#we are gonna pretend that looks like ray

[nonbinarygerard]

i wanna watch you turn into a werewolf!!

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

What if I...

—You make a tempting, unexpected offer; how are they going to react?

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Nikolai, Fyodor, Sigma, Jouno X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, mentions of giving blowjobs (whether it'll happen or not is up to you lol), unstablished relationship (you're just friends, but are you..?), rushed writing

Genre: Humor

Format: Drabble

Word Count: 1.6K

↳Osamu Dazai"

Listen y/n..." Dazai cooes at you. "I'm a little bit busy with... uh, work; so I don't think I'll be able to accompany you on this mission"

Shaking your head to the side with frustration, you bend a little on the desk, gazing into his Hazel eyes to show your desperation "Oh c'mon Dazai! You're not seriously gonna make me go to this tiresome mission by myself?! They're all politicians! It's gonna be boring as hell!"

The pile of paperwork on his desk are making you question your eyesight, but you know Dazai better than that. He probably saw it coming so he placed them there on purpose to prove his point.

...Not that it could exactly be called a "point".

"Listen..." Your voice is so low that only Dazai can hear it. "There must be some way for me to change your mind"

His expression doesn't change one bit, still looking through the documents for nothing, pretending to be occupied. "Sorry to burst your bubbles, but I really can't—"

"What if I suck your dick?"

Eyes shooting you a shocked gaze and hands staying still, it seems like he's completely lost interest in the paperwork. He's looking through your soul and the moment his lips start moving, you know you've won the battle.

"For... for real?" "Yes, for real"

The surprised face is all gone and instead, there's a totally new face now; a smug face of a man who's gonna team up with you for the mission and get a little prize in the end.

"So when do we leave?"

↳Chuuya Nakahara

"Listen Chuuya, with great looks comes great responsibility. There's a reason why you're this hot!"

The red-haired man looked away as an attempt to hide his flustered face, his voice still gravely. "Stop it y/n. I'm not gonna be your model for the photoshoot"

"Why not? You're the perfect choice!" "The answer's no! Get over it"

"Hmph! You're no fun" You crossed your arms and pouted as you leaned to the chair. You couldn't make heads or tails of it. Why was he so against being your model? You were just gonna take a few photos of him wearing casual clothes and maybe some light makeup. It was for your photography class and you were supposed to take a pic of somebody under the rays of sunset. With Chuuya's red hair and blue eyes, it would be a breath taking pic. He just looked so pretty under the sun.

As Chuuya took the bottle to sip from it, you found yourself desperate enough to give it one last shot.

"What if I suck your dick as a payment?"

And then the explosion happened. Chuuya's hand snapped, the bottle fell on the floor and drops of wine literally squirted out of his mouth. He was coughing so strongly that you rushed over and started hitting him in the back like he was some kind of ketchup bottle. His face was crimson red, but whether it was from choking or embarrassment, you couldn't really tell.

When he finally came down and caught his breath, he placed his hand on his chest and looked at you with eyes the same size as a baseball, meanwhile you looked at him miserably with the word "sorry" written all over your face.

"So... is that a yes?" "NO!"

Well, at least you nearly killed him.

↳Jouno Saigiku

"Ok I don't know why you're refusing. I'm just giving you the opportunity to make up for your mean attitude by doing something nice! You know, to go to heaven, like me and other nice people, Teccho for example"

Jouno was still expressionless. He merely sipped his cup of coffee and placed his hat on the table. "I appreciate the offer, but after a lifetime we definitely need a break from each other"

"Ugh you jerk! C'mon it's a piece of cake for you! You've arrested plenty of people before! You're smart, you're strong and I came to you for help which shows that I'm really desperate!"

Your relationship with Jouno was... questionable. He teased you, had a tendency to piss you off all the time, but somehow you were friends. The weirdest type of friendship that had ever existed, probably.

"I can see that. See I do wanna help you out, but I just love seeing the new you"

Shaking your head to the side, you leaned back to the couch. A hard case was given to you and you really didn't want to blow it up, but you needed help, and everyone else were busy. Except for your horrible friend here.

"Jouno, Jouno, Please..." You took his left, gloved hand. "I need you! I'll do anything in return! I'll team up with you and insult Teccho for a whole year! I'll write every one of your reports! I'll even suck your d—"

Jouno didn't hear your voice anymore. In fact, the only thing heard in the room was pure silence, and of course your heartbeat.

You were shocked.

He got his hand out of your grasp, placing it next to your head. His other hand found its way to your lips, softly caressing them. Meanwhile you didn't say a word, just stared at his handsome face and swallowed your saliva.

"Hypothetically, if I help you out, how far would you go to make it up to me?"

Forget about your friendship. You weren't that close anyway.

↳Fyodor Dostoevsky

"I'm going to go to my parents' with my boyfriend tonight"

"I thought you didn't have a boyfriend, dear" Fyodor tilted his head to the side to gaze at you.

"I don't! That's where you come in!"

Nikolai exchanged a look between your nervous expression and Fyodor's smile, and pouted. "Hey! Why didn't you ask me instead?"

"Yeah yeah, if I ever wanted to give them a heart attack you'd be the first person I'll go to" You sighed and looked back at Fyodor. "So? Would you please help me out?"

Fyodor was sitting next to you on a chair. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Ah... I'm not sure about that. Wouldn't it make our relationship awkward?"

"No! No not at all!" Your voice was rushed and shaky. "You see you're the perfect choice for this"

"Hmph!"

"Shut up Nikolai. I mean, you're tall, you know how to talk to people— in a satisfying way, ah, you know what I mean, you're handsome, you have very pretty hair, you have the most beautiful violet eyes I can stare at until forever..."

His brattish smirk made you shut up and give a few embarrassed coughs. Your flushed cheeks weren't exactly helping you out at the moment.

"Eh... So you're the best in many ways... Now, would you please help me out?"

Fyodor gave Nikolai-who was also smirking- a meaningful look, and his smirk got broader. "I will think about it"

"What's there to think about? You get to have a free dinner and also have a great time! My dad has the same taste in books as you! I'll even suck your dick at the end!"

You suddenly shut up and stared at the two men with eyes the same size as a racket ball. Now there was also two pare of knitted eyebrows along with the smirks. Nikolai's winking and muttering "Yeah baby" didn't help you loosen up at all.

Fyodor leaned closer until the phrase "personal space" lost its meaning, staring at you. His pretty eyes were sparkling, making it harder to steal your gaze from them. His voice was as gentle as the sea breeze, the perfect melody to caress your ears.

"So... I'll get to date the most beautiful girl in the world, spend a whole night with her and then get something afterwards?"

You were so drowned in your thoughts that you couldn't utter a single word. This moment was magical, making you wonder if he were going to seal your lips with his, totally forgetting about Nikolai's presence.

...Until he started talking.

"Do you guys want me to leave the room? Cause there's no way I'm doing that"

↳Nikolai Gogol

"...Which is why clowns are so fragile and have strong emotions!"

You shook your head with disappointment. "Yeah yeah, get it. But that doesn't answer my question"

"What was your question anyway?"

Ugh.

"Would you please babysit my cousins with me?"

"Hahaha! I remember now!" His face brightened with joy. "Well, no"

You leaned closer to him miserably. "Oh c'mon Kolya!"

"Sorry dove, I just don't get along with children. Not a fan"

"But they're triplets Kolya! I can't handle them on my own!" At this point you were literally begging. "Pretty please?"

"Triplets? Ha! Another reason for me to say no"

Well, that was it. You were going to be alone with your naughty cousins for four hours and then hand a burned house and probably only one of the boys back to your aunt because you lost the other two.

"Unless..."

Ah! There's still some hope left.

"You offer me something in return?"

Nikolai's face was dangerously close to yours. His smile was bright, but his intention didn't seem to be. Although that didn't scare you. It only made your body numb with excitement and through your clouded mind, you somehow put two and two together and blurted something out.

"Eh... What if.. What if I suck your di— Woah Nikolai what are you doing?"

A chuckle left his mouth as if something simple had happened, but this wasn't simple. He had just lifted you up and was carrying you bridal style to your bedroom.

"You took the hint all by yourself. How about that, my naughty dove?"

"K— Kolya! Where are you taking me?"

Your red cheeks only made his smile broader. "We're gonna get your clothes changed, go to your aunt's aweful house, babysit your horrible cousins, and then get ready for a night of fun"

↳Sigma

"So... How's the best manager in the world?"

Sigma's stare was still pointed at the documents. "I'm not planning a birthday party for your friend y/n"

"What are you talking about?" You smiled cunningly, lightly caressing his arm from the other side of the desk. "Can't I just compliment my incredible friend? Who happens to be an expert in planning and managing stuff?"

When you two first met, he used to get flustered by your flattering comments, but now Sigma's eyebrows only jumped in surprise. "You... can, but it won't change my mind"

"Pretty please?" Dropping the act, you got up from your seat and stood next to him, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. "I really need your help. I don't have a clue about this and you're the only one I know"

"I'm sorry y/n, but I'm caught up with work. You know that the casino is very busy this time of year, there's nothing I can do"

You sighed and sat on the chair again, desperately thinking about a way to convince him. What would make men do women a favor...

"What if I suck you dick?"

Sigma was still staring at the documents, which made you wonder if he had heard you, but his eyes were not the same. They were widened. He slowly lifted his head and looked at you like he was about to chop off his hand and stick it down his ass, and that made you finally realize it.

"Oh I forgot that you're three years old! I mean you haven't even hit puberty yet. Oops. My bad"

Yeah, Sigma needed new friends.

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Tag List:

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[chvoswxtch]

secrets

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: in the aftermath of your fight with frank, you get more than one unexpected visitor.

warnings: swearing, lots & lots & lots of angst

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it's getting juicyyyy. friendly reminder y'all voted for a double drop this week, so chapter twenty one is coming this friday. enjoy. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

“You keep frownin’ like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Lifting your focused gaze from your computer screen to the source of a familiar voice, the creases etched along your forehead deepened at the sight of Billy standing in your office doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit pants and that signature vain smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, darlin’.”

Billy let out a dry chuckle, crossing the threshold over towards your desk in just a few quick strides. Leaning over your desk, Billy stretched his hand out to brush his thumb along the space between your eyebrows, effectively smoothing out the crinkles of concentration coupled with confusion. The gesture caught you off guard, and you blinked a few times in surprise as Billy unbuttoned the middle button on his dark gray suit jacket before sitting down in the chair in front of your desk.

