else had stupidly left untouched, was shared equally between Gold and Purple. The Old Man had stared a hole through Purpleā€™s head the first time theyā€™d ordered pineapple pizza, looking like heā€™d just seen a ghost. And now that they knew the reason, Purple could barely contain their laughter. Whoā€™d have known that the crotchety Old Man would have such an amazing kid?
Because he did. Have an amazing kid, that is.
Over pizza, it became obvious to Purple why Goldā€™s loss had hurt the Old Man so deeply. It wasnā€™t just that Gold was his kid ā€“ it was because Gold was a one in a million child, especially kind and especially sweet. They had only known the gang for a few minutes, but they already fit in far faster than Purple had. It was like theyā€™d always been one of them, joining in the jokes and ribbing as if it was second nature. Watching them interact made Purple feel cold and lonely.
They were a bad person.
Gold told them all what the Old Man had shared, and it had quickly become apparent that theyā€™d only gotten partway through the tale before the Old Man who would be known as Mango assaulted the Old Man who would be known as King. The fact that Gold had no idea who any of them had been should have been Purpleā€™s first clue, but in their defense theyā€™d had more important things to focus on at the time. Theyā€™d only managed to get to the point of Goldā€™s demise before the chaos had broken out.
Red had winced, hearing the details of Goldā€™s passing. ā€œIā€™m sorry, man,ā€ He sympathized, ā€œMinecraft glitches are rough.ā€ Though the Booth Thirty incident and the ā€˜Herobrineā€™ incident were two very different circumstances, it was likely the closest any of them could ever come to understanding what Gold went through.
ā€œItā€™s not like I actually experienced that,ā€ Gold shrugged off the show of empathy. Theyā€™d all rearranged themselves after the pizza had arrived, and Gold had taken over the arm of the Old Manā€™s armchair, right next to Yellow. ā€œBut itā€™s so weird to think about. I mean, I knew death was a thing, obviously, but Iā€™ve never even lost someone before. Iā€™ve never thought seriously about what happens after death. Have you guys?ā€
Nobody seemed to be in a rush to answer that question, only exchanging nervous looks amongst themselves. Yellow stared directly at Second, while Blue and Red leaned in closer to them and Green took their hand. The group had all had their near death experiences in the past, but this didnā€™t feel like that. It felt like earlier, when the idea of taking Second to a hospital was brought up. Like they were keeping something from them.
Ignoring the tightening knot in their chest, Purple spoke up to finally respond to Gold. ā€œI have,ā€ They confessed. It was hard to avoid that topic, when your last remaining family was slowly fading away in front of your eyes, ā€œThey say when dataā€™s deleted from a hard drive, itā€™s never really completely gone. That some trace of it always remains. I donā€™t know if thatā€™s true, but I want to believe it is.ā€
Because it meant, in some way, that Purpleā€™s mother had remained with them after her death. That Purple hadnā€™t been entirely alone. It was a cold comfort in the darkest of nights, when Purple had no company but the chilling moonlight, but a comfort nonetheless.
ā€œIā€¦ hope thatā€™s true, too,ā€ Gold agreed.
It occurred to Purple that they could tell the rest of the story right then and there. The details theyā€™d been missing from the Booth Thirty Incident had been covered by Goldā€™s retelling of the event, and everything else theyā€™d been present for. But the look on the Old Manā€™s face when he left to finally speak with Gold, that utterance of ā€˜This is a family matterā€™, muted their voice. It wouldnā€™t be right for Purple to tell Gold what theyā€™d done. That was- that was Kingā€™s job. From family to family, no room for anyone else.
...Purple was a really bad person.
ā€œWell, personally, I donā€™t,ā€ Yellow declared, ā€œI can barely handle one Green. The army that would arise from his many, many foolish Minecraft deaths? No thank you.ā€
Green scoffed at Yellowā€™s complaints, ā€œYouā€™re just jealous. You couldnā€™t possibly compete with an army that awesome.ā€
ā€œH-heyā€¦ā€ Secondā€™s mumbling broke through their ribbing, ā€œCan we maybe change the subject? Iā€™m not really up for talking about this right nowā€¦ā€
A round of worried looks passed around the room. While Purple lacked context for many of the groupā€™s misadventures, they knew Second well enough to know that the fact that they were asking so pleasantly was more of a red flag than anything else they couldā€™ve done. The group instead decided to tell Gold a story from their shared history. It seemed subconsciously unanimous that they not share the memory of their first meeting, what with Purple leaving Blue and Green to drop down a pit and then getting their first home in years burnt down. That could come later, when there was a little less tension to go around.
So instead they told some tales from League of Legends, a place renowned for its lack of sportsmanship but where, ironically, Purple and their friends had some of their most pleasant memories. Purple themselves took the limelight, being the experienced storyteller that they were, and weaved a tale of swords and sorcery to enrapture the bright golden stick. Green hopped up and joined as co-host, abandoning his second slice of pepperoni at his spot, while the others chimed in at timely moments. Red interrupted with humorously over-embellished assertions. Yellow added a dash of sarcasm to every mistake any of them made. Blue would defuse the little tension that popped up with expert ease. Even Second, as exhausted as they were, acted as the straight man for their comedic shenanigans. Between the six of them, it was all too easy to make Gold bust a gut.
This was the state the two Old Men found them in, when they finally escaped their imprisonment. The one who Gold told them would keep the name Mango was first, crossing the room in long, quick strides before anyone could even register that he was there. The second he was able to he took Gold in his arms, peppering his face and curls with sweet, soft little kisses. Gold giggled and laughed and proclaimed his embarrassment, but Mango didnā€™t relent, only holding on all the tighter.
ā€¦Purple was a really, really bad person.
The Old Man who would be King emerged afterwards, staring at the embrace between father and child with a wistful wanting that made Purpleā€™s stomach turn. It was so obvious how much he yearned to be his other self, to be able to hold his real kid tight and never let them go. Then, in the blink of an eye, the mask of a calm, collected king slid onto his face. He adjusted his crown, pushed back his bangs, and began marching straight towards Purple.
ā€œā€™Bout time you broke out,ā€ Purple said in lieu of a proper greeting.
The backhanded remark was barely acknowledged. Instead Old Man King tenderly took Purpleā€™s face into his grip and inspected the still sore side where the punch had landed. A strange tingling sensation drew Purpleā€™s gaze over the old manā€™s shoulder to the other old man, glaring daggers at them from over Goldā€™s fuzzy curls, and they couldnā€™t help the flinch in response.
Whether or not King could feel it too was unclear, but he shifted positions to block Mangoā€™s view of Purple, and they allowed themselves to relax a little.
ā€œItā€™s not as bad as Iā€™d feared,ā€ King spoke in clear relief, though his small smile was dampened by clear hints of guilt, ā€œHow do you feel?ā€
Eager to clear that remaining fog of regret from the Old Man, Purple scoffed and tossed their hair back, preening dramatically, ā€œAlas, despite Mangoā€™s best efforts, the curse remains in full effect. Iā€™m still tragically beautiful.ā€
King snorted, ā€œAt least your egoā€™s still in tact,ā€ He then glanced down at the plate of pineapple and ham pizza sat nearby. It was Purpleā€™s third slice, which they had no shame about. It wasnā€™t like theyā€™d have to share with anyone but Gold (and maybe Blue, though she seemed content with her veggie pizza), ā€œAh, you ordered out?ā€
ā€œYup!ā€ Purple chirped, breaking away easily from the Old Manā€™s fragile hold to take their food, ā€œWe tried to salvage the lasagna, butā€¦ā€
ā€œIt killed a bush,ā€ Blue blurted out, a haunted look in her eye as she recalled just how close sheā€™d come to swallowing the rancid thing.
Both Mango and King wore comically identical expressions of shock at the news. King, more used to their mayhem than his younger self, broke free of his stupor first. He sighed and buried his face in his palm, ā€œOf course. Of course it did. If the neighbors ever sue me because of you brats, Iā€™m dragging you all down with me.ā€
ā€œWouldnā€™t be the first time!ā€ Red chirped, like he was referring to casual criminal mischief and not that time King nearly killed them all. Purple couldnā€™t help laughing along with the others as they all cracked up. Nearly dying hadnā€™t been funny at the time, obviously, but among the many lessons these chaotic gremlins had taught Purple was that it was important to be able to look back at your pain and find the joy in it. It hurt, but it also gave Purple everything they had today, so it was hard to see it as all bad.
Someday, they mused, looking up at Kingā€™s grimacing face, theyā€™d manage to convince the Old Man of the same.
For Gold, however, all the vague reference and laughter caused was confusion. ā€œWhat do you mean?ā€
It had been so easy to forget, in the wake of all the revelry, that Gold still wasnā€™t aware of everything that had gone down. Purple could see the Old Man tense and pale as he realized what was coming, and without thinking Purple immediately took his hand, folded behind his back where nobody could see. They squeezed it tight, pouring all their care into their grip, letting the Old Man know, in their own way, that they were here, right here, and that it would all be okay. He wasnā€™t alone anymore. Their reward was seeing King slowly relax, his shoulders slouching and his breathing smoothing into an even, pleasant rhythm.
After a moment of drinking in each otherā€™s comforting presence, King released Purpleā€™s hand and exhaled, ā€œIā€™ve brought this up toā€¦ your father before,ā€ There was a strange intonation to those words, your father, and the implications made Purple frown, but they didnā€™t interrupt, ā€œBut there was more to the story I was telling you earlier. Things that happened after you died. Youā€¦ deserve to know.ā€
Mango looked to the side. It wasnā€™t clear how much King had revealed to him, but it was enough for him to avoid his childā€™s confused eyes searching him for answers.