“There, that’s better. Now, how ‘bout you at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, that same smirk still gracing the edge of his lips in a silent tease. Looking over at him, it occurred to you that there always seemed to be some hint of mischief lingering in his deep espresso tinted eyes. Leaning back in your chair and folding your arms over your chest, you gave him a pointed look.

“What can I do for you, Billy?”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.”

“I could be worse, if you’d like.”

Billy’s lips split into a full blown grin, and he let out an amused chuckle at the sass dripping from your dry reply.

“Nah, I’ve seen you pissed. I’d prefer to stay on your good side, sweetheart. You wanna tell me what’s got you in such a pleasant mood this mornin’?”

Being around Billy just made you think about Frank, and thinking about Frank only reminded you of the fact that the two of you weren’t in a good place right now. He swore to you the night you confronted him that he was going to wrap this job up as quickly as he could, but that meant he had to devote all of his time to it, which resulted in him being around even less than he had been last month. 

Two weeks had passed since you’d last seen Frank in person. When you woke up in his bed the morning after you’d shown up at his apartment to confront him, he was already gone. He’d left a note on his pillow saying that he would call you soon, but that call didn’t come for four days, and neither one of you had much to say. You thought hearing his voice after being apart for a while would make you feel better about the whole situation, grant you some sense of relief or jumpstart a spark of acceptance you couldn’t find beforehand, but it only made you even more pissed off about what was happening.

And then the call you had with him two days ago really set you off.

Frank had been trying to keep the conversation light, and there was an apologetic tone to his gruff voice, but you couldn’t bite your tongue. The more you sat alone with the vague explanation he had given you, the more his promise of reassurance felt like fraud. You drew blood first, like you always did, but after a round of back and forth passive aggressive exchanges, Frank lost his own temper and went on the defense.

“For Christ’s sake, what else you want me to say, huh? How many other ways I gotta apologize?”

“We shouldn’t even be in this situation right now, Frank-”

“Yeah, well we are, and you’re gonna have to find a way to deal with it cause it ain’t changin’ any goddamn time soon.”

Frank’s aggressive retort only incensed you further. The stress of the current job combined with the growing rift between the two of you eroded his patience into raw frustration, and you were matching his verbal lashes blow for blow.

“Just deal with it? Just deal with you being away and hiding things from me?”

“That’s the job sometimes, alright? You know first hand the kinda shit I gotta do. You know what my world’s like. I told you I was gonna do what I could to get this handled as soon as possible-”

“But this isn’t your normal job, Frank! Stop using that as a fucking excuse. You’ve never had to disappear to God only knows where before, and you’ve never kept secrets from me-”

“Oh for fucks sake. You think that’s what I’m doin’? Makin’ excuses? That’s bullshit and you know it. I told you what I could-”

“And that’s supposed to be enough?“

“It was enough for Maria.”

Those five simple words stunned you silent. They struck a nerve you didn’t even know existed, and Frank, blinded by his aggravation, just kept hacking away at it with his verbal arsenal.

“Ya’know, she never gave me this much fuckin’ shit, and she had to deal with way worse than you. I was away from her and the kids for months at a time, couldn’t tell her a goddamn thing ‘bout what I was really doin’, and she was never on my ass the way you are right now-”

“I’m not her, Frank!”

The only sounds on the line were yours and Frank’s labored breathing, shallow and heavy from yelling and exhausting your vexed emotions on one another. For several moments, neither of you spoke a word, until finally you broke the silence by gritting your teeth and delivering one last blow.

“You know what, don’t fucking call me again until this shit is over.”

Frank, being the stubborn ass that he was, hadn’t attempted to contact you to smooth things over or to apologize. It infuriated you, but in the same breath, you didn’t want to speak to him right now. 

Still, it wasn’t fair of you to take your sour mood out on Billy. He hadn’t done anything wrong. You were upset with Frank, not him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you slowly dragged your palm down your face before leaning back in your chair. You hadn’t noticed how stiffly you’d been sitting until you felt a dull ache in your lower back.

“I…sorry. There’s just…a lot going on right now. I’m spread kinda thin so, I’m…a bit on edge.”

“A bit?”

When you shot him an unamused look, Billy let out a light chuckle and held up his hands in a show of faux surrender.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t come to here to fuck with ya. I actually came to ask a favor.”

An expression of surprise swiftly coveted your features. What could you possibly have to offer Billy Russo?

“A favor?”

Billy leaned back in the chair, adjusting the lapels of his suit before crossing his left leg over his right knee, placing his elbows on the arm rests. Maybe it was because your office was familiar to him, or maybe it was because he was so rich he felt like he owned everything, but Billy had a way of being able to make himself comfortable no matter what setting he was in. Fixing his deep brown eyes on you, that signature smirk of his graced his lips once again when he caught your look of intrigue and confusion.

“As you know, Anvil has a government contract with Homeland Security. It was a big deal for the company, and it’s proven to be a damn good business investment. As a matter of fact, it’s been so successful, that I’ve been meetin’ with a few other branches negotiatin’ another expansion, and recently closed a deal with the CIA.”

“Don’t government contracts kinda defeat the whole private military operation thing?”

“I didn’t hear you complainin’ when that Homeland contract brought you to me.”

Rolling your eyes at the smugness in his voice, you reached for the nearly empty iced coffee sitting on your desk.

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

“Anvil is more than personal protection, darlin’. It’s also convoy security, tactical operations, tailored training, and more. Most of our military contracts are outside of the U.S, so havin’ two on American soil is a huge deal.”

“If you’re trying to sell me on investing, I hate to break it to you, but I think the number currently reflecting in my bank account would make you cry.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle at that, his lips stretching open into a tooth bearing grin. Giving a faint shake of his head, he ran his right hand along the top of his head, smoothing his perfectly styled raven hair back into place.

“That’s not what I’m askin’.”

“Then how do I come into this, exactly?”

“The news hasn’t hit the media yet. Anvil’s hosting a Veteran’s Charity Ball this Saturday night, and I’m gonna make the announcement then. That, pretty girl, is where you come into play. I’d like you to personally cover the story.”

Looking across your desk at Billy, you could see by the look on his face that he was serious about wanting you to cover the piece. A slight furrow nestled between your brows at the idea.

“Why me?”

Billy cocked his head to the side, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes and a sly smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Why would I ask anyone else? You know me, you know the company-”

“Which is kind of conflict of interest-”

“I already cleared it with your editor. You bein’ under the protection of Anvil is classified through Homeland, and since we’re a private company like you mentioned, our records ain’t public. Besides, your editor seemed pretty confident you could write without bias. Look, I want you on this. I’ve read the work of some of the other journalists here, and I gotta tell ya, even if I didn’t know ya, I still woulda picked you.”

Hearing that Billy had already talked to Ellison about this was a surprise to you because Ellison hadn’t mentioned it at all to you. When had Billy talked to him about this? Why hadn’t Ellison told you? Perplexity shrouded your features as you looked over at Billy.

“Ellison didn’t say anything-”

“I asked him not to. I wanted to ask you first, in person. He gave it the green light, but ultimately, it’s up to you if you wanna do it.”

Being kept in the dark seemed to be a recurring theme in your life lately that you weren’t happy with, and it stirred up dull embers of irritation from your fight with Frank. A part of you didn’t want to do it purely out of immature spite, since Billy indirectly had a hand in creating the chasm currently deepening between you and Frank. But that wasn’t fair to Billy. You owed him your life as much as you did Frank and Dinah. Billy played a vital part in keeping you safe and protected from the Defenders of Freedom, and recording Steven’s confession ended up being the smoking gun in proving his involvement.

After a moment of silent contemplation, you let out a light exhale through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t get too excited, now. It’s only a fancy party with an extensive open bar and catering from all of the best restaurants in the city.”

Trying to fight the smile that threatened to escape across your lips, you looked over at Billy and arched one of your brows.

“Are you trying to bribe me to write you a good article, Mr. Russo?”

“Is it workin’?”

Billy’s mouth was stretched in a wide, wolfish grin, showcasing the top row of his dazzling pearly white teeth. His dark brows were raised slightly up his forehead, and he had that familiar devilish twinkle in his eyes. Giving a soft shake of your head with a dry laugh, you crossed your arms over your chest and relaxed back in your chair.

“What time?”

“Starts at seven, I’ll send a car for ya ‘round six-thirty.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can take a cab-”

“C’mon, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Hey, I never agreed to write a good article. I might make you look terrible, just for the fun of it.”

Returning your teasing smile with an amused grin, Billy chuckled with a shake of his head. As he stood up and fixed his maroon tie, he motioned towards your office door with his head.

“Alright, c’mon.”

Staring up at him with a puzzled expression, you let out a soft laugh while he buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket.

“What?”

“I’m takin’ your bratty ass to lunch. Maybe after some food you’ll be a bit nicer.”

Making a show of rolling your eyes in faux exasperation, you stood from your chair and locked your computer before closing your notebook.

“No promises.”

“Well in my experience, you’re more tolerable when you’re fed.”

“Keep talking. Your article is getting worse and worse.”

“I’m sure a few glasses of expensive champagne will fix that.”

Billy turned to take a step towards the door and then abruptly paused, turning back to look at you with another teasing grin.

“Oh, and do me another favor, would ya? See if you can get Frankie to drag his ass out and make an appearance. I think he’s forgotten how to use his phone.”

The mention of Frank’s name instantly tarnished the light hearted mood Billy’s banter had put you in. Letting out a dry scoff, you slipped your phone into your purse and pulled the straps over your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. That job you and Madani have him working has not only turned him into a ghost, but also a complete dick. I’ll let you deal with him.”

Tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, you started to round your desk when you looked up and caught the expression on Billy’s face, and it made you stop in your tracks. His sharp features were suddenly void of their usual playful warmth, and there was no charming smirk etched onto his mouth. His lips were set in a firm line, outlining his chiseled jaw that was covered in a perfectly trimmed dark beard, and his dark brown eyes looked nearly obsidian. 

“The job with Madani?”

There was a faint serrated edge to his tone when he spoke, but you didn’t miss it. Billy’s stare was intense, and you realized he probably thought that you knew something you shouldn’t. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let an irritated exhale escape through your nose as your gaze drifted towards the window of your office.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me anything. Not where he was going, not what he was doing, nothing. So whatever top secret thing you two have him doing, it’s still top secret, alright?”

There was a long pause of silence, and your annoyance started to fade into a feeling of perplexity when you looked back at him and saw a look in Billy’s eyes that you didn’t know how to read. There was a sudden coldness to him, and an emotion you couldn’t decode hidden in his steely gaze. The tense quietness in your office sent an uneasy shiver down your spine, but then it was like a switch was suddenly flipped, and Billy reverted back to the version of him you’re familiar with.

He plastered that charming smirk on his lips again, but you noticed this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you dropped your gaze down to the floor for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like being lied to, or kept in the dark. I know your line of work is…complicated, I just…I thought Frank and I didn’t have any secrets between us.”

“Sometimes lyin’ and keepin’ somethin’ hidden is the only way to protect someone from the pain of the truth.”

Lifting your head, you met Billy’s intense gaze with an incredulous and inquisitive look.

“You really believe that?”

“Trust me, some secrets are better left buried, darlin’.”

»»———　　———««

The following evening when you came home from work, all you wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and an entire bottle of wine. The stress of the last two weeks wasn’t just taking a toll on you emotionally, it was also physically manifesting in your body. Closing the front door behind you, the lock sounded with a click when you twisted the oval knob, and you lazily tossed your keys onto the side table in the entryway before carelessly tossing your purse onto it as well. 

Coming around the corner into your living room, you nearly had a heart attack when you were suddenly met with the sight of a large figure sitting at your dining table, waiting in the dark. Clutching at your chest in panic and jumping nearly two feet in the air, your voice came out in a shrill shriek.

“Jesus Christ, Frank!”

Frank didn’t physically react to your outburst. He sat as still as a statue in one of the chairs, slightly hunched over with his thighs spread wide, his forearms resting just a few inches above his knees. A bit of dark stubble coated his cheeks and sharp jawline, and his grown out hair was a tousled mess of ebony waves resting against his forehead instead of being pushed back in their usual style.

The swift scare of Frank’s intrusion, his silent treatment, and the lingering resentment you’d been harboring for the past two weeks had you glaring at him.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

His deep brown eyes were fixated on you and his plump lips were set in a stubborn line. Frank’s rugged features were even more pronounced in his resting semi-permanent broody expression. Wordlessly, he lifted one of his large hands, showcasing a set of keys on a ring pinched between his thumb and index finger. One of which, belonged to your front door. 

After everything that had happened at your last place, you couldn’t stay there anymore. You’d quickly moved into a new place that happened to be closer to the Bulletin, and as far as you knew no one had died in it, and there weren’t lingering bullet holes under the paint. Frank had helped you move and set up your security system for you again. You’d forgotten that you’d given him a spare key so he could get in while you were at work.

When you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive stance, Frank caught the pissed off look on your face, and when you opened your mouth to lash out at him, he quickly cut you off with his rough voice before you could get a word out.

“Said not to call. Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout comin’ to see ya.”

The snippiness of his comment made you narrow your eyes in his direction. Clenching your jaw, you pursed your lips tightly as your face contorted into a portrait of annoyance. You were about to snap back at him when you noticed out of the corner of your eye that there was a packed bag sitting on the dining table next to him.

It was yours.

Eyes flickering between your bag and Frank, you stared at him in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“What the hell is that for?”

“I gotta leave town for a bit. I told ya I’d make sure you were taken care of while I was gone, so you’re gonna stay with a friend of mine.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me if that was something I even wanted to do?”

“It ain’t up for discussion.”

Frank hadn’t been this cold towards you since the early days of when he was your bodyguard. For a moment your exasperation evaporated, wondering if things between the two of you were worse than you thought. Picking up on the slight change in your body language and facial expression, Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose and slowly stood up from the chair.

“I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worryin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone here, alright? It’s just for a few days.”

“Frank, I’m not in any danger anymore. No one is actively trying to kill me. If you’re that worried about me being alone, Billy can stop by-”

“No.”

The aggressive tone of Frank’s voice and the roughness of his tone caught you off guard. Frank glanced away from you, his eyes darting around your living room for a few seconds before they finally returned to you. His left hand was tightly grasped in a fist, but on his right, his index and middle finger twitched. A sharp exhale escaped his large nose, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip quickly before he spoke again.

“Look you wanna be pissed at me, be pissed at me, but don’t put yourself at risk cause of it. Maybe you’re right, yeah? Maybe you ain’t a target no more. But I’d rather know you were safe than have to deal with the fact later on that I shoulda done more. I ain’t takin’ that risk again.”

It was like a light bulb went off in your head when he spoke that last sentence. In the midst of your own tangled mess of selfish feelings, you hadn’t once stopped to think about how Frank felt about all of this. A sinking feeling of remorse settled in your stomach hearing the frustration but also the lingering pain in his voice when he spoke. 

I ain’t takin’ that risk again.

He’d had his entire family ripped away from him in one single moment, right in front of his eyes, of course he was fucking paranoid. From your perspective, Steven was facing life in prison, and all the remaining members of the Defenders of Freedom were gonna rot with him, so you didn’t think you had anything to be worried about.

But Frank saw danger everywhere. He anticipated it. He planned for it. And that’s what he was doing right now. 

Frank was doing the exact same thing he’d been doing every single day since he met you: keeping you safe.

Letting out a deep sigh, you looked down at the floor for a moment to gather your irrational thoughts and rein in your impulsive emotions. When you raised your head, your eyes flickered from the packed bag sitting on your dining table back to Frank’s unrelenting stare. Running one of your hands stressfully through the roots of your hair, you made a faint gesture of throwing your hands up in concession.

“Alright, well if you’re not leaving me with Billy, I’m assuming you’re not taking me to Madani either. So, does Matt know I’m coming?”

Frank’s steely expression crumbled at the mention of Matt’s name. He pulled a face like you’d just asked a ridiculous question, a furrow of annoyance and confusion settling between his thick brows.

“You think I’d leave you with him?”

Letting out a dry scoff void of humor, you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and folded your arms across your chest.

“Just because he’s blind-”

“It ain’t got shit to do with him bein’ blind.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I don’t trust him to keep his fuckin’ hands to himself, and I ain’t lettin’ him pull that ‘poor blind orphan’ shit on you.”

A look of surprise crossed your face as your brows lifted slightly up your forehead, and it took every ounce of self control not to laugh or show any indication of amusement. Frank wouldn’t leave you in Matt’s care because he was worried he would…hit on you?

Letting out a grunt, Frank grabbed the handles of your bag in his left hand and swiped it off the table.

“He’s too preoccupied at night anyway.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Bein’ the goddamn Devil. C’mon.”

When Frank walked past you towards your front door, you turned around to watch him, narrowing your eyes in irritation.

“Can you at least tell me who you’ve employed to babysit me then?”

Frank paused at your front door, which he took up the entire frame of, and his head dropped between his shoulders for a moment. You could hear him audibly voice his frustration with your attitude when he let out another sharp exhale before turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“A friend of mine.”

“Yeah, you said that. A friend of yours, that you’ve never mentioned before. Do I have to have some kind of top secret security clearance for you to tell me their name?”

There was a scowl on Frank’s face as he glowered at you, turning around to face you fully. He dropped your bag on the floor with a light thud, scrunching up his face for a moment as he inhaled sharply through his large nose, cocking his head to the side.

“Christ. This what you wanna do right now, huh?”

Returning his glare with just as much vehemence, you let out a dry and humorless laugh as you gestured around loosely.

“No, Frank. This isn’t what I want-”

“Look you wanna keep bustin’ my goddamn balls, fine. But do it from the truck, yeah? You can antagonize me with your bullshit all you want while I drive, but we got somewhere to be.”

Clenching your jaw, your hands balled into frustrated fists at your sides. For a moment the two of you were locked in some kind of silent staring contest. You were so sick of every conversation with Frank lately turning into an argument that ended with the two of you at each other’s throats. You didn’t have the patience to combat his stubborn dedication to being a self righteous asshole. Gritting your teeth, you stormed forward and grabbed your own bag as you brushed past him out your front door, swearing under your breath.

“Dick.”

Frank pursed his full lips and nodded his head, turning around to follow you after forcefully shutting your front door behind himself.

“Yeah yeah, get in the goddamn truck.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[msmk11]

Not A Lady

Tangerine x fem!reader

WC: 578

CW: Cursing

Summary: Tangerine meets his match in cursing.

Day 2 of mk’s mad dash

!! First two lines of Tan’s dialogue is straight from bullet train !!

“I knew we should’ve got an upgrade, fuck all,” Tangerine curses as he storms down the train car.

He pauses his angry rampage when he realizes that he’s just cursed rather rudely in front of you, a young woman in the car, “I beg your pardon. Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a young lady present. Apologize.”

The men close enough to you simply wave him off and go back to minding their own business. Tangerine starts to walk off again when he hears you say, “a young lady?”

He freezes, turning around to look at you, “what?”

“A fucking young lady?” You ask disbelievingly, “are we back in the ‘50s where everyone thought women were delicate, innocent flowers that needed to be protected from the vulgar world?”

Tangerine is bewildered to say the least, and he stands there for about a solid thirty seconds with a dumb look on his face, “No, love, sorry. Just trying to be polite.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, “such a bullshit answer. A man like you would come up with it.”

Any sense of civility Tangerine feels he owes you quickly washes away due to your incessant negative attitude, “what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

You look him up and down with a smirk, “s’just that you look like a right fucking prick, what with your full suit and gold jewelry for a train ride.”

“Bloody ‘ell, don’t you have sunshine shoved right up your fucking ass.”

“I’m sure you’d love to think about my ass, you fucking perv.”

Tangerine’s jaw twitches and he glares at you before stalking towards where you sit. He bends down, hands resting on either side of you as he says dangerously quiet, “You’re one to talk when your head’s so far up your own.”

Amusement flickers across your face momentarily, “wow, the dumbass actually has something clever to say. Feel lucky to have witnessed a fucking once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Tangerine actually chuckles a little before he straightens up, adjusting his suit jacket, “you know, if you weren’t being such a stick in my ass while I have things to do, I might actually like ya.”

You tsk sarcastically, “shame.”

“Guess you’ll have to try and win me over next time.”

A smirk crosses your lips and you raise your eyebrow at him, “fucking next time? Cocky are we?”

He doesn’t feed into your teasing, “well, can I have your phone number or not?”

You pretend to think about it before extending your hand, “hand me your fucking phone, you douche.”

Tangerine takes his phone from his pocket and hands it to you. You type in your number and hand it back to him, “there you are.”