ā€œOh boy,ā€ Yellow sighed, pushing back into the armchair and making herself comfortable, ā€œGreen, pass me another drink. This is gonna be a long one.ā€ Green did so, and everyone made themselves comfortable on the couch. With tender care Second was shifted over to make enough of a spot for Purple to take a seat on the couch, which they did with a grateful smile. King grabbed the desk chair and took over Purpleā€™s spot at the center of attention. Unlike Purpleā€™s showmanship and jolly energy, however, he held himself solemnly, like a man trudging along to the guillotine.
It took them a moment to settle down enough for Kingā€™s satisfaction, and once they did he sighed and began, ā€œWhen youā€¦ died,ā€ The light in Kingā€™s eyes completely left him, ā€œI lost everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my faith in this worldā€¦ it was all gone. How could I hold on to any of that when my baby was deadā€¦?ā€ Unrestrained tears fell from the Old Manā€™s eyes, and Purpleā€™s fingers itched with the desire to reach out, to take his hand yet again. But the eyes around them, the burning anger in Mangoā€™s face, the repetition in their head of ā€˜this is a family matterā€™ kept them frozen in place.
Gold, however, had no such restraints, and even Mangoā€™s hold couldnā€™t stop the bright stick from slipping out of his grasp and over to King. His arms wrapped around the Old Manā€™s neck, grounding him with the pleasant weight of warm sunshine. Purpleā€™s fingers dug into he fabric of their pants, wondering why couldnā€™t they just be happy to see that? Why did it hurt so bad? Why couldnā€™t they just be a good person?
ā€œIā€™m so sorry, Dadā€¦ā€ Gold cooed, and Kingā€™s breath hitched, ā€œI didnā€™t mean to hurt you like this.ā€
ā€œOh, honey,ā€ Even through the tears, King managed to smile for Gold, ā€œYou never hurt me. Losing you was painful, but that was not your fault,ā€ Purple turned to glance at Mango, and found him frowning in open displeasure at the sight before him. Well, at least Purple wasnā€™t the only bad person. King allowed Gold to hold him for a moment longer before gently, reluctantly, pushing him back, ā€œbutā€¦ please go sit down. I need to finish telling the story.ā€
With a great amount of effort, Gold broke away, sitting down next to where Mango was standing. The second he was within armā€™s reach, Mango had him back in his embrace, holding him tight so he wouldnā€™t disappear again. His worried eyes stayed glued to King the entire time.
ā€œNothing mattered anymore. All I could think about was that moment, that terrible moment where Iā€™d lost everythingā€¦ I saw it every time I closed my eyes, every time there was a red light or a blaring alarm, every time I saw that cursed game symbol. It was all could think about. Every day and every night forā€¦ who knows how long. I was hurting, and I wanted to hurt the monster that took you from me.ā€
Silence fell over the room. While the friend group had known, in a general sense, that King had undergone some sort of trauma and went mad, this was the first time theyā€™d truly realized why King had done what he did. Goldā€™s eyes widened, and Mangoā€™s narrowed.
ā€œBut Iā€™d already beaten the gameā€™s technicians to a pulp,ā€ That had Gold openly gaping, and Purple winced as a phantom pain echoed across their cheek. If King had gone that hard against the techs whoā€™d been trying to run the game, theyā€™d certainly felt it for days, ā€œAnd the company had me sign a waiver. Itā€™d been foolish of me not to read it, I know, but I couldnā€™t undo it. There was no legal recourse for me. I couldā€™ve gone vigilante with it, but I didnā€™t have the resources or know-how to do such a thing without getting caught. And besidesā€¦ā€ Kingā€™s eyes darkened, ā€œMy attention had focusedā€¦ somewhere else.ā€
ā€œOn the game itselfā€¦ā€ Green realized aloud. Red and Blue exchanged a look over Secondā€™s head.
Gold still looked confused, but now there was a hint to alarm in his eyes, as though he was beginning to suspect what was going on, ā€œIā€¦ donā€™t understandā€¦ā€
ā€œFrom my perspective,ā€ King began to explain, ā€œit had been Minecraft that had ripped you from me. The game was an unstable, volatile mess that promised you happiness and fun and instead robbed you of everything. I know now I wasnā€™t being rational, but at the time, it felt like the monster that had taken you from me was Minecraft itself. And I swore to myself that I was going to destroy it,ā€ A mad gleam fell across Kingā€™s eyes, ā€œNo matter what it took.ā€
Mangoā€™s posture had stiffened, looking over at his other self in something like astonishment, ā€œ...huh,ā€ He muttered, ā€œYou werenā€™t kiddingā€¦ā€
ā€œBut- but-ā€ Gold sputtered, confused and grieved and horrified by what he was hearing, ā€œBut itā€™s a game! An entire world filled with monsters, and npcs, and other players, and- and- innocent people!ā€ Goldā€™s hand flew to his head, holding it high while Mango immediately reached to comfort him. How much comfort he could offer when he was the mirror image of the one who was upsetting Gold, however, was up for debate, ā€œIt wasnā€™t the gameā€™s fault the fair booth was glitched up! You canā€™t punish innocents for something that wasnā€™t their fault!ā€
King sat silently, unable to meet Goldā€™s haunted eyes.
The utter anguish on Goldā€™s face struck Purple to their core. They still remembered the pain of being walked out on, and left behind, and having a back turned to their pleading hand. Being betrayed was rough. Being betrayed by a parentā€¦ well, nothing cut quite so deeply. Eager to push that pain out of Goldā€™s fragile heart, Purple intervened, drawing the spotlight to themselves, ā€œBut we beat him~!ā€ They spoiled, hoping that knowing King lost would mitigate at least a bit of the heartache, ā€œAnd we undid all the damage King and I did! No sticks were harmed in the making of this final showdown!ā€
ā€œUh, yes, sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown,ā€ Yellow interrupted incredulously, ā€œMANY sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown, actually.ā€
ā€œQuiet, peg-leg,ā€ Purple hissed back.
ā€œBack up for a moment,ā€ Mango suddenly interrupted, standing rigidly straight, ā€œYou said ā€˜all the damage King and I didā€™.ā€ Purple winced. Yeah, they had let that slip, hadnā€™t they? ā€œWhat do you mean by that?ā€
This was where King regained control of the narrative, taking back the spotlight from Purple to spare them the interrogation. ā€œIn order to destroy Minecraft, I needed an immense amount of power. Something strong enough to destroy the game down to its very base coding. Something from the game itselfā€¦ to that end, I created a staff capable of harnessing the full power of any game item that I could acquire. I spent my life savings on illegal game smuggling, trying to get an item capable of what Iā€™d envisioned, but nothing I acquired was strong enough. They could break things, sure, but they werenā€™t able to break down the game in the way I really needed. Then, during my research, I uncovered the secret of the Icon; an in-game item that enabled complete and total creative freedom over the world. You were invincible, able to place any item at whim, and had total control over the game. The only problem was nobody knew where to find it.
ā€œI didnā€™t give up, though. Finding this thing, and using it to destroy the game that took my baby from me was all I could think about. I didnā€™t sleep, I barely ate. I wandered the city aimlessly, asking anyone whoā€™d give me a second of time, ā€˜Have you seen this icon? Do you have any information? Please, anything, Iā€™d give anythingā€¦ā€ Kingā€™s voice cracked, which signaled him to take a moment, take a breath, before continuing, ā€œThen, I finally found it. Through a YouTube video, of all things.ā€
A chorus of groans came from the couch and the armchair. Second buried their face in their hands. Green sighed and muttered, ā€œThatā€™s how you found us? Cursors damn it, Alanā€¦ā€
ā€œWeā€™re gonna need to have another long talk about this,ā€ Blue moaned, ā€œUgh, as if the last one hadnā€™t been bad enough.ā€
ā€œAlanā€™s the human you all live with, right?ā€ Purple asked, receiving some half-hearted confirmations in response.
Gold seemed confused by the mere concept, ā€œYou all live with a human?ā€ He arched his eyebrow at them. Though his haggard eyes indicated Kingā€™s actions were still haunting him, Gold was able to put that aside for the moment to indulge a subject many city sticks knew little about: humanity, ā€œI thought all humans were violent, stick-killing psychopaths.ā€
That wasnā€™t so uncommon a belief in a city run by Rocket Corp: everyone knew the tragic tale of its recently deceased leader, how theyā€™d been created for the sole purpose of suffering and dying, how theyā€™d manage to drag themselves from the Recycling Bin and rose to power, creating a safe haven where humans couldnā€™t touch them. Many older sticks had some human related trauma, from negligence to downright abuse, and though the younger generations were spared the direct trauma of human interaction, the horror stories remained.
ā€œThatā€™s notā€¦ always trueā€¦ā€ Second protested, but it sounded weak and shaky for reasons beyond Secondā€™s physical state.
The tension returned with a vengeance.
ā€œ...actually, that kinda proves Kingā€™s even dumber than we thought,ā€ Red suddenly piped up, mockingly oblivious to the bristling of the Old Man. He picked the perfect insult; most things unrelated to Gold (or, occasionally, Purple themselves) rolled off Kingā€™s back, but one of the few insults he couldnā€™t stand was one to his intellect. It was, to put it in Kingā€™s own words, one of the few things he hadnā€™t lost that day, ā€œI mean, you saw Alanā€™s videos of our adventures and you still thought it was a good idea to threaten and steal from us? Talk about moronic.ā€
Seething, King spoke through grinding teeth as he responded, ā€œWell, I hadnā€™t exactly planned on fighting you kidsā€¦ā€
ā€œYou shouldnā€™t be fighting anyone,ā€ Gold scolded, and though his glare bore into King, Purple didnā€™t miss his side-eye at Mango as well, ā€œOr stealing anything.ā€
Thoroughly scolded, King winced and looked away, ā€œRight, sorry. But, to continue, I used what I learned to seek out the sticks who had the Icon. Thatā€™s what lead me to Purple. Or, rather, them to me. Iā€¦ wasnā€™t exactly honest with them.ā€
Purple snorted. ā€œThatā€™s putting it lightly. The guy framed the entire thing as a game. More extreme than I was used to, sure, but the end goal was to get complete and total control of Minecraft. With the staff and the full power of the Icon, we could rule together with an iron fist!ā€ Purple pumped their first up, as though in example, ā€œ...Of course, I didnā€™t know what the staff was really capable of, or what the Old Man intended to do with it. If I had, I donā€™t think Iā€™d have gone along with it.ā€
Or at least Purple would like to think they wouldnā€™t have. They didnā€™t want to ponder too hard on it ā€“ given Purpleā€™s thirst for power and how nice the Old Man had been when Purple was obedient, Purple wasnā€™t sure theyā€™d like the answer theyā€™d come to.