He looks down and starts typing.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“Changing your contact name to ‘fucking ray of sunshine’.”

You scoff and cross your arms, “fine. What’s your number?”

He recites it to you.

“What’re you putting for my contact name? Handsome Train Man?”

“Nope, I put ‘Fucking Prick from Train’, but with the train emoji instead of the word train.”

Tangerine huffs at you and puts his phone away, “well I’d say it was a delight meeting you, but I’m not gonna fucking lie. Eat shit, asshole.”

You wink teasingly at him, “bye, fucking perv.”

Tangerine stalks off, trying to focus back on his original goal.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out.

fucking ray of sunshine: even your walk is

fucking insufferable.

A smile ghosts Tangerine’s lips.

[the-kr8tor]

May I request an aquarium date with Hobie? thank you!

AHHHH aquarium date!! Thank you for requesting! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The aquarium stretches far and wide, brilliant blue flooding your vision, the water from above warbles the light bathing over you. A giant manta ray swims above, as if it flies overhead with its huge ‘wings’. You grab Hobie by his leather clad arm, pointing at the elegant fish.

“Look at that one! It's huge!”

“That's what she said—” Hobie clamps his mouth shut with the glare you're giving him. “I mean, he's a huge lad, love.” You smile sweetly, replacing your scowl. “Just like me, eh?” Shaking your head with a laugh, you thank the fact that you both decided to go during the weekday, when there's only a handful of people walking about. “What? It's true!” He leans towards your ear, blowing hot air to tease you further.

Instead of the annoyed reaction he expects, you quickly move your head to chase his lips. Kissing him quickly with a light smack from your lips. “Was your comment retaliation for the crocodile? I'm sorry that I pointed to that one crocodile and said that it was you.” You remember the amphibian with its spikes and slim scaly body, Hobie was properly amused but he hid his amusement with him threatening to push you towards the enclosure. (Which he would never do of course.)

He purses his lips, your cherry lip gloss still lingering on him, making his lips all sticky, yet he loves the taste of you. “Maybe I should keep makin’ comments like that,” draping his arm around your shoulders, he pulls you closer. “If my only punishment is getting your chapstick on me.”

You look at him through your eyelashes, the cool temperature of the aquarium makes your eyes dry, but it's all worth it when Hobie picks at the fallen lashes on your cold cheeks. The water above is reflected in your lovestruck eyes, he thinks he could drown in them. He chooses to drown in them.

“Are you gonna be like this until we reach the penguins?” You ask, pretending to be normal even with him looking at you like how a sailor looks at the vast ocean. With reverence and love for the deep depths that cradles them to sleep.

“‘m gonna be like this forever, love.”

You beam at him, under the sapphire shine of the water, you've never seen a much prettier sight than the one before you. He holds onto you like you're a fish out of water. You might as well be when your irises are blown out like sea shells.

Hobie sighs, not like a tired or exasperated sigh, but a longing sigh like he's only seeing you through a photograph. You loop your arms around the back of his neck to remind him you're real and you're standing right in front of him. You're definitely glad that you're the only people in the area right now.

“Good, I like you like this.”

“Flirty? Awfully in love with you?” His hands drop to your hip, warm palms holding you. You're glad that he is or you might've melted into a puddle, you'd get added to the exhibit that way.

“Nope, I mean, yeah, that's nice. I meant happy, I love it when you're happy.”

“Because you're happy, that's why. Can't have you bein’ the only happy one, eh?”

You giggle, nosing the tip of his nose. Hobie continues, before you could blatantly cause PDA. “You look like the blobfish we passed by.”

Your laugh echoes in the tunnel of marine life.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Hyakunosuke Ogata x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This fic is @dolcezzzza's summer horror event, The Cabin! The title comes a Dum Dum Girls song which got its name from A Season in Hell by shitlord poet, Arthur Rimbaud. I'm not a fan, but each section of the fic starts with a line from his poem bc some of his prose kinda slaps. [ SYNOPSIS ] The summer camp you're working at is being terrorized by a unseen force that is picking off your fellow counselors one by one. [ WORD COUNT ] 15.3k [ CONTENT ] DARK CONTENT, cliche summer camp slasher film AU, murder/character death, gore, alcohol (binge drinking), suicide, vaginal sex, size kink (his dick is girthy okay), strength kink, oral sex, rough sex, facefucking, exhibitionism, biting.

Baptism enslaved me

The past week had been a blur. You spent seven days running around in the heat, trying to make an inhospitable boy scout camp into something inspired. Breaking it in was your duty as your group was the first of the season. The trappings of a long, snowy winter and a violently wet spring lingered around the facilities. Your arms ached from clearing out fallen branches and musty piles of decayed leaves. Your clothes were constantly mottled with cobwebs and dust. Every night when you collapsed in your twin-sized cot you debated on running through the woods towards the highway seeking salvation in the form of a kind motorist.

That’s why you hoped you would spend your last child free morning in the comfort of your cabin. And yet there you sat, listening to the camp director droned on. You melted in the midday sun with your back against a tree, a pitiful attempt to shelter yourself under its leaves.

“I’m gonna die out here,” Shiraishi, your partner for the summer, moaned.

He too was slumped by the tree, his head hanging down limply. You flicked him in the shoulder with your thumb and forefinger.

“You can’t die. Mr. Tsurumi still hasn’t told us what group we have,” you whispered.

“I think you can handle them on your own.”

Sugimoto turned his attention towards the two of you. His cheeks flushed from sitting in the sun. He didn’t seem to mind bathing in its rays.

“Can you at least pretend to pay attention like me?”

His words barely registered. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. A dusting of tan freckles spread across the bridge of his nose, elevating his boyish looks. He was the only one who got cuter after a week of hard labor.

“Sure,” you said, mind still occupied with the slope of his nose.

“Unfortunately our lead counselor will not be joining us for the first couple days of camp.” The director wiped sweat away from his brow. “I’m sure all of you have heard about Yūsaku’s unfortunate… situation.”

“We heard alright,” Usami snickered.

Yūsaku had forgotten to reapply sunscreen and got scorched from head-to-toe. The golden boy’s pained groans persisted through the night as everyone attempted to sleep. Yellow blisters ballooned on his skin, marring his pristine complexion. You tried your best not to think about his affliction.

“But I know we will persevere in his absence. I have high hopes for this summer. Let’s make it a good one.” He smiled warmly. “The campers will be arriving in two hours. Your coordinators, Mr. Koito and Mr. Tsukishima, will have your rosters and itineraries for the week.”

Tsurumi said his goodbyes and strided away to his quarters. You stood up slowly, stretching your arms above your head.

“I feel… like we’re missing people,” you said, twisting your waist. “Where’s your partner?”

Sugimoto looked around and shrugged. He was paired with Ogata, easily one of the most enigmatic people you knew.

“Well there’s Tanigaki,” Shiraishi yawned. “Inkarmat’s with him too.”

Tanigaki’s burly form crested the hill. He looked ashamed, like a puppy three seconds from getting kicked down the stairs. Inkarmat followed close behind with a cooler expression. She looked refreshed and practically glowed.

“Did we miss anything important?”

Sugimoto looked at him with big, sad, wet eyes and sniffled. “Camp got canceled. We’re getting sent home with no pay.”

“And it’s all your fault, like specifically yours,” you said with a glare.

Shiraishi mirrored your expression. “Mr. Tsurumi said your name.”

Tanigaki’s eyes briefly widened before adopting a more stern state. You knew he bought it for a millisecond.

“Am I in trouble for anything?” Inkarmat asked, laughing. She was unflappable.

“No. You’re not being held accountable,” you replied.

“Just in time for Women’s History Month,” Shiraishi added cooly.

It was June and the last time you checked Women’s History Month was in March. Inkarmat snickered and grabbed Vasily by the wrist, dragging him off towards the mess hall. The idea of going inside sounded practically orgasmic. There was zero chance you could comprehend what activities were planned for the day if sweat continued to drip down your spine all the way to the crack of your ass.

“Let’s get our shit and go, like, sit down somewhere,” you said, tone somewhat urgent.

Shiraishi nodded in agreement and offered to deal with the coordinators. He could tell you were in no position to talk to upper management. You decided to wait rather than go off on your own even though your impatience was on the verge of having a body count. Luckily neither Mr. Koito or Mr. Tsukishima seemed particularly interested in speaking to him, or any of the counselors for that matter. You were so relieved 

There was a collective sigh of relief once you reached the shade. You scanned your roster, familiarizing yourself with the names listed.

“Archery on Wednesday?” Sugimoto said, voice slightly concerned. “That sounds cool, but should we really be giving kids arrows?”

“What?! We don’t have archery. We have knife throwing. Well that explains all the knives…”

“That’s not all we’re doing is it?” you asked.

“One day we’re dissecting owl pellets—Oh wait, there’s archery.”

“Do you guys have judo on Tuesday?” Sugimoto asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Shiraishi affirmed. “And then we have Russian immersion right after.”

“Russian immersion?” you asked.

“You know, the language,” Shiraishi clarified albeit for no reason as both you and Sugimoto knew Russian was in fact a language.

“We’re doing that too,” Sugimoto said, yawning. “And wagashi making.”

Other activities listed were: friendship bracelet making and various types of yarn-based projects, mushroom hunting, canoeing, swimming, hiking and giant shogi.

Peace had fallen over the three of you. All you could hear was lilting bird calls and a burbling stream. Just as you had grown accustomed to the wondrous sounds of nature, you heard the crushing of twigs and dry leaves.

“It’s a bear,” Shiraishi whispered.

“There are no bears around here,” you said.

“Even if there were bears, Mr. Tsurumi has a shotgun in his cabin,” Sugimoto chirped.

Shiraishi sighed in exasperation. “Great because that’ll definitely save us right now from getting eaten alive.”

Despite there being a lack of bears in the area every hair on your body bristled. What if you all fell victim to a vicious wild boar attack? You weren’t even sure if wild boars inhabited the area either, but logic didn’t matter. All you knew was you didn’t want to die at camp. You didn’t want to have your flesh ripped from your body by an overgrown, ugly hog or any animal to be honest. You were too young; there was so much you wanted to do in life, so much you needed to accomplish.

“Oh. It’s just Ogata,” Shiraishi said.

Sugimoto’s co-counselor emerged from the redwoods, his expression blank and unreadable. He didn’t react to Shiraishi saying his name. It was if he intended on strolling past without saying a word. Usually you found this type of behavior tiresome and obnoxious, but he made it alluring and charming in an absurd sort of way.