ā€œSo, the Old Man and I conquered a fortress in the gameā€¦ even without the Icon, the staff was ridiculously powerful, it was so easy. Then we set about following his plan. Iā€™d go find the others and lure them into a trap, then Iā€™d get the Icon for King and weā€™d conquer the world,ā€ Purple looked over at their friends, and felt a familiar kick in their gut, ā€œAgain, I am so sorry about that. I had my reasons, butā€¦ā€
ā€œWe know,ā€ Green consoled, patting Purple on the shoulder, ā€œWeā€™ve already forgiven you.ā€
ā€œYou know what they say about trusting people,ā€ Blue chimed in, grinning cheekily, ā€œThird timeā€™s the charm!ā€
ā€œDonā€™t think thatā€™s about trustā€¦ā€ Second rebuffed jokingly from the comfortable cushion of Blueā€™s shoulder.
Warmth flooded into Purpleā€™s cheeks. They couldnā€™t say what miracle allowed their friends to forgive them after all the garbage theyā€™d pulled, but Purple would never take it for granted. Er, this time.
Red had taken over story-time in the meanwhile, ā€œSo, we ran into Purple after an already pretty long day,ā€ Purple could hear Blue mumbling under her breath. They couldnā€™t quite make out what she was saying, but it made Second chuckle, ā€œAnd they lured us into this parkour course. It was pretty fun at first! But, then I won, and I realized the others werenā€™t coming, and the guards wouldnā€™t let me leaveā€¦ā€
ā€œWe were trapped,ā€ Green summarized, ā€œStuck there so King wouldnā€™t have worry about us while he stole our Iconā€¦ hey,ā€ Greenā€™s brow furrowed, ā€œWere you just going to keep us there? While you blew up Minecraft? Did you at least have some way to get Purple out?ā€
This question made Purple look away from the Old Manā€™s face for the first time throughout the entire story. It was done and over with. They didnā€™t need to know. They didnā€™t want to know. Kingā€™s mistakes, however painful, were done and over with. They were happy now. Questions like these shouldnā€™t be haunting Purple. They shouldnā€™t.
ā€œThere were plans in place for that, to get you all back to your PC before everything went down. I may have been cruel, but I hadnā€™t planned to sacrifice anyone else to Minecraft,ā€ King answered, and Purple let out a breath they didnā€™t realize theyā€™d been holding, ā€œThings gotā€¦ out of hand after you all broke out, though.ā€
ā€œSeems they were out of hand for a long time before that,ā€ Green quipped dryly.
Gold nodded along, staring blankly ahead of him, ā€œYeah, no kiddingā€¦ā€
The dismissive scoffing from Gold seemed to stun both King and Mango, but nonetheless King continued on, ā€œWhen the kids realized what I was planning, they tried to stop me. We fought. Iā€¦ didnā€™t hold back. Purple had succeeded in getting me the Icon, and after that I stopped caring about anything but reaching my goal. Andā€¦ I succeeded.ā€
ā€œWait, what?!ā€ Gold jumped up, alarmed, ā€œNo, butā€¦ no! Everyone hereā€™s fine, that means you- did you actually destroy a wholeā€¦?ā€
Taking in shallow, rapid breaths, Gold backed away from King and held his head in his hands. Mangoā€™s hands rubbing his back and voice speaking soothing comforts did little to ease his panic. Purple glanced back at King and felt their heart ache in what was surely only an echo of the pain the Old Man felt. Though he clearly longed to reach out, to close the gap and squeeze all the pain out of his child, something held him firmly in place. His hand, though outstretched, couldnā€™t seem to bridge the gap between them.
Well, if King couldnā€™t bring himself to comfort his child, then Purple would have to take up his job for him. They reached across the chasm between themselves and Gold and gently prodded his shoulder, forcing him to look up at Purple, ā€œHey,ā€ They put on their biggest, most confident smile for Gold, ā€œRemember what I said earlier? I turned on King, and the good guys won. Minecraftā€™s still in one piece. King screwed up, but nobody died, I promise.ā€
Too distressed to respond verbally, Gold just swallowed and nodded. His father drew Gold closer and hugged him tight, and though Goldā€™s hands gripped at Mangoā€™s arms, he didnā€™t look any more at ease.
Kingā€™s longing eyes clung fast to Goldā€™s anxious form, but after a moment he continued, ā€œWith the Iconā€™s power, the staff was able to create a beam of destructive force that would erase the entire world of Minecraft line by line. And if anyone dared to try to stop me, all I had to do was point the beam at them and wait for them to be erased or give up,ā€ Goldā€™s hands flew up to cover his mouth in shock, ā€œBut Purpleā€¦ didnā€™t give up. Even when the beam was pointed right at them and their body was disintegratingā€¦ā€ The Old Manā€™s voice shook as he remember. Purple winced, rubbing at their arm to soothe an ache that wasnā€™t there, ā€œThey kept pushing forward, andā€¦ and by the time Iā€™d realized what I was doing to themā€¦ they were almostā€¦ā€ The Old Manā€™s eyes, pained and sorrowful, redirected towards Purple. The sheer intensity of emotions forced them to look away. It was so hard to breath when he looked at them like that, so full of regret and guilt and something else, something warm that made Purple feel very, very small, ā€œIā€¦ will never be able to apologize enough for that.ā€
For once, the natural snark Purple tended to depend on caught in their throat. All they could bring themselves to do was nod. Eyes bored into them from every side, but Purple kept their gaze glued to the ground and ignored them all.
ā€œ...So you almost killed Purple?ā€ Gold spat. Purple pried their gaze from the flooring to where the other kid was staring, ā€œIt wasnā€™t enough for you to try and wipe out an entire world, you had to hurt the only person who was trying to help you, too?!ā€
King didnā€™t have a response. He didnā€™t even try to defend himself, merely hanging his head in shame.
Mango, on the other hand, didnā€™t hesitate to reassure his child, ā€œDonā€™t worry, Honey,ā€ He tried to console, unaware that his soothing words made Gold grit his teeth all the harder, ā€œThis isnā€™t going to be our future. Iā€™ll make sure of it-ā€
ā€œRight, because youā€™re not going to do anything like that!ā€ Gold snapped, pulling away from Mangoā€™s attempts at comfort, ā€œItā€™s not like you just started throwing punches at literally everyone the second you heard something you didnā€™t like!ā€
The poor Old Man couldnā€™t have looked any more hurt if Gold had punched him.
Scrambling to do damage control, Purple hopped up fully out of their comfortable seat on the couch to stand in front of Gold, arms held up placatingly. ā€œHey! Hey! Itā€™s okay, itā€™s all gonna be-ā€
ā€œItā€™s not okay!ā€ Gold screamed at Purple, his tear-stricken face a near-perfect mirror of Mangoā€™s. Unlike Mango, however, Gold immediately retreated when he saw Purple flinch away, ā€œSorry, ā€˜m sorry, I didnā€™t mean that, I justā€¦. I donā€™t understand,ā€ His head fell into his hands again, tears flowing free and unashamed down his face as he repeated, ā€œI donā€™t understandā€¦ he hurt you. He almost killed you,ā€ Purple idly rubbed at their arm, unsure of what to say, ā€œHow can you forgive that?ā€ Gold looked past Purple, to the many sticks sitting at attention on the couch, ā€œHow can any of you forgive that?ā€
For a long, long moment, nobody spoke. The silence rang heavy in the air, a blaring siren of tension and pain. Then, with a rigid inhale, Second handed their single slice of barely touched pepperoni to Blue, who gave it a long glance before setting it aside, and sat up straight with visibly pained effort. Their voice was soft as they answered, ā€œI canā€™t speak for the others, but now that I know, I can kind of understand why Mango- King did what he did.
ā€œWhen you lose someoneā€¦ or even think youā€™re going to lose someoneā€¦ itā€™s like thereā€™s a vice grip on your heart. You feel so many things, all at once, and they all make you feel small, and vulnerable, and helpless,ā€ Second took a brief break to cough before diving right back into it, ā€œbut, one of those things you feel is anger, and anger is different. Itā€¦ tricks you, because even though it's just as bad as the other stuff, it feels constructive. Like, even though everythingā€™s breaking down around you, thereā€™s something you can do. Some power you can take back. And by the time you realize it was lying to youā€¦ā€ Secondā€™s eyes fell, clouded by dark thoughts, ā€œYouā€™ve already hurt the people you wanted to protect.ā€
Without exchanging words, Red reached over and took Secondā€™s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. Greenā€™s arm wrapped around Second to pull them in close, allowing their head to rest against his pulse. Surrounded by the comfort of their friends, their tense body relaxed completely.
Gold frowned at the group, ā€œBut that doesnā€™t make it okay.ā€
ā€œNo,ā€ King agreed, quietly surprising Purple. With how heavily his sins were weighing down on him, Purple hadnā€™t expected the Old Man to speak up again, ā€œIt doesnā€™t.ā€
Silence lingered in the air as Gold struggled to find a proper response. And evidently failed, as after a moment he looked to the others and asked, ā€œHow did you beat him?ā€
ā€œIt was all Sec, baby!ā€ Green cheered, proudly displaying his orange friend.
Second rolled their eyes at him, ā€œIt was a team effort, actually. I realized we could reset the game if we got the Icon back to our PC, so we ran back as fast as we could and just BARELY made it!ā€ After that proclamation, Second sunk further into Green, somehow looking even more tired, ā€œFor real, though, I wouldnā€™t have gotten close without you guys.ā€
ā€œWhat would you do without us?ā€ Yellow teased, a smug grin settling on her face. The friends shared a round of chuckles amongst themselves. Gold didnā€™t partake, only staring blankly at the wall behind the group. He only broke out of this trance when Yellowā€™s gentle touch on his arm caused him to jump, ā€œHey, I get it. You only just learned that you were going to die in less than two years,ā€ Yellow spoke those words so casually, but the ripples of pain they caused through the room were all too palpable, ā€œand then we dumped all this on you. Itā€™d be a lot for anyone. You should take a break and get some rest. Looks like itā€™s getting pretty late, anyways.ā€
Purple glanced past their friends towards the window and, sure enough, the sun had set along the horizon, leaving the outside world blanketed in a canvas of shadows. Even if Second and Yellow werenā€™t injured, theyā€™d likely be staying the night anyways. It was simply too dangerous to traverse through the Minecraft world at this time of night.
ā€œOkayā€¦ā€ Gold acknowledged, hugging himself. Mango once again attempted to reach out to him and was once again rebuffed, ā€œIā€™mā€¦ Iā€™m going to go get cleaned up.ā€
And without another word, Gold disappeared around the corner of the bedroom hallway.
From there, everything began to unwind. There was an initial awkwardness that had been broken by Second yawning, which prompted everyone to clean down and get ready for the night. Green and Red went to the closet where King had stored extra bed supplies, Red grumbling all the while about how they couldnā€™t even compete for the spot on the couch. Green teased back easily, carrying probably too much for a guy with a suspected concussion. After dinner clean-up had fallen to Blue, who asked Second numerous times if they were done before carefully wrapping up the single pizza slice theyā€™d been nibbling on for later. She carried stuff to the basement while Yellow, still stuck in her armchair, made herself useful by holding a trash bag, albeit begrudgingly. Mango had, of course, immediately jumped up to trail after his child, and disappeared into the hallway after him.
In the midst of all the chaos, King sat rigidly still, glossed over eyes staring dead ahead at nothing in particular. He didnā€™t so much as twitch as the flurry of activity picked up around him.
Taking a calming breath, Purple approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. The Old Man remained stationary, ā€œHey,ā€ They broke the silence hesitantly, ā€œYou doing okay?ā€
For a moment, it was like King hadnā€™t even heard Purple. They were about to repeat themselves when he finally responded, ā€œI did the right thing, didnā€™t I?ā€ He asked.
ā€œYup.ā€ Immediately responded Purple.
That, at last, broke the mask King wore, making a small smile appear, ā€œNo hesitation, huh?ā€
ā€œLook,ā€ Purple leaned their full weight on the Old Man, ā€œI may not be an expert on ā€˜healthy family dynamicsā€™,ā€ They punctuated their words with air quotes, ā€œbut Iā€™ve seen a lot of sitcoms in my time, and every time someone hides a big secret, it always comes out in the worst way possible. If you hadnā€™t told him yourself now, then heā€™d find out from someone else later, and that would have been far worse.ā€
Just the thought of that put a visible wince on Kingā€™s face, the poor Old Man nodding, ā€œThatā€™s true. I just wish I didnā€™t have to make him hate me.ā€
ā€œHe doesnā€™t hate you,ā€ They reassured, carefully watching Kingā€™s face to make sure he wasnā€™t getting too upset, ā€œHeā€™s scared, and hurt, and really overwhelmed. Give him some time. Iā€™m sure heā€™ll come around.ā€
Well, Purple couldnā€™t really say that for sure. They werenā€™t in Goldā€™s head, after all. But speaking from their own personal experience, hating a parent was hard. So much harder than it had any right to be. Even now, in the midst of the happiest time of their life, Purple couldnā€™t stop their mind from wandering to dangerous what ifs, could have beens, and impossible futures where they had three loving, happy, healthy adults in their life.
Fragile hope sparked in the Old Manā€™s eyes, ā€œYou think so?ā€
ā€œI know so,ā€ Purple, master of ā€˜fake it ā€˜til you make itā€™, proclaimed.
Their reward was a pair of arms wrapping tightly around them, so quickly Purple couldnā€™t help the instinctual flinch in reaction, but once they recovered they immediately moved to return the embrace. Hugs werenā€™t uncommon between the two, per say, but there was something bittersweet about this one. After all, King had his own child back. Thisā€¦ may be the last hug Purple would get for a while. So they held fast for far longer than King was normally comfortable with, soaking in the warmth of his arms around them.
Purple would be okay with this. For Kingā€™s sake, theyā€™d be a good person, just this once.
ā€œAhem,ā€ A voice broke shattered the moment, ending the embrace and leaving Purple to retreat into their own cold loneliness. Mango stood there beside them, arms crossed, looking around at everything but Purple, ā€œSorry to interrupt,ā€ He actually looked anything but sorry, but Purple wasnā€™t about to call him out and get punched again, ā€œbut I looked around, and I couldnā€™t help but notice that I no longer have a bedroom.ā€
Rightā€¦ Purple had also taken over the Old Manā€™s room. King had presented it to Purple as a spare room, and he rarely slept through the whole night anyways, so it had taken Purple a while to piece together that the room next door had been Goldā€™s, not the Old Manā€™s. A part of them felt guilty for not even offering the room back to King, but they selfishly felt kind of glad that he was willing to make such a big sacrifice for Purple. Even so, it was clear in hindsight that Purple should have insisted they make themselves a room in the basement. And now they looked like a selfish prick in front of Kingā€™s kid and past self.
ā€œThatā€™s right,ā€ King acknowledged, surprising Purple by taking one of their hands into his own, ā€œPurple needed a space of their own, and I donā€™t sleep much anymore, anyways. Normally when I need to sleep Iā€™ll catch a nap on the couch, butā€¦ā€ He glanced over to said couch, where Green was fluffing a pillow for Second, ā€œI suppose thatā€™s not an option tonight.ā€
Purpleā€™s posture straightened immediately. They could sleep in the living room with the others ā€“ all five were used to bed sharing, it wouldnā€™t be too weird. That way Mango could get his old room back. It was only fair, since it was his room to begin with. And maybe they could start mending bridges with the younger Old Man, or at least get him to look them in the eye without glaring. They opened their mouth to make the offer-
ā€œYou can sleep on the floor in my room.ā€
-And Gold beat them to it. Heā€™d appeared from behind the corner of the bedroom hallway, looking just as drained as he had when heā€™d disappeared.
Both King and Mango appeared startled by the invitation. ā€œBoth of us?ā€ King asked incredulously, and his brow only furrowed further when Gold nodded, ā€œAre you sure?ā€
ā€œIf I didnā€™t offer, youā€™d both just be up all night worrying about me anyways,ā€ Gold huffed. It was clear from his guarded body language and low voice that nothing was forgiven quite yet ā€“ but for him to make this offer, Purple must have been right on the money with their earlier reassurances, ā€œSo, yeah. You can both sleep in my room with me if you promise not to fight.ā€
The two versions of Goldā€™s dad eagerly agreed, and Purple fell back, swallowing the unmade offer, where it lodged in their throat and weighed unbidden on their lungs. Theyā€™re fine, they told themselves, watching Gold walk away to grab what little linen remained in the closet after the friend group had taken what theyā€™d needed. They were fine with this. The Old Man could be really, truly happy.
And if Purple felt anything other than pure joy at the thought? Well, that was just them being selfish again. Theyā€™d get over it.
---------------------
Mango had always been a light sleeper.
Even before Gold had come along, sleeping just wasnā€™t something that came naturally to Mango. Heā€™d stay up late, awaken multiple times throughout the night, and be up and out of bed at what his old roommates called ā€˜the unholy hours of the morningā€™. Having a fussy baby around had only solidified this for him. As a small child Gold would often be up and out of bed for a late night glass of water or trip to the restroom, or to climb into Mangoā€™s bed after a bad dream. He was used to his daily alarm being the sound of the hardwood floor creaking and groaning as Gold tried and failed to sneak into his room.
So when Mangoā€™s fretful slumber was interrupted by the all too familiar rasping of old flooring, he was up before his brain could even catch up with his current situation. ā€œGoldā€¦?ā€ He mumbled, pushing up from the surprisingly hard mattress he was sleeping on.
His full memory only came back to him when another hand, the same colour as his own, rested on his shoulder, reminding him that heā€™d been sleeping on the ground next to his own lookalike. ā€œNo, Goldā€™s still in bed,ā€ King confirmed, tossing his head in the direction of the bed, where Gold slept with his back to the two, ā€œThatā€™s probably Purple. ā€˜M gonna go check on themā€¦ be right back.ā€
Without waiting for a response, King picked himself up and hobbled silently out of the room. Mango took a long, slow breath in, steadying his mind to recall everything that had happened. Right, he was in the future. King, who claimed to be him, was a failed terrorist, his kid wasā€¦ deadā€¦ and then there was Purple.
Thinking of Purple made Mango scowl and roll back over. It wasnā€™t the kidā€™s fault his evil doppelganger had used them as a replacement for his dead baby, but it was hard to separate that reality from the sour taste Kingā€™s blatant affection left in his mouth. The tyrant didnā€™t hesitate to shower Purple with praise, or shield Purple from Mango with dagger-like glares. And because ofā€¦ what? Gratitude to the kid for stopping him from destroying an entire world? Guilt for almost killing them? Why had Purple even come to King in the first place?
You know, thereā€™s an easy way to find outā€¦
Mango turned under his blankets to look away from the door. No. No, he wasnā€™t going out there. He couldnā€™t leave Gold alone after everything, and Purple wasnā€™t his problem. It was just a passing curiosity. Nothing more.