“Where are you going?” Sugimoto asked.

“To camp.”

Sugimoto went to speak, but you butted in.

“You should come sit with us! We got our schedules and everything! ” you blurted out.

Your face was burning. You assumed you would’ve been smoother with your approach. Your fumble didn’t seem to phase Ogata as he took a seat right next to you, leaving zero space in between. Sugimoto was left alone on the other side of the picnic table.

“Did I miss anything important?” he asked.

Sugimoto wordlessly slid their group’s information across the table. Ogata looked it over. 

“Mushroom hunting,” Ogata muttered as he ran his hand over his undercut, trying to smooth down a rogue lock of hair. “Hm. We’ll have to make sure the kids don’t pick anything toxic.”

Shiraishi groaned. “I figured everything out there would be safe to eat.”

“Wh—what do you mean out there? It’s the woods. Do you think Mr. Tsurumi combed through the entirety of it to make sure every little growth out there isn’t toxic?” you asked.

You found yourself compelled to say as many words as possible to make your presence known even if it was at the expense of your partner. It was shameful, but it was an unstoppable compulsion. Ogata’s presence implored you to take up more space. You laughed louder than you normally would. You smiled when your expression would otherwise be one of indifference. You said the things you would otherwise be too lazy to. Anything to get his attention even if just for a passing moment.

Ogata chuckled and your heart sang.

“I don’t know! Now we’re gonna have to watch them like hawks.”

“Our job is to supervise them,” Sugimoto chided.

“Excuse me for not wanting to do my job,” your partner grumbled.

You wondered how feasible it would be to get assigned a new co-counselor. Shiraishi wasn’t unlikable; you got along well enough. But you had a feeling most of the heavy lifting would fall on you.

Shiraishi rested his chin on his hand. “I just hope our kids aren’t assholes.”

“They will be. That’s just how kids are,” you laughed.

“Not if you scare them into submission.”

“Nope. Not happening. Not a chance,” Sugimoto said, demolishing Ogata’s suggestion.

“As long as we all set expectations early it shouldn’t be too bad. They just need to know what to expect from us. Kids are sedated by consistency.”

“Sedated?” Ogata asked with a smirk.

His voice, rich and gruff, reverberated throughout your body. It seeped through your skin, deep into your bones, saturating your thoughts with unseemly things. Your eyes went to his hands, something you always found attractive, only to be mildly disgusted by his dirty fingernails. 

You tried to shake it off. “Domesticated. Placated. Basically they won’t act like monsters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied.

“We should start getting ready,” Sugimoto said.

“I guess,” Shiraishi yawned.

You slapped him on the back. “You can’t be tired yet.”

Your partner whined that he was within his right to be tired which didn’t matter one way or another to you. It was going to be a long day; you could feel it. But not all hope was lost. If you were able to get within close range of Ogata it would be more than worth it.

The horror of my stupidity

The first day went perfectly. Your group consisted of six rambunctious, but generally well-behaved ten-year-olds. Shiraishi managed to overcome his lackadaisical leanings and took a hands-on role, but still deferred to you. You didn’t mind leading so long as he wrangled the more unruly kids. His commitment set you at ease.

The next morning was a quiet one. The kids were usually placid at first. Their cautiousness proved useful while foraging for mushrooms. They kept their hands to themselves and none of them ate anything deadly. The only unsettling thing was Tsurumi’s gleeful reaction whenever a destroying angel popped up.

“Mr. Tsurumi, would you poop your pants if you ate one?” a camper asked thoughtfully.

His dark eyes lit up and he gave the child a toothy grin.

“Why yes! Diarrhea and excruciating cramps are the first symptoms of alpha-Amanitin poisoning.”

Another camper pointed out what they thought was a wild carrot only to be told by an ecstatic Tsurumi that it was actually hemlock. The kids were riveted as he detailed the horrific symptoms of hemlock poisoning. Their horrified gasps when he told them there was no antidote seemed to thrill him.

Upon returning to camp it became clear that all was not well. Shiraishi was the first to notice the white sheet draped over a humanoid shape. It was partially obscured by one of the cabins. Tsurumi’s jovial facade gave way to flat expression and he sprinted off towards the disturbing scene.

“Hey,” you whispered, tapping Sugimoto on the shoulder. “Can you guys take the kids? I’m, uh, gonna be nosy.”

Your partner stood erect beside you. “Me too.”

“No,” you hissed. Shiraishi didn’t budge. “Someone has to be with our group.”

“Why not you then?”

“Be—because I was… I was… okay. Listen—”

“It’s fine. I got it,” Sugimoto sighed. “I wanna know all the details though. If you skimp, I’ll never forgive either of you.”

Ogata cleared his throat. He herded the campers away from whatever was shrouded under the white sheet. They were all clamoring around him, wondering when they’d get to eat fruit snacks. One was crawling up his leg and another was attempting to tie his shoes together. It made your stomach flutter seeing him be so patient with them.

Sugimoto took the hint and headed towards his partner and the gaggle of children, but he stopped midway to reiterate that he wanted all the details much to Ogata’s annoyance.

Once they were out of sight you and Shiraishi crept closer to and saw Nurse Kano kneeling beside what you assumed was a corpse. She lifted the sheet and studied what was under it, her expression a twisted combination of enthrallment and disgust. She stood up slowly.

“He’s dead.”

“We should call the paramedics then,” Tsukishima said.

Koito looked perplexed. “But he’s already dead. Shouldn’t we call the coroner?”

“You can’t just call up the coroner,” Tsukishima sighed.

Tsurumi squatted by the body and lifted the sheet. The director’s curiosity gave you a perfect view.

It was Tanigaki. His face was pale, eyes wide and cloudy. His lips and chin were crusted over with banana yellow bile. A desperate cry got caught in your throat. You wanted to look away and go back to your kids. But you were frozen, lost in Tanigaki’s lifeless gaze.

“Tanigaki,” you croaked.

Tsurumi’s eyes darted in your direction before returning to Tanigaki’s body.

“Otonoshin, go call 9-1-1,” he said calmly.

Koito rushed off to make the call. Tsurumi lowered the sheet. You couldn’t believe that you’d never see Tanigaki again, that he was gone for good. You hadn’t known him long, but you grew very fond of him.

“He can’t… This isn’t happening…”

You struggled to find the words. Seeing the outline of his face under the sheet radiated a finality that ripped your soul from your body.

“I wonder what happened,” he mumbled as you both walked away. “He looked…”

“I—I can’t think about that right now. I don’t wanna think about that right now.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

You wiped your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Let’s hike to the lake or something. I don’t know.”

There was a sense of relief when you spotted the campers. You couldn’t help but smile when they broke out into a cacophony of questions regarding your whereabouts. In the midst of the excitement one camper launched a fruit snack at Shiraishi’s eye.

“You pull something like that again and I’m sending you to Mr. Tsukishima,” Ogata rumbled.

“Anyway,” Shiraishi said. “Who wants to hike up to the lake? Maybe race some canoes?”

The campers cheered and bolted in the direction of Tanigaki’s body. You and Sugimoto chased after them but they scattered like roaches. You could only stop so many of them.

“Hey! Were any of you dismissed?!”

Ogata’s voice cut through them and they immediately made their way back, heads hanging. You hadn’t expected him to be so firm with the campers. He was kind of withdrawn around the other counselors, or at the very least opaque. He mostly kept to himself though his brother was usually fluttering around him. You felt like you barely knew Ogata despite spending time with him, whereas Shiraishi and his oversharing made him feel more like an old friend or a weird cousin. As frustrating as it was, the mysterious haze that obscured Ogata drew you in. You wanted to know more about him, to pry open his soul and study its contents.

“You all owe your counselors an apology.” Ogata’s sharp gaze turned to the kid that hit Shiraishi with a fruit snack. “You especially.”

The kid looked terrified and quickly mumbled an apology. The rest of the campers groaned “we’re sorry” in unison. With the apologies out of the way the four of you prepared them for their hike.

“Look! More hemlock!” one the kids exclaimed. She knelt beside the plant, her face inches from its toxic, white flowers.

“Don’t get too close to it,” Sugimoto said, his voice like that of a concerned mother.

You could barely focus, but the camper was in your group so you felt compelled to try. “Or just don’t go around it at all. Leave it alone.”

“I’m just looking!”

“Looking that close is enough to kill,” Ogata said over his shoulder. “If you inhale the fumes, you're dead.”

This seemed to quell any remnants of curiosity. The campers spent the rest of the hike spotting mushrooms and imitating Tsurumi’s passionate infodumping. The word “creepy” was thrown around liberally. You chastised them for being disrespectful, but you agreed. His behavior made you uncomfortable, especially in the wake of Tanigaki’s mysterious death.

The lake was calm, the serenity of the scene much needed.

“Look!” a camper called out.

You thought it was cute that they were just as pleased to see the lake as you were. However something was riling them up as they made their way down to the shore. Some ran right back up the hill. Their faces paled, their eyes ripe with fear. 

“Saichi, Saichi!!” one said, latching onto his arm. “Look!!”

Sugimoto crested the hill and looked down.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Stop swearing around the kids,” Ogata sighed as he joined his co-counselor to survey the situation. “Shit.”

“What is it?” you and Shiraishi shouted.

“Everyone away from the lake!” Ogata called out.

The kids bounded up the hill and cowered beside you, clinging to you for comfort.

“You guys, what is it?” you repeated, patting a camper on the head. “Is it something gross?”

“You could say that,” one piped up.

Sugimoto and Ogata turned to face you, but they seemed unable to speak. You freed yourself from the kids and walked towards them. Your absence caused them to swarm Shiraishi.

“It’s a body!” one shrieked.

“Um, it’s a lady!” one replied in a bratty tone.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Your body was screaming for you to turn around, but you couldn’t. You felt sick to your stomach. Kids made up stories all the time. They played pranks. Maybe they were lying.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Maybe she’s just sleeping.”

“What are you? Dumb? She’s dead!”

Their voices were all melding into one. Everything began to blur. You knew what was coming. You knew what you were going to see. And yet you kept walking.

It was Inkarmat.

“Shi… Shiraishi. Take the ki…”

You forced yourself to look at the water, trying to ignore her putrefied remains. You leached away its calmness like a parasite. The tranquility you attempted to foster only did so much. You still felt like garbage, like you could vomit at any second.