And whereā€™s their real parents? Their real home? Who ARE they, anyways?
It didnā€™t matter. It didnā€™t matter.
Why were they so content to play therapist to a stick who almost killed them?
Itā€¦ didnā€™t matterā€¦
The way they cowered when you hit themā€¦ were theyā€¦?
Mango forced himself up. It wasnā€™t like he was going back to sleep, anyways.
Instead, he slipped out of Goldā€™s room, trailing far enough behind King that he wouldnā€™t take note of Mangoā€™s presence. They both knew which of the floorboards would creak if they were stepped on, and which ones could be traversed safely, so following after King was a simple affair, even in the dead of night. They both cautiously stepped over the gaggle of sticks sleeping like babies in the living room, carefully maneuvered through the completely destroyed kitchen, and Mango watched King slip out the back door before creeping next to it. The wood of the door, while splintered, was one of the more undamaged parts of the room. While the air carried a mildly humid heat, the door was pleasantly cold against Mangoā€™s face as he pressed his ear against it to listen in to the two on the other side.
ā€œHey,ā€ King began with a greeting, and Mango could hear someone scrambling on the other side of the door.
ā€œAck! H-hey, donā€™t scare me like that,ā€ Purpleā€™s scolding voice responded.
Laughter followed, deep but playful, ā€œSorry, sorry.ā€
ā€œWhat are you even doing out here? Shouldnā€™t you be asleep?ā€ Huffed the younger stick.
This was followed by an exaggerated groan of complaint as King audibly ruffled Purpleā€™s hair, ā€œI barely sleep on the best of days, and todayā€™s beenā€¦ a lot.ā€ Purple mumbled something that sounded like agreement, ā€œSo I was already awake when I heard you leave your room. So, you want to tell me whatā€™s up?ā€
A long, silent moment, filled with only the distant sound of crickets in the night, passed before Purple eventually responded, ā€œI- Itā€™s nothing, really. Sorry to drag you out here-ā€
ā€œDonā€™t give me that,ā€ Chided King, ā€œCā€™mon, tell me whatā€™s going on. The King demands it.ā€
Purple snorted in laughter, though it wasnā€™t a particularly jolly sound. Rather, it soundedā€¦ tired, ā€œItā€™s not important,ā€ They tried to downplay, ā€œJustā€¦ a bad dream. Iā€™ll be fine.ā€
ā€œAh,ā€ Another moment of silence passed, followed by a simple question, ā€œPink or Blue?ā€
ā€œWhy do you think it always comes back toā€¦?ā€ There was another pause, in which Mango could imagine King giving Purple the same look Mango would give Gold when his child would come home with unauthorized candy. Purple sighed, ā€œPink.ā€
ā€œThat makes sense, given that weā€™ve seen the dead come back to life today,ā€ King shuffled over on the stoop; closer to Purple, maybe, ā€œDo youā€¦ want to talk about it?ā€
ā€œNot really much to talk about,ā€ Purple proclaimed, before elaborating anyways, ā€œMama and Pops and I were up at the beach, north of the city. Do you know it? Itā€™s at the lake with the little island in the middle.ā€
ā€œNever been, but Iā€™ve heard good things,ā€ Confirmed King, ā€œIs it nice?ā€
ā€œItā€™s beautiful,ā€ Purple sighed, their voice tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, ā€œWeā€™d go every year, and we were always there until super late at night. Pops would carry me on their shoulders into the deep water, and Mama would take me to see where all the pretty fish gatheredā€¦ then, when it got late, weā€™d have ice cream and watch the sun set together. No matter what else was going on, we were always happy there.ā€
Were. Mangoā€™s mind clung to that word, brow furrowing. He knew now that Purple had parents at some point, but the family they came from seemed to be in just as much ruin as Kingā€™s own. That answered some questions, and raised so many more.
ā€œWeā€™ll have to go up there sometime,ā€ King responded, speaking to Purple like one might speak to a skittish kitten.
ā€œYeahā€¦ā€ Despite the affirmation, Purple didnā€™t sound particularly enthused at the idea, ā€œbut, normally when I dream of the beach, itā€™s a happy dream. So I was surprised when a storm rolled in and my Popsā€¦ disappeared. Then I heard screaming, and I saw my Mama out in the water, where it was really deep. There was something clinging to her. Some kind ofā€¦ monster. I couldnā€™t make it out really well, but it had really big, really sharp teeth.
ā€œIt dragged Mama down into the water. She kicked and screamed, and started coughing really bad, but she couldnā€™t get away from it. At first I just sat there and watched like a total idiot,ā€ Mango couldnā€™t help wincing at the raw bitterness in Purpleā€™s voice, all directed inward, ā€œbut as soon as I was able to move I dove down after her. I swam as fast as I could, but it was like there was some sort of upward current. I couldnā€™t break free of it, no matter how hard I kicked, and she just got dragged down further, and further, and thenā€¦ then I couldnā€™t see her anymore,ā€ Purpleā€™s voice shook a little, ā€œIā€¦ once I lost sight of her, I froze. All I could think was that I wasnā€™t strong enough to save her, wasnā€™t good enough to save her, and it hurt so bad. I didnā€™t even realize I was drowning too until I woke up gasping.ā€
King and Mango both took a tense moment to absorb Purpleā€™s story. The guilt Mango had been suppressing redoubled in his chest, creating an uncomfortable bubble of pressure within him. Despite the way their voice shook and warbled as they recounted their dream, Purple wasnā€™t crying. Was it because they didnā€™t want to burden anyone with their grief? Were they too used to the pain to cry? Mango couldnā€™t say for sure, but the idea of a child pushing their pain down so deeply, when they were being used as a narcotic to drug away someone elseā€™sā€¦
ā€œIā€™mā€¦ so sorry,ā€ King cooed softly, his voice a careful orchestra of concern and restraint. ā€œYou knowā€¦ once Second recovers, we can ask them to do what they did for Gold for your mom. Iā€™m sure they wouldnā€™t mind.ā€
ā€œ...No.ā€ Purpleā€™s answer was sad, but resolute, ā€œNo, that wouldnā€™t be a good idea. What happened to Gold was a tragic accident. Mamaā€™s death wasā€¦ not. She died of a long, incurable, painful illness, and we donā€™t know if Secā€™s healing powers work on diseases like that. If we brought her to the future, no matter how far back we went, Iā€™d just have to watch her die again. Not only that, sheā€™s so nice, all my friends would love her, and then theyā€™d have to lose her too. It just wouldnā€™t be fair to anyone involved.ā€
Mango felt a stupor fall over him as he mulled over Purpleā€™s answer. When heā€™d learned about Goldā€™s death, he could only process two things: the fury he felt at the monster whoā€™d allowed his baby to die, and the urge to protect Gold, no matter what it took. The effects on other people, on the world around himā€¦ heā€™d never even considered such things. How could he even think of anything but his child? The amount of thought Purple was able to put into the consequences of their actions wasā€¦ utterly baffling.
ā€œThatā€™s an incredibly mature decision,ā€ Spoke the King, ā€œand Iā€™m so sorry you had to make it, sweetheart.ā€
ā€œEh, those were more like excuses not to ask, really.ā€ Purple sighed, far more world-weary than any kid their age should sound, ā€œEven if the others didnā€™t kill me for asking after Sec almost died, it wouldnā€™t be right to make them risk their life again just for me,ā€ They paused, then added, ā€œDoesnā€™t mean it doesnā€™t hurt, though.ā€
ā€œI know,ā€ Consoled the adult. Mango could hear him gently patting Purple on the back, presumably, and without thinking Mango clasped his own hands together. ā€œIā€™ve heard being in a more comfortable space can help with nightmares. You said you wanted a hammock bed, right? That shouldnā€™t be too hard to install.ā€
There was a brief pause before Purple answered, ā€œYouā€¦ donā€™t mind me modifying your room like that?ā€
ā€œYour room,ā€ King corrected without hesitation. ā€œItā€™s your space now, Purple. Iā€™d like some heads up if you want to, you know, knock down walls or anything, but you can change it up however you like. You deserve to feel at home here.ā€
ā€œHeh,ā€ A little more cheer was evident in Purpleā€™s voice as they absorbed Kingā€™s words. They seemed more confident, somehow, ā€œYeah, thanks. Hey, maybe we can take that trip up to the beach. You know, if you donā€™t bring any drama.ā€
Now that Purpleā€™s mood was on the upswing, Kingā€™s own voice took on a more jovial tone as well, ā€œExcuse you. Iā€™ll have you know that I had absolutely zero flair for the dramatic before you entered my life.ā€
Mango couldnā€™t help but raise an eyebrow. Um, no. Even he had to call bull on that one.
ā€œYouā€™re welcome~!ā€ Purple teased back, ā€œBut, seriously, the beach is kind of my happy place. So we can only go together if you promise to keep it a happy place.ā€
Context made King respond a bit more seriously, ā€œI promise. Nothing but happy memories at the beach!ā€ Then he hummed in thought, ā€œIt might be a while before we get to go, then. ā€˜Dramaā€™ has kind of taken over our lives right now.ā€
ā€œWhen hasnā€™t it?ā€ Purple joked back, ā€œBut, until then, maybe we can go somewhere else? And we can even bring Gold and your evil twin.ā€ Mango scowled as King snorted. How did he, the one who wasnā€™t a terrorist, end up with the title of evil twin? ā€œLike, we can check out the amusement park! Or I can show Gold my tree house-ā€
ā€œGonna have to veto that one, bud,ā€ Interrupted King, ā€œI know it wasnā€™t the gameā€™s fault, just some malfunctioning tech, but Iā€™m not sure if Iā€™m ever going to be comfortable with Gold going into Minecraft after what happenedā€¦ Iā€™m only barely able to handle you going in there alone.ā€
Mango flinched away from the door for a moment. The game that killed his kidā€¦ Purple played it? And King let them? What was wrong with this guy?
ā€œYeah, thatā€™s fair,ā€ Purple agreed casually, as if they werenā€™t talking about a stick-killing murder simulation, ā€œthen I guess we can do something else. Maybe the park?ā€
ā€œYeah, the parkā€¦ā€ King sighed dreamily. Which park they were referring to was easy to guess; it had been his and Goldā€™s go-to place for after school playtime since the kid was a kid. His child was a hyperactive angel of destruction, and the park was a perfect place to let out all that excess energy in a healthy manner. Mango smiled at the memory of scrapes on his arms and legs from sword dueling with branches. He could practically feel Goldā€™s weight in his hands as he helped the child across the monkey bars. If Mango had to pick a happy place of his own, that would probably be it. ā€œThat sounds lovely. Gold could show you all his favourite spots, I could use myself as a punching bag to teach you both proper dueling,ā€ Mango rolled his eyes as Purple let out a snorting laugh, ā€œWe could get corn dogs.ā€
ā€œI hate corn dogs.ā€ Purple answered. Heā€™d suspected it after noting their taste in pizza, but this confirmed it for Mango: Purple was an absolute heathen.
King took this betrayal in stride, ā€œThen the princess can get themselves a pretzel.ā€ Purple tried to complain, but King cut them off by ruffling their hair. He chuckled fondly at them, all sweet and loving andā€¦ how could he not feel any guilt, showing them this kind of affection, when all heā€™d done was use Purple to fill the hole in his life? ā€œHow are you feeling now?ā€
ā€œMmā€¦ā€ Purple took a moment to mull it over before answering, ā€œTired, actually. I think Iā€™m ready to head back in.ā€
The two were already standing by the time Mango processed what that meant. He scrambled to separate himself, jumping away like it was on fire and hopping across the sprawled out bodies of Purpleā€™s friends like they were hurdles on a track. The echoing creak of the door opening hit Mangoā€™s ears just as he darted out of sight, throwing himself behind a wall to avoid being seen. Purple and King were murmuring softly between themselves as they slowly and carefully walked through the living room to avoid waking Purpleā€™s friends.
That slowness would be Mangoā€™s saving grace. He turned and began creeping through the hallway towards Goldā€™s bedroom at the end. In his haste to escape, he forgot himself, and placed a foot down without thought.
Creeeaaaak
...Damn it. Mango winced. It was doubtful that Purple heard that, given how new they were to the house, but there was no way any version of himself would mistake the sound of the door outside his old room creaking. Not with how many times heā€™d been woken up in the middle of the night by a restless little golden angel knocking at his door.
ā€œ...Purple, hold up a second,ā€ Kingā€™s voice quietly called out. Purpleā€™s questioning noise turned to one of shock, ā€œYouā€™ve got something on your cheek. Here, let me-ā€
ā€œEw, Old Man, no-!ā€
Oh. King was giving him a chance to get away without being busted by Purple. Mango didnā€™t take the time to question his motives; he quickly walked, paying more mind to avoid the squeaky boards on the floor, and cautiously, quietly, pulled the bedroom door open. It made a slight squeaking noise, but there wasnā€™t really any hiding that, so Mango hurried inside and shut the door as quietly as he could manage.
Gold, thankfully, was still in bed, turned away from where King and Mango had set up their blankets for the night. Even in his sleep todayā€™s events were clearly weighing on him, and Mangoā€™s heart ached at the sight.
At least the poor kid was able to get some rest.
--------------------
Gold hadnā€™t been able to get any rest that night.
How could he? The joy and excitement of preparing for the tournament this morning felt like a far off, distant dream. All he could think about was that shameful confession his father ā€“ his Dad ā€“ had poured out to him. All the people heā€™d hurt, the world heā€™d almost destroyed for Gold, over an incident that was almost completely separate from the game itself.
Both Dad Mango and Dad King had gotten up at some point, but Gold hadnā€™t even bothered to roll over and check on them. Were they fighting again? It shouldnā€™t have mattered, but another knife of betrayal stabbed into Gold anyways. Heā€™d asked them to do one thing, one thing! And they couldnā€™t even manage that.
As he laid there, Goldā€™s mind flickered through the dayā€™s events like he was mindless clicking through programs on the television. Purple had tried to hide it, or downplay it, or whatever, but Gold knew that his dad had hurt everyone in the living room, including Purple themselves. Whenever he tried to close his eyelids, his imagination conjured movies of the others fighting for their lives, of Dad glaring them down with a maniacal grin on his face, of Purple pushing against the pain of whatever hell Dad had summoned, begging him to stop, glitches and errors threatening to pull them apart pixel by pixel just like they had King Dadā€™s Goldā€¦
Tears burned at his eyes, and Gold sniffed and hastily wiped them away. Heā€™d always known his Dad had a temper, butā€¦ but heā€™d thought his Dad was a good personā€¦
Eventually one of the Dads came back, a near inaudible creak in the otherwise dead silent night signaling his return. Gold didnā€™t bother to turn over to check which one, or if it was both of them. The idea of talking to his own Dad made him feel worn down ā€“ the bad kind of worn down, where your entire body was sore and you could feel the strings of sanity snapping in your mind. Gold held as still as he could and hoped Dad wouldnā€™t approach to check on him.
Several moments passed, and Gold felt a sense of guilty relief when he heard the rustling sound of sheets as Dad got back under the covers.
He was followed soon enough by the door opening again, and other Dad entered. The door clicked shut behind him, only audible in the silence of night, and then the air was painfully still. The lack of noise caused Goldā€™s heart to beat louder in his ears. Anticipation stole his breath.
ā€œItā€™s rude to eavesdrop, you know.ā€
Gold gulped down his nerves. Shoot.
Thankfully, before he could make the mistake of speaking up, the other version of his Dad, the one whoā€™d entered first, responded from where he laid on the floor, ā€œ...Sorry.ā€ The voice was soft, and lacked the hostility he had in previous conversations with himself.
ā€œIā€™m not the one you need to apologize to,ā€ The Dad not laying down answered, ā€œTomorrow youā€™ll be telling Purple, and saying a proper ā€˜sorryā€™,ā€ His tone was firm, and Gold realized that the one standing by the door was, most likely, King.
ā€œI will,ā€ Mango replied. He didnā€™t put up a fight at all, which somehow made Gold more nervous and suspicious than he wouldā€™ve been if heā€™d fought the demand. He paused for a brief second, then asked, ā€œ...Purpleā€™s mom is dead?ā€
Goldā€™s breath caught in his throat. Purple wasā€¦ was that why Purple went along with everything Dad had wanted? Because they didnā€™t have anyone else?
King sighed out a long, tired sigh before responding, ā€œYeah. Sheā€™s been dead longer than Gold. Some glitch in her core codingā€¦ I havenā€™t exactly pressed Purple for details, and they werenā€™t keen on giving them.ā€
ā€œAnd their other parent?ā€ Mango asked gingerly. Gold was reminded of an incident from when he was younger, when heā€™d broken a window with a baseball, and Dad was asking about the damages owed. The dread was tangible.
For a long moment King didnā€™t respond, and Gold was almost starting to think he wouldnā€™t when he finally answered, ā€œThatā€™s not my story to tell,ā€ Kingā€™s voice was tinged with quiet rage, making Gold shiver. Is that what the others heard, when his Dad tried to destroy a world? Or was Goldā€™s father louder in his villainy? ā€œAnd if I tried, Iā€™d genuinely get too angry to sleep. Just know that if I had my way, that stick would NEVER get anywhere near Purple again.ā€
ā€œSo my hunch was correct,ā€ Mangoā€™s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, ā€œThe kidā€™s an abuse victim.ā€
Oh, and it just got worse.
ā€œLike I said, Purpleā€™s story isnā€™t mine to tell.ā€ King spoke through gritted teeth, ā€œIf you want the details, you can ask them like the adult youā€™re supposed to be. But Iā€™m not saying anything else about it. I donā€™t even think Purple knows how much I know about their previous home.ā€
Mango scoffed, ā€œNo wonder the kidā€™s so attached. How can you not feel guilty?ā€
ā€œGuilty?ā€ King echoed.
ā€œFor using that kid like you are? For taking in some sad, pitiable orphan just to make them replace your dead child?ā€
That- that wasnā€™t true, Gold forced himself to think. There was no way that Goldā€™s Dad would do that to some poor kid, right? Butā€¦ there was no way Goldā€™s Dad would commit attempted murder, or destroy an entire world, either. He searched himself for some sign, any sign, that his Dad wouldnā€™t do that to Purple, and was met only with a clawing emptiness in his chest.
At this point, Gold didnā€™t know what to think of his own father.
ā€œIā€™ve already told you,ā€ Anger crept into Kingā€™s voice, though he kept the volume low, ā€œPurple is not a replacement for Gold. Theyā€™re not some pet project, or some band-aid solution Iā€™ll abandon now that Goldā€™s back.ā€
ā€œ...Well, itā€™s not like itā€™s my business,ā€ Mango dismissed. Gold could hear rustling as he turned away from King, ā€œOnce I have the money, Gold and I are out of here. After that? You and your sad orphan can play happy house all you like.ā€
Bile churned in Goldā€™s stomach. How could his dad talk like that about Purple? After what theyā€™d done for Gold? After what heā€™d learned about them?
Was his Dad always a bad person, and Gold had just been too stupid to see it?
The argument may have continued, but Gold was beyond caring. Bitter resentment and sour guilt pooled in his stomach to create a nauseating mixture. He couldnā€™t understand; how could his Dad claim to love him while using his death as an excuse to treat the people around him like trash? And poor Purple, caught in the middle. Kingā€™s emotional support and Mangoā€™s target of resentment, allowing themselves to take on the Ochre familyā€™s burdens so the rest of them could be happy. It felt to Gold like someone should take on Purpleā€™s burdens, for once.