“What is it?!” Shiraishi shouted back. “And,” he groaned, “I can’t take them all by myself!”

He was right. Being responsible for twelve disturbed children in the woods with terrible cell reception was asking for trouble, but you were too stunned to think up a plan of action.

“Ogata and I will be in the front. You and Shiraishi take the back. I’ll tell Tsurumi when we get back to camp.”

You nodded and started walking back to the group with Sugimoto. Tears welled up in your eyes as you made eye contact with a terrified camper.

“Hey! Ogata!”

He was still on the hill, staring down into the lake

 “We have to go!” Sugimoto bellowed.

Ogata didn’t budge, and Sugimoto did not have the time for such antics.

“I’ll wait for him,” you said, wiping away your tears. “I don’t want the kids to see me like this anyway.”

“It wouldn’t kill them to see that you’re human,” Sugimoto said, trapping you in his gaze.

You sniffled. “Gross.”

Sugimoto didn’t have time for whatever was going on with you either. You couldn’t blame him. The kids had to take precedence. All you needed was two minutes to collect yourself and you’d be a functioning camp counselor again.

Ogata was still frozen in time. Everything was so still you didn’t want to speak, let alone move. You felt like the sound of a twig snapping beneath your feet could send the world into chaos.

“Hyakunosuke.” Your voice was soft, any louder and it would waiver.

Your legs shook as you made your way up the hill next to him. You made a conscious effort to keep your eyes on Ogata, nowhere else. You let yourself get lost in him and studied his face. You were curious about his symmetrical scars and how he got them.

“You’re not traumatized by this?” Ogata finally asked.

You thought about Tanigaki.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he said, pointing at Inkarmat’s bloated corpse.

“Why are you asking?”

“I dunno. Curious I guess.”

Your mind went blank, but you kept speaking. “I’m… upset obviously. But I don’t want the kids to know… so… I’m—I am gonna pretend none of this ever happened and get through the week in one piece hopefully.”

“I know you can do it.”

His support did little to soothe you.

“I saw Tanigaki earlier. I saw his face. It was… He had puked all over himself and it just was so sad, like so undignified.” Ogata snorted, but you were too frazzled to comprehend it at the time. “And now that’s how I’m going to fucking remember him?” You tried to take some measured breaths. “Like was he in pain? Was he scared? Did he call out to any of us? Did he die, like, knowing we cared about him? Or did he just fucking lie in the dirt for hours, wondering why none of us came to help him?”

“Where was he?”

“His cabin. It kinda looked like he was leaving, or maybe he was going back in. He was on his back though.”

You couldn’t say anything more. You needed as much distance from the memory as possible. If Ogata wanted to know more, he would have to badger Shiraishi.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly. “They’ll probably have to ask us a bunch of questions.”

“They? Who—”

“Maybe Tsurumi. Or his two guard dogs. Or the police. If we’re lucky maybe it’ll be all of them.”

Your bones were turning into dust, your body buckling under its own weight. You saw far too much today and said too much about it.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

“I can’t move.”

You knew that in theory you could manipulate your body in such a way that would create distance between you and what remained of Inkarmat. You were practically screaming at yourself to go back to the group and embody Shiraishi’s laid back nature. But your fear was intangible, unforeseen, and there was no escaping it.

“Get on my back.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll carry you,” he said, readying himself to give you a piggyback ride.

“Are you sure?”

“Probably.”

You felt bad for giggling, considering you weren’t far from a corpse, but the lightness of it set you free. You hopped on his back and made your way through the woods, following the shrill voices of your campers.

“I’m going to need a drink after today,” Ogata grumbled.

“What do you mean a drink? I need an entire fifth to myself with one of those sport caps they have on water bottles screwed on top.”

“I can make that happen.”

Ogata said it with such ease. He was becoming the perfect distraction, a comforting beacon in a sea of blood and vomit.

I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am

You and your fellow counselors decided a night of binge drinking was needed to cope with the day’s horrifying events. Everyone traded stories. Yūsaku joined the party, finally able to walk upright without yelping in pain. He was blindsided by what happened.

“So that’s it? They’re dead?” he asked, face flushed from his sunburn and the copious amounts of watery American-style lager he was drinking.

You took a sip from a bottle of tequila. Ogata managed to screw a sports cap on top making your dream a reality.

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah. They’re dead. That’s for sure.” The alcohol had softened the blow of seeing both of their bodies. “Seeing Tanigaki fucked me up… Not that Inkarmat didn’t… It’s just, like, his was the first I saw, y’know?”

“You always remember your first,” Usami said as he wandered into the woods to relieve himself.

Yūsaku shivered and you washed away Usami’s words with an amnesia seeking gulp of tequila.

“Sucks for you though. You’re gonna have to pick up the slack.”

“I don’t mind. It’s what I signed up for,” he beamed. “The kids really liked Inkarmat though. I have some big shoes to fill.”

“I think you’ll be a hit. They might try to peel off loose pieces of your skin though.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take for the good of the camp!” he cheered.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed.

“In a bad way?” he said, batting his long eyelashes.

You thought he was a total dork, but his optimism was infectious. Or maybe it was just your intoxicated mind being more open to suggestion. After having such a horrendous day it was nice to indulge in someone else’s dream. You knew deep down that there was no way camp would go on as planned, but it was easier to pretend that Yūsaku’s drive would be enough to pull everyone through.

“No, no,” you said, patting him on the head. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Out of the corner of you watched Ogata emerge from the woods and sit on the ground right next to the campfire. He held his hands to the fire. You watched as he closed his eyes, his body relaxing, shoulders lowered.

“You’re so nice” Yūsaku said, giving you a bear hug and lifting you off the ground.

It caught Ogata’s attention and he narrowed his eyes as his half-brother spun you around.

“Yū—Yūsaku, I’m getting dizzy.”

He blushed and apologized. Once your feet were on the ground you joined Ogata by the fire.

“How’s the bottle been working out for you?”

“Amazing,” you said, taking another drink. “Are you cold?” You scooted closer to him. “Where’d your jacket go?”

“I’m not sure. Why all the questions?”

You didn’t think two questions were considered a lot. “No reason.”

You hadn’t thought this conversation through. You were stumped and floundering. You should have known better to attempt to flirt while drunk. Your chance was slipping through your fingers and it made you ill. You needed something good to happen, something exciting. You needed Ogata to figure out that you were charming and interesting and most importantly fuckable.

He closed the gap and leaned against you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Maybe. I… I have no idea honestly. I don’t know how I feel. Sometimes it’s like,” you took a sip of tequila, “I feel freaked the fuck out. But then sometimes I feel abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Like right now. It feels like it didn’t even happen. Are you okay?”

“I am. I only knew them for a week so they didn’t matter much.” His comments were so callous. “Don’t get me wrong. They were nice people, but that’s all they were to me.”

“Nice people,” you repeated.

“Yeah. Nice people.”

“Would you be sad if I died?”

He stared into the fire. “Maybe. Our groups get paired together for activities.”

“What does that mean?!”

“I’m around you a lot. Your absence wouldn’t go unnoticed,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks flared up and found it increasingly harder to hold it together. You regretted all the tequila. Spit was pooling in your mouth.

“Yeah, well. Of course it would. I’m, like, fucking… yeah,” you said, eyes half-lidded.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

“I think the kids and the—their, uh, inarticulateness is rubbing, you know, off.”

“Oh yeah, that’s it. It’s definitely not because your blood is 90 proof.”

“You want some of it?”

You gave him a sloppy wink. His dark eyes widened, his eyebrows raised. It was the first time you had ever seen him so flustered.

“I—” he stuttered.

“Hey,” Shiraishi barked. “You guys seen Vasily?”

Ogata resumed his usual hard to read demeanor. You wanted to break the bottle in your hand and gut Shiraishi with it.

“Uhhhhh… Not like recently. I thought he was with you and Sugimoto,” you replied politely through a clenched jaw.

“We thought he was with you.”

“He could’ve went to bed early,” Ogata suggested.

“Hmmm yeah. I wouldn’t blame him,” you said.

“We should do that,” Shiraishi said, pointing at you. “We have target shooting at seven in the morning.”

You groaned. He was right, a good night’s rest was necessary. It killed you to say good night to Ogata, but there was always tomorrow. You didn’t need to rush things. 

I looked on the disorder of my mind as sacred

You woke up the next morning with a persistent ache near your temples. You rolled out of bed and dug around your suitcase for some ibuprofen. You grabbed four and choked them down with room temperature water. It felt thick as it made its way down your throat. The sun was just starting to rise, the sky a dreamy shade of lavender.

It was weird to wake up alone. You hoped that it would be easier the second time around, but Inkarmat’s absence weighed heavy on you. You couldn’t figure out how she made it to the lake. The last time you saw her she said that she was going to fuck Tanigaki and to cover her ass if needed. She must have gotten lost on her way back from wherever it was she met him. Maybe she took a wrong turn and fell. Or maybe Tsurumi had something to do with it.

“Good morning!!”

Shiraishi’s cheery voice cut through your thoughts. You got up and let him in.

“Tsk, tsk. Still in your pajamas. What am I gonna do with you?”

He handed you an enamel mug full of coffee.

“Tsurumi wants to talk to us in an hour. I ran into him when I was going to take a piss.”

“Did he seem worried?”

“Not really.”

“Weird… I think he has something to do with it. He killed Tanigaki for sure and he probably killed Inkarmat too.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I think Tsurumi poisoned him with hemlock. What we saw lines up with the symptoms he told us when we went mushroom foraging.” Shiraishi didn’t look convinced. “Like do you think this is all a coincidence?”

“Why would he kill him though?”

“People kill without motives all the time.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Seriously? He’s a creep. Who else would it be?”

“I don’t think it’s a person,” he whispered suddenly. His eyes shifted from left to right. “I think this place is haunted.”

“Oh yeah? Did Inkarmat read some passages out of the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis? Did she release the Deadites? Or maybe the soul of a drowned ex-camper is wandering the woods and picking us off one by one.”

Shiraishi was an idiot. There was no way the camp was haunted. You kicked him out and got dressed. You felt like you were moving in slow motion. You didn’t want to have some group discussion about what happened the day before. You wanted to put it in the past and focus on the kids and their activities. You wanted to finally have a canoe race.

When you walked into the mess hall it was dead silent. You took a seat next to Ogata much to the disappointment of Shiraishi and Sugimoto. There was an empty seat in between them.

“Where’s everyone?” you asked.

“No one’s seen Vasily or Usami since last night. And Koito’s with the kids. We’re just waiting on Tsurumi.”

“What about Nurse Kano?”

“I dunno…”

“Sorry I’m late!” Yūsaku said breathily. His hair was wet and his clothes were haphazardly thrown on.

“We haven’t even started yet,” Ogata groaned. “Sit down.”

Five minutes later Tsurumi came in with Tsukishima following behind like a shadow. He looked tired. His normally neat hair was askew, several strands of hair grazing his face, and his clothes were wrinkled.

“There’s no easy way to begin this discussion. We’re down four counselors. Genjirō and Inkarmat are dead, and apparently some of you are missing. That means there are twelve campers without any supervision.” He pointed at Yūsaku. “Yūsaku, you’re their counselor now. We’re also down a nurse. I received a note this morning from Nurse Kano saying, ‘I’m done with this shit. You’re not paying me enough and if I see you again I’m going to skin you alive.’ Needless to say, I would appreciate it if we kept any and all injuries to a minimum.”

Shiraishi raised his hand. “What if there’s an accident?”

“There won’t be any accidents!”

It was the first time any of you heard Tsurumi raise his voice. He took a deep breath and continued speaking, his tone even.

“The police have been informed about the disappearances. They said,” he sighed, “they’ll keep in touch.”

Sugimoto’s hand shot up. “Mr. Tsurumi, I have a question.”

“Yes, Saichi.”

“Shouldn’t we cancel our activities today and go look for Vasily and Usami?”

“I see no reason to punish innocent children for our failings.”

“Aww,” Shiraishi said quietly. “That’s so sweet.”

“It’s best to leave this up to the authorities. The last thing I want is for one of you to get hurt. We’re short staffed as it is,” Tsurumi said before ending the meeting.

The campers were full of questions, but overall the day was peaceful. Target shooting went well, and the kids loved learning Russian. Whenever Tsukishima wasn’t paying attention Ogata would teach them a few swear words. They lived for it, laughing like hyenas as Tsukishima tried to figure out what was so funny. Things felt kind of normal.

Sugimoto was the one to finally suggest going on a night hike after dinner. He thought Tsurumi was stupid for not utilizing everyone in the search, and it weighed on his mind all day.

“I can’t believe the cops didn’t show up,” he said, turning on his flashlight.

“That’s illegal, right?” Shiraishi asked.

Ogata yawned. “It might be, but they don’t care.”

“Whatever,” Sugimoto said dismissively. “I’ll probably regret saying this, but I think we should split up. We’ll cover more ground.”

“I’ll go with Ogata,” you blurted out.

Sugimoto’s millisecond of confused silence opened a window for Ogata to direct the hastily thrown together operation.

“We'll go further up the mountain and check the trails. You guys stay at this elevation and search the woods. I’m sure they got lost. I’d say let’s bet on it, but I know you’re all broke.”

Shiraishi nodded, but Sugimoto looked annoyed beyond belief. You watched as they melted away into the darkness eagerly awaiting your alone time with Ogata.

“It’s better if we both have one,” he said, handing you a flashlight. “You said my name pretty fast back there.”

Your palms began to sweat. You had been too eager.

“I don’t know,” you said, pushing a low hanging branch out of your face. “Shiraishi’s been getting on my nerves.”

You cringed at your lie. Hopefully Ogata would deem it inconsequential and forget you ever said it.

“Is he really that bad?”

“Uh, well, you know… He—sometimes it’s like he’s just so obnoxious.”

“He is pretty annoying. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I’m, um, just really good at tolerating people. It’s hard though.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

You were good at hiding it because you loved having Shiraishi as a partner.

“Thank you.”

“It’s too bad we weren’t paired together. Sugimoto’s an asshole,” he sighed.

The two of you walked cautiously down the trail. You grew more and more nervous as it got steeper. Every twig felt like a landmine. You kept your eyes on the ground. It proved to be a terrible idea because you ended up walking right into Ogata. He fell forward, dropping his flashlight.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you said, cradling him in your arms.

He looked up at you. His forehead and his arms were covered in swaths of raw skin and blood. He tried to get up, but only managed to roll onto the ground. You pulled off your sweatshirt and put it under his head as a makeshift pillow.

You dug through your backpack for your first aid kit. It was nearly empty already because your group of campers loved skinning their knees. You found a few alcohol wipes and some gauze. You wanted to punch your past self for not refilling it, but now wasn’t the time for self-flagellation.

“It’s gonna sting.”

“I’m not a child. You don’t need to remind me.”

“Damn, okay,” you said, cleaning the wound on his head.

“Sorry…” he mumbled.

It was just a superficial scrape, but of course the urge to spiral was present. Despite your attempts to be optimistic your mind went to the worst places. 

I gave him a traumatic brain injury. I cracked his beautiful skull. I killed him and Mr. Tsurumi is going to be so fucking mad at me!

“No. I’m sorry. I’m the idiot that made you fall.”

“Good point. I take back my apology.”

You slapped an alcohol wipe on one of the cuts on his arm. His pained groan was like an angel singing your name.

“What day is it?” you asked, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs.

“June 8th.”

“What’s the time?”

He paused. “I don’t know. It was around 10 when we left.”

“Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Sleepy?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what ha—”

“You shoved me and I fell.”

“Shove makes it seem like it was intentional.”

“It was.”

“No it was not.”

He sat up. “Yes it was. You shoved me because you have a huge crush on me and you can’t stand it.”

“You definitely damaged your brain. Like, you’re so unwell right now. It’s sick.”

He laughed. “Don’t deny it. You can be honest with me.”

“I was looking at the ground! There were exposed roots!”

He pulled his arm away from you and grabbed you by the jaw. “If that’s all it was, why do you look nervous?”

“That’s just my face.”

“It’s a cute one.”

You panicked and tried to think of a cool, couth response, but nothing came. You just sat there, brain filled with white noise. The air was heavy; you felt like you were choking. You kept your breathing steady, but it was a herculean effort. All your energy was going into keeping yourself in one piece. The longer those four words sank in, the harder it was to retain your humanity.

It’s a cute one. It’s a cute one. It’s a cute one.

Your hesitation evaporated and you clumsily kissed him. Despite his words he seemed unimpressed with your agency, giving nothing in return. And in turn you felt nothing. It was like you were holding him hostage rather than sweeping him off his feet.

“Um, we should… go back to camp.”

The relief you felt upon finding Sugimoto and Shiraishi was immense. However your fellow counselors remained missing. You couldn’t help but feel like you were hunting for ghosts.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul

Much to the chagrin of Shiraishi, Tsurumi asked you to help Yūsaku and his twelve campers. It wasn’t ideal. Managing kids you weren’t familiar with was rough. They tested you left and right. They relished in lying about their names, snickering when you’d try to chastise them. They seemed to have a modicum of respect for Yūsaku though.

“How’s it going?” Shiraishi asked during your lunch.

“It’s—”

“Well I’m having a terrible time. These kids hate me. They keep asking when you’re coming back.”

You laughed. “Did you tell them never? Because I don’t see Tsurumi letting the golden boy stuck with a bunch of kids on his own.”

“It’s not like he needs you! I’m dying out there!”

“You have Sugimoto.” You sighed. “And Ogata.”

“They’re barely any help. Sugimoto’s too busy trying to solve a murder mystery like he’s Columbo. And Ogata’s too busy being his weird self. I think he’s pissed off at Hanazawa.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why. Maybe he’s jealous that Hanazawa is—”

“Working with me?” you asked, your eyes full of stars.

“Psh. No. Part of me thinks Ogata just wants to be Tsurumi’s pet.”

 “Oh. No yeah, you’re right.” You stared off into space. “He totally wants to be the golden boy.”

“You’re both wrong.” Ogata silently took a seat next to Shiraishi. Your head was swimming. “I just hate being here.”

“Then why glare at your brother?” Shiraishi asked haughtily.

“Are you an only child, Shiraishi?”

“Probably.”

Ogata smirked and changed the subject. “How is working with him?”

His tone wasn’t threatening, but the flatness of his gaze made you feel like you were being interrogated.

“It’s fine!” you exclaimed a bit too hurriedly. You tried to save face by tempering your tone to match the coolness of Ogata’s. “I mean, yeah, like, it’s okay. The kids like him, which is good because they can’t stand me. I don’t mind him, you know, taking the lead. He is the lead counselor.”

“It looked like he was doing all the work.��

His words were a wasp’s sting.

“You’d be stupid not to take advantage of that dork,” Shiraishi said in an attempt to bandage your wound.

“I’m not taking advantage of him.”

“Shiraishi has a point.”

“No he does not!”

“You can admit it,” Ogata teased.

“There’s nothing to admit. What am I supposed to admit?”

He paused.

“You know you hate being here just as much as everyone else.”

You glared at Ogata. “If I hated being here, I would leave.”

“Sure you would.”

“Yeah! Exactly. I would.”

Shiraishi scurried away awkwardly, though to be honest you barely noticed.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “How can you be so sure of something like that?”

“Because—because I know myself? This isn’t, like, some hypothetical thing. If I didn’t want to be here, I would leave. But I’m invested in whatever the fuck is going on… And I like my kids! I care about them! Okay, not the ones I have right now. Honestly fuck those ki—oh god.”

Ogata was trying to hold back a laugh. “Child hater.”

“I don’t hate kids! Even kids that are little shits. I’m just…” You carefully chose your words. “Not fond of some.” You regained your conviction. “Regardless it’s not like I could ever leave any of them behind.”

“It’s so funny.”

You tilted your head, awaiting an elaboration.

“You all say the same thing. The way you say it is different, but—”

“What are you talking about?”

He stood up and patted you on the head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You thought about chasing after him, but there was only ten minutes left of your lunch and you hadn’t even touched your food. You choked it down and searched for Yūsaku. You found him sitting in the grass, telling the kids one of his numerous summer camp tales.

“And that’s how I learned you should never eat mud.”

You joined their circle. “How was the jigen-ryū class?”

“Boring,” one chirped.

“Lame,” another admitted.

“I hate Mr. Koito.” one said bluntly. “Why does he scream so much?”

Yūsaku nervously chastised the kids.

You giggled. “That’s a great question. But I have an even better one: who wants to have a canoe race?”