And if his father wasnā€™t up to the task? Well, then Gold would have to do it instead.
---------------------
(Inhale) So.
I've been itching to put this story down for a while. My original idea was to make it a comic, but after some thought I decided to make it a fanfic instead. I just didn't expected it to be so LONG. Seriously, this is a multichapter fic and this is chapter ONE. Oh boy.
Feel free to let me know what you think so far, or if you come across any typos or anything. I did my best to edit, but this ended up being a lot longer than I'd expected. There were just so many little moments I'd wanted to include, I couldn't bring myself to cut anything.
I'm not sure how often I'm going to update this fic. It took like a month of work to write and draw everything, and I do have other things I want to do. But I'll do my best, I promise.
#Okay so I found this through ao3 and I flipped. I'm too scared to comment on there so I'm going feral here.#OHMYBDCHFUCKFIGN GODTV YOUREW THE PERSOEN YOUREE THE THE TFRWLLE yOURE THE FELLA I KNEW FROM MY THSC PHASE!!!!! YOURE THE ONE WHO WROTE VS!!#(Valiant Souls I mean) OH MY GODSHGDHEAVENS!!! I ADOREW THIS#side note: I think I have an inadvertent fondness of sticks BUT that aside#OH MY GOD KING ORANGE AND PURPLE AND TSC AND RED AND THE REST OF THE COLOR GANG!!!!!#(You can tell who's the favorites from who gets mentioned first.)#YOU DON'T KNOW HOW QUICKLY I SCRAMBLED TO READ THIS FIC AFTER I SEARCHED UP VS ON AO3 REREAD THE CLOSING CHAPTERS OF IT#(Can't believe I was still lurking there to see the tumblr banner change during an important chapters release I liked VS a lot did you know)#I looked at your profile there and flipped when I saw AvA there but why was I surprised I thought. Sticks. Of course. Of course you did.#I LOVE THIS FIC??? I LOVE HOW YOU CAN MAKE ME HATE MY THEORETICAL PAST SELF AND HOW I KNOW I'D BE TOO STUBBORN TO SEE MY OWN DOWNFALL??#YOU POTRAYED THAT FEELING SO WELL?? THE IDEA OF LOOKING AT A MIRROR OF YOUR PAST SELF? *cough* sorry anYway. The idea that even as you con-#convince your past self on why falling into this rabbit holeā„¢ of rage you know you'll fall into is bad but your past self thinks you're-#you're big bad and stupid and does the Thingā„¢ you know will get him into trouble and only hurting others around him in ways he doesn't reali#(I am looking at one person. Hi Mango- no not you King hi King)#Tell Gold I said hi./j#SPEAKING OF GOLD ā€” CALL ME INSANE BUT IT'S FUNNY HOW PURPLE HAS MUCH IN COMMON WITH GOLD BUT NOT (This was mentioned wasn't it?#ā€˜the more differences I find between them the parallels alike them outweighā€™ or something of the like. Mango(King) you funny man.)#JXNSDKAJFHSJDJSJDJSJD#Okay sorry but I looked at the cover again.#I still sincerely believe that is NOT a trophy#That looks either like an IV bag (what's it called?) or a hamster bottle or like someone else said ā€” a water bottle. No offense ā€”#I have severe processing issues./hj#I love that charming mistake.#And final note. I think.#Clearly this fic wasn't designed to be visualized with the design for KO/MT I had in mind because an averagely heavy man pinning down someā€”#some burly mf who's just taking the brunt sounds utterly comedic. (Mango the former King the latter. Of course.)#I adore this fic I came cause I know you for writing good Sticks and what do I come back to? You writing good sticks. I actually love that.#AvA#AvM#King Orange
73 notes Ā· View notes
valleydoli Ā· 9 months ago
Text
š™š Ao3 Fics Iā€™ve read and love š™š
Tumblr media
š™š infidelity by @tawus (completed)
gojo x fem reader
Your marriage to Gojo Satoru lost its initial excitement, since your husband spent all his time either at Jujutsu Tech or on exorcism missions across the world. To ease your loneliness, you picked up your favorite pastime from your student years ā€” clubbing ā€” behind his back. Too bad that on Satoruā€™s most recent mission he spots his wife dancing in a nightclub with a bunch of guys in the skimpiest dress he has ever seen on herā€¦
š™š desert rose by @sadistic-kiss (on going)
all jjk men x fem reader šŸ˜­
Toji Fushiguro finds you during one of his hitman jobs. With no idea what to do with you he decides to bring you home to his house of misfits. They werenā€™t picture perfect but neither were you.
š™š mascara by @/softstellars (on going)
geto x fem reader
You've never been a particularly good person, you're self-aware enough to know it. It's your only flaw, and recently you've actually been working to better yourself. For example: paying for a 30-dollar Uber so you can take your friend home only for her to ditch you for some guy when it comes down to it. Although youā€™re pissed, you decide to try and make the best of it instead of get into a screaming match with her. It's an easy thing to do when Getou Suguru is offering you everything to do just that. Everything a party entails: liquor, weed, and sex with a perfect stranger. And Getou knows perfectly well you have a boyfriend, so it's not like he'll want anything serious.
š™š a pearl by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)
toji x fem reader
The Fushiguros needed a nanny, and the pay was too good to not apply, especially since your family needed financial help. You were the perfect nanny for the kids, they loved you as if you were their own mother. Slowly, you built up the perfect relationship with the family. Especially with Mr. Fushiguro. A man who would constantly visit you after dark. A man who you thought had sincere intentions but at the end of the day didn't care about you. A selfish man who just saw you as a tool to make his wife mad. A man who didn't care about you but didn't want you with anyone else. A man that took away your ability to know what a healthy relationship was. You couldn't speak up about it since all the fault would fall at your feet and would be deemed as the "homewrecker".
š™š you, my angel and my saint by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)
toji x fem reader
sequel to a pearl!
After having an affair with your boss, you're left to deal with the consequences, those being: two exhausting new jobs and a child. A child that he never got to know the existence of. Now all you had to do was keep her hidden, which should be an easy task, right?
š™š rings by @/bungeemum (on going)
toji x fem reader
you divorced the man in front of you for a reason. so why was he standing on your doorstep, guilt plastered on his face, and eyes glinting with hope?
š™š a dangerous game by @/anaoyuo (completed)
gojo x fem reader
geto x fem reader
Both men agreed to a game about who fucks you first, but they didn't play their cards right. Gojo and Geto changed the course of the game when they decided to keep you around for way longer than intended, making you fall for their sweet way to deprave you, and now you have to face the consequences in a gamble that they call their life.
š™š fateā€™s gamble by @/anaoyuo (on going)
gojo x fem reader
geto x fem reader
sequel to a dangerous game
ē¼˜åˆ†ā€” a story about predestined affinity, set in a world where the intoxicating thrills of wealth intertwine with amorality.
š™š him & i by @pharixden (on going)
gojo x fem reader
toji x fem reader
sukuna x fem reader
A cheating husband, a widowed bodyguard and a malevolent fling of the past who owes a favour isnā€™t a combination for the faint of heart, but not every girl is a damsel in distress.
š™š changes by @lemonlover1110 (on going also on tumblr!)
gojo x fem reader
From childhood friends to lovers to mere strangers. Your love story with Satoru Gojo was one from a fairy tail, until it wasn't. When you were twenty-one, Satoru left you without an explanation. Five years later, you meet again but nothing is quite the same. Too many things need to be explained, especially the fact that there's another Gojo that Satoru has yet to meet.
š™š the man in apartment 381 by @lemonlover1110 (completed also on tumblr!)
toji x fem reader
Looking for a new beginning after the death of your husband, you move away from town. That's when you meet him, Toji Fushiguro, a widower with a three-year-old son. You two understand each other, which draws you close. Except you two don't realize that feelings would eventually develop, and neither of you want that. Feelings are the last thing you two want after finding out the great damage that they can cause. When you two discover this, it's too late.
š™š 4th avenue viewing by @/softstellars (completed)
nanami x fem reader
Nanami Kento is intelligent, serious, reserved and can easily catch someone in a lie. It's his job to do just that, he's renowned for it. So when he comes to your university to offer up an internship, it's quite the opportunity. Anyone would jump at the chance, except for you. But no, you just had to be the one caught in a lie.
š™š forgotten souls by @/killerpoultry & @/bebobopobo (completed)
sukuna x fem reader
You and Sukuna have been married for years. Even though he is brash, mean, and sadistic, you love him more than anything. While he may not show it much, he truly loves you too. One day you get into a terrible car accident and lose all your memories. You learn to live once more while Sukuna must now get you to fall in love with him all over again.
š™š love kills by @/sourome (on going)
i actually donā€™t know šŸ˜­ i think toji x fem reader
The wealthy and successful Zenin family, well respected and seemingly perfect. But all that glitters is not gold. Toji Zenin, CEO and face of the Zenin Group acts like a gentleman but is a vile creature that has ruined many lives, such as yours. That married man dared to play with your motherā€™s heart many years ago, destroying her sanity and her life and ultimately killing her. Now years later and being all grown up you decide to seek revenge, he deserves to suffer that same destiny and die of love. With the help of a few friends you plan to become a part of his life and his every thought but you didn't take into account his son, that man had the potential to turn your plans upside down.
š™š the black swan by @uselesslydamaged (completed)
sukuna x fem reader
Loving someone is easy, but experiencing it is harder.
š™š bodyguard by @/succybuss (on going)
toji x fem reader
Your Grandfather, a man involved in unsavory businesses that has taken you under his wing, has informed you that you will be under the care of a full-time Bodyguard. Unhappy with your grandfather's decision, you decide to go out for a night of drinking for your last night of freedom. There, you encounter a man you planned on taking home, but life had other plans in store for you...
š™š violet lights by @septembersummer (completed)
gojo x fem reader
In which you're at a party that you should've skipped when you capture the attention of a boy who looks like an angel and grins like the devil. He looks beautiful in the neon lights, and maybe you just want to make your ex-boyfriend jealous, but trouble with a tongue ring does sound like fun, just for tonight. What's the worst that could happen, you know?
š™š starboy by @septembersummer (completed)
gojo x fem reader
sequel to violet lights
After your ex-boyfriend gets arrested on national television, you find yourself realizing that you really didnā€™t know much at all about Gojo Satoru. Well, heā€™s better known in the Yakuza as The Six Eyes, not that he ever told you that.
š™š sweet little lies by @/mooglepaws (on going)
toji x fem reader
Megumi Fushiguro is the perfect FiancƩ. Caring, loyal, successful, devastatingly handsome and crazy in love with you. So how and why do you end up fucking his Dad? As your wedding looms and the consequences of your affair unfold, you have to make a choice between the Fushiguro men.
This is a Toji x Reader x Megumi but the smut is almost exclusively Toji x Reader focusing on their affair.
š™š the twist of a knife by @darkcat23 (on going)
gojo x fem reader
This world is dull, colourless in your eyes. You are just trying to keep going with your life, not bothering anyone, trying to support your mother and yourself. So what happens when you agree to help your ex one night? And what if you catch the attention of a certain white haired assassin? And he shows you just how colourful this world truly is. or, a story of a girl with a violent mind and a boy with violent tendencies, finding each other, intertwining, and feeding off one another. perhaps it is fate that has brought them together. or perhaps it's something more sinister, something more cold.
š™š untameable waves by @/circedemedici
(unknown i guess hopefully i can let you know)
has been taken down i dont know if itā€™ll come back but if it does iā€™ll link it! but iā€™m leaving it here because it was most definitely my favourite :(
Tumblr media
please let me know any other fics youā€™ve read because i love reading fics with a LOT of plot and also let me know if you end up reading any and you enjoy them as much as i did! :3
i think i used every tag known to man LOL š™š
10K notes Ā· View notes
anantaru Ā· 1 month ago
Text
āš DAY 1 ā€” SIZE KINK
Tumblr media Tumblr media
kinktober 2024. ā€” masterlist | ao3
ā€” including. ā€” capitano, wriothesley, zhongli, childe
ā€” warnings. ā€” fem! reader, size kink/size difference, dom/sub dynamics, childe is a lil mean and written like a casual fwb relationship, experienced zhongli
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
āš ā€” CAPITANO
capitano's teeth catch your lip as his hips inject a chilling coldness into every rut of his cock pressing into youā€” in other words, they were calculated and controlled rolls of his length basically breaking your body into two pieces.
rolling your eyes back, you catch a glimpse of the heavy armor that has long since been discarded, practically ripped off his body, revealing the full extent of his massive form and muscles shining of sweat.
yet for some reason, there was no warmth in his gaze, never, even now, you see, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his grip on your waist, his look was devoid of any softness.
"i told you to endure it, take it," he commands sternly, his voice a low growl as he pushes into you again, this time making sure he could get an extra inch buried in you.
you flinch and moan at the same time, you're so fucked out of your mind you just want to cum already, but the size of him alone made you gasp and clenchā€” it burned, yes, it felt stimulating, it felt like you're about to encounter an orgasm that could simply make you unable to walk for days.
but the way he handles youā€” no hesitation, no gentleness, every thrust sharp and vigorous, bursting like the freezing winter cold, as if the first harbinger was testing your limits without truly caring about them.
although somehow, despite his ruthlessness, he knows when to stop.
capitano knows exactly how far to push your body, as if he's memorized every inch of you, every reaction.
"take a big breath for me, yeah? you can take some more," perhaps he could become relentless when pleasuring you, merciless, but never cruel.
he fills you over and over, watching keenly how your pussy drenches him, and fuck, you can feel his eyes watching you, making you nervousā€” whether it was your hole gripping him, red and puffy begging for your break or your eyes admiring his stomach, he sees it all.
Tumblr media
āš ā€” WRIOTHESLEY
without haste, wriothesley wraps his arms around you, indulging in a strong and unyielding love as he presses you against him. right there, you feel it, you notice his breath against your neckā€” one exhale, the second one coming in shortlyā€” he's hot, shaking, lips curved up in a smile as the gentle praises already began to spill from his lips.
"you"re so amazing, sweetheart, you know that," he groans, his voice a little shaky as you squeeze him into you, deep and gripping him into your cunt, "look at youā€¦ taking all of me aahā€” so easily."
his size was clearly overwhelming you, crushing you in ways you hadnā€™t thought were even remotely possibleā€” although personally his words make it bearable, pleasurable as he smothers his length against your walls, the swollen flesh squeezing him so tightlyā€” and fuck, the more you took of him the better it felt, the more, the better.
shit, you actually believe you've never been this horny for the duke before.
"you're perfect, so perfect, fuckā€”" he continues walking you through his clouded praises before one of his hands began tracing the slopes of your trembling body, "so tight, yeahā€¦ but handling me like itā€™s nothing."
he pushes deeper, filling you completely, the creaking of the mattress beneath you both only fueling the desire erupting from your very core as his hands easily guide you, ensure you to take him slowly, little by little.
you can take him, right? that's out of the question, but you find yourself wanting more, wanting to prove yourself to him.
Tumblr media
āš ā€” ZHONGLI
zhongli moves with the grace of experience fitting his intimidating size as your walls instantly pulsate around him, the torture of it being so full and burning between your legs, yet at the same time utterly fulfilling and euphoric.
truly, his amber eyes flicker with a quiet intensity, his body towering over you like a domineering shadow that you couldn't possibly get away fromā€” and at this time, your mind turns blurry, entirely clouded by him and his pretty face.
"it'll be fine, you don't have to worry," he murmurs, his voice soft, "i know what you can take, always." no rush, no urgencyā€” just the both of you.
well, his experience surely was obvious in everything he did, every slow thrust and your hole gradually getting used to him again.
how come he's so big but his massive form just fits so perfectly in you, every square of his cock filling you? zhongli wonders if you're actually made for him, however in this moment, he was preparing you for just how roughly he was about to ruin every fucking space of your walls.
his hips shift, fast snaps of his hips bouncing off your flesh, then pushing a little deeperā€” and the man was groaning into your ear because you see, zhongli loves how you squeeze him, how your legs shake against him and how your pussy made the wet, little sounds with every rock of hips.
Tumblr media
āš ā€” CHILDE
"whatā€™s wrong?" even now, as desperate and fucked out as childe made you sound like, he teases you, his voice low as he inches in deeper, making you swallow another ruthless shove of his cock, "hey now, canā€™t handle it? want me to play with you a lil' more?" his tone was surprisingly light despite him ignoring his own need to cum and cum all over you.
yet the challenge he saw right before him was unmistakably delicious.
the man knew exactly how big he was, how much it affected you, how you always needed him to properly nudge and rub your clit or lap at your tits, suck and pull at your nipples to make the growing stimulation explodeā€” or well, multiply.
yes, it's evident, his teasing antics were making him all the more attractive and you hated it, despised how ajax knew you got off on him being this way.
he gives another fast snap, the sheer stretch of him feeling like it was about to shut down your body as his hands greedily explored your skin. the torture of being so close to your climax, yet not knowing if childe would take it was driving you into madness.
ultimately, his palm settles above your stomach as he digs into it to not only, keep you right where he needed you to be, but also to make it even more pleasurable, until you're practically begging him to fuck the broad daylight out of your skull.
your legs quake, eyes rolled back and your jaw hanging low, "you can take more,ā€ he says, pushing deeper, "more, huh," he grinds faster, fucking you harderā€” you can, right? you've been suck a good fuck for him tonight, always actually, never failing to gasp into his chest so sweetly and stick to his core, your pussy red and swollen but so so full.
Tumblr media
Ā©2024 anantaruĀ do not repost, copy, translate, modify
5K notes Ā· View notes
millermenapologist Ā· 6 months ago
Text
Fandom friends, we have won the battle (although we definitely did not win the war).
Yesterday, I wrote this post about lore.fm, an AI scraping app that was being marketed as an accessibility tool. Now, the person that has been promoting this app decided, in the light of plenty of backlash, to backtrack and pull it down, as they "feel uncomfortable" with how authors reacted to it.
Of this video, it's very important to highlight a couple of things:
the video is 3 long minutes of guilt-tripping: she keeps repeating that her (and her team, whose existence wasn't disclosed until yesterday: this app was marketed as being a sole woman's pet project) wanted to do good and create an accessibility tool. This comes with the underlying layer that all the authors who rightfully decided to defend their creations are ableist and in the wrong. It's a manipulation tactic;
there is no acknowledgement of the fact that the app was created by a team that specifically works to create apps that generate AI stories;
there is no explanation as to where the money to fund this app is coming from, and we all know that, when you're not paying for the product, you are the product;
this is backtracking, not genuine conversation: since the other day, the videos promoting this app went viral on r/Ao3, and plenty of people began contacting [email protected] to ask for their works to not be included. Then, the news spread on Tumblr too. They originally thought they could get away with "legally" stealing as much material as possible, and had to cut the project short because authors were doing everything in their power to stop them. The decision to take the app off for "reassessment" doesn't come from the goodness of their hearts.
At this point of the conversation, I think it's clear that the entirety of the project was relying on the perceived naĆÆvetĆ© of fanfic readers and writers, who are oftentimes seen and stereotyped as being silly teens and not adults with real jobs and real knowledge of the law. When they saw dozens, if not hundreds, of authors contacting them to ask their works to not be featured, some of them threatening legal consequences, they had no other choice but to backtrack.
For now, the issue is closed, but don't think it'll be forever. Know your rights, even if you're "just" a fic author, and defend yourself and your works too from these scummy companies that see us as nothing but machines that churn out material for them to steal and profit off of with no consequences.
6K notes Ā· View notes