The kids were eager for normalcy, typical summer fun, and you couldn’t blame them. You sought it yourself. Anything to shake off your conversation with Ogata. You felt like it poked holes in your brain. You hoped in utter desperation that the laughter of children and the afternoon sunlight dancing across Yūsaku’s precious face would fill them.

And for a brief moment they did. But Ogata remained a looming presence. He was so distracting you came dead last in the race. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything other than him watching from a distance like a hunter.

A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned

You went to bed early that night though you failed to drift away. You were in a fetal position, snuggled up in your sleeping bag, looking up at the Milky Way through your window for hours. You couldn’t get Ogata out of your mind.

“Idiot,” you murmured as you flipped over onto your back, not sure if you were calling him an idiot or yourself.

You stretched out and took up every inch of your bed. Your joints popped, the satisfaction from the sound soothed your soul. There was the chance this was as worse as it would get. Yes, people were dropping like flies, disappearing mysteriously. Yes, the camp director was a blatant freak. Yes, Ogata was fucking with your head. But the canoe race was normal! It was benign and expected! Those moments were few and far between so far. Maybe this was a good omen, a sneak peak of the placidity that was going to follow.

Pretending to be optimistic successfully lulled you to sleep. But rapid, and somehow pathetic, pounding on your cabin door ripped you from your slumber. You groaned audibly, hoping whoever was in desperate need of your attention would feel a semblance of shame. You got out of bed at a sloth’s pace and sighed before opening the door.

“Are you busy?” Ogata asked.

“I was sleeping.”

He gently pushed you out of the way and entered the cabin, a stiffness and urgency embodied in the swift movement. Your grip on consciousness was tenuous at best so you didn’t protest.

“Everything, uh, good?” you asked.

“If I said I wanted to apologize, would you believe me?”

You scoffed. “Not after asking me that.”

He sat down on your bed, and you struggled to hide your disgust. You couldn’t stop thinking about the fetid remnants of the woods that lingered on his sweatpants. Having him take them off crossed your mind.

“Well I am.”

“You’re what?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it… All the stuff I said.”

“You sure about that?”

He attempted to smooth down a strand of his hair. A hoarse mhm resonated in his throat.

“You’re so easy to rile up. I couldn’t resist.”

“Well,” you groaned. “Thanks. I guess.”

You figured he’d get up and leave, but instead his presence lingered, growing heavier by the second. His eyes were restless, his body tense.

“Do you mind if I stay the night?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the floor.

It was such an abrupt question. All you could do was choke out an affirmation. You knew kicking him out was the smart thing to do, but his perceived permanence on your bed overwhelmed you. The rational voice in your head grew fainter, your lust forcing its way through your papery veil of self-preservation. You were nothing more than your repressed urges.

“Are you sure?”

Dumb question. You’d never been so sure of something in your life. You couldn’t recall any form of previous trepidation though you weren’t trying particularly hard to do so.

“Yeah,” you answered, sitting beside him.

You leaned in. His sweatshirt smelled like wet leaves and copper. You used his thigh to steady yourself. He turned his head, his dark eyes looking through you. It was unnerving, but not enough to trigger common sense.

“Aren’t you hot?” you asked, laughing as the question tumbled from your mouth. His answer didn’t matter. “You’re making me sweat.”

You tugged at his sweatshirt. It felt dirty, heavy with sweat and earth. He took it off without a stitch of hesitation. Your eyes trailed down his arms, longing for them to be wrapped around you. It was the only way you’d make it through the night.

“I run cold,” he practically purred.

Cliche comments ran through your head.

That’s so funny because I could totally keep you warm, big boy.

I’m burning up, why don’t you cool me off with your stupid, gorgeous body?

“That’s cool.” Your brain shut down. “I want you.”

Your bluntness seemed to please him. His lips curled into a half smile before he pulled you into a kiss. He wasted no time, pushing his tongue past your teeth. He caressed your cheek as his tongue brushed up against yours, soft and warm. He pulled you onto his lap and rubbed the inside of your thigh with his rough hands. You tugged at his shirt, the cotton damp with sweat. He lifted it up and pulled it off, letting it drop on the floor.

“You should lie down,” you said, breath hot against his neck.

“Am I easier to take advantage of that way?”

“Excuse me?”

Your question went unheeded and he reclined on your bed, beckoning you to straddle him. You looked down at his body, muscles perfectly toned like they were crafted by the gods. He looked so pleased with himself, like he’d won an award. His cock was hard against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. It ached against you.

You studied his face. There were a few faint, red scratches across his cheek. You ran your thumb down one, feeling the slightly swollen skin. He winced.

“What happened?” you asked.

He exhaled. “I fell.”

“Like recently or?”

“On my way over.”

“How?”

His right eye twitched.

“I tripped,” he said, words clipped.

“On what?”

You never knew him to be clumsy, if anything he was rather feline in his agility. His fingers dug deeper into your hips before rolling you onto your back and getting on top of you. He pressed his rough palm over your lips.

“Hush.” His tone was nauseatingly sweet.

“I’m serious, are you okay?” you asked, voice muffled by his hand.

He titled his head and stared into your eyes with a calculated gaze.

“Isn’t it a little late for you to be so talkative?”

It was astounding how easy it was for him to shut you down. Granted you weren’t steadfast when it came to Ogata. You couldn’t take a firm stance. How could you hold onto a belief when you couldn’t predict his reaction to it? You wanted to be palatable and if that meant bending like a willow to his incomprehensible will then so be it.

“You’re so cute,” he said, removing his hand. “You’re like a scared deer.”

He lifted up the oversized t-shirt you liked to sleep in and pulled off your underwear. His fingers grazed your folds, coating them in your arousal. You swallowed hard, spit catching in your throat, as he slid them into your cunt. They curled inside you, pressing against your walls. The pressure made your skin tingle.

His gaze was attentive but cold. You felt studied, examined. It bred a twinge of looming uncertainty, one that settled in your stomach. But he didn’t hesitate with a remedy. He pushed his fingers as far as they could go and began fucking you with them. Your concern disappeared as fast as it came. Your eyes glazed over, ensnared by the man looming over you. You tried in vain to hold back your pleased whimpers.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re falling apart so fast.” His lips grazed your lobe.

Apologizing crossed your mind, but you kept your mouth shut. You writhed underneath his weight, rutting up against his fingers as they fucked your slick cunt.

Your hands wandered down his back. His skin was soft and sticky with sweat. You let your fingers trail down his spine before settling on the crest of his ass. You yanked down his briefs and dug your fingers into the taut flesh. He flashed an impish smile and pulled them down, kicking them off. The head of his cock was leaking precum. He tugged on it and bathed in your starved gaze.

“You want me so bad,” he said haughtily. “Tell me how bad you want me.”

You sighed as he jerked himself off. “I feel like I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I need you.”

“Then beg for it,” he growled.

“Please. Please fuck me.”

He rubbed his cock up against your folds. “Say my name.”

“Please fuck me, Hyakunosuke. Please. Please. Please.”

He nuzzled your neck and pressed his cocktip against your clit. “More.”

You continued to plead, body aching for him to fuck you. He guided his cock inside you, its girth stretching your tight cunt. He groaned as he pushed it in further. His movements were slow, and he seemed to relish in your whimpering.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded as he thrust into you.

“Really good. Really fucking good,” you babbled.

He let out a pleased sigh and fully submerged his length within you. His tip pressed up against your cervix, sending a shock to your core. You yelped as he pushed against it harder.

“Such a big cock for such a precious little thing.”

His thrusts drove you into the mattress, making your cot creak. His touch wasn’t gentle. He didn’t hesitate to bend your body to his liking, to show off his strength. It was deliciously overwhelming. He laced his fingers in your hair and pulled. He manhandled your legs to get them over his shoulders. You knew his force would leave blooms of bruises on your ankles, bruises you’d have to explain away when your friends inquired about your life after hours.

Being at his will was exciting.

“Do you like getting fucked like a whore?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

He grinned. You wanted to lick his teeth, but settled for hugging his cock with your cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

His pace quickened and his breathing grew labored. He seemed weakened by his impending climax. His eyes were softer, his words lacked their previous domineering weight. He looked like he was in agony. Seeing him fall apart made your clit throb. It was almost too much. Your body was immersed in euphoria, drowning in an obscene amount of debauched delight. To finally experience something you craved for so long was almost maddening. So many times you dreamt about him lording over your body under the serene light of the moon. And now you were living it out.

You wanted him to come first, to feel his cum flood your cunt, but your body wasn’t on the same page. Your impending climax was bubbling up inside you. Resisting it was a futile feat. What good was it to deny yourself such ecstasy?

“Harder,” you moaned.

He repositioned himself so he could drive his cock deeper in. You felt like you were going to burst. You dug your fingers into your mattress, gripping the tangled up sheets. The feeblest attempt to keep yourself tethered to this world lest you ascend to an Icarus end. Your back arched as a numinous groan crept up from the depths of your being, a simple carnal prayer. A cluster of whimpers followed in its wake.

Every inch of tension melted away as you let your orgasm consume you. You nearly forgot where you were until you heard Ogata’s pained voice.

“Where do you want it?” he asked urgently.

“Inside, inside,” you babbled.

He grimaced and pulled his cock out of your dripping cunt. He straddled your chest and held your head, forcing you to crane your neck. He pushed his cock past your lips and rutted against your face. His touch became gentle, hands almost cradling the base of your skull. He held you like you were fragile, like he could rip you to pieces if he lacked restraint.

“Look up at me,” he groaned as his cum splattered against the back of your throat.

You looked up at him, as he continued to thrust. Spurts of his piquant cum filled your mouth. You thought it would never end. Tears welled up in your eyes as his cum trickled from the corners of your mouth. Once his cock stopped twitching he placed his hand on your forehead and pushed you off. He then rolled over onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Um,” you said, crashing back into reality. 

You hoped no one heard what happened. Your cabin was the one closest to the outskirts of everything, but still. Your cot’s incessant squeaking plagued you. Your breathy moans haunted you. Ogata’s audible grunting was a dark cloud swirling above your head. You missed your fucked out state of mind. You debated on chasing it. You thought about grabbing his semi-erect cock, but the feeling faded from your grasp. It didn’t help that he looked completely dissociated from the situation.

“Hyaku,” you paused, his first name felt too intimate, ”Ogata?”

You rolled over onto your side and placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure,” he said before turning his back to you.

“Okay,” you replied, molding your body beside his.

You expected him to scoot away from you, or retire to the unforgiving floor. But instead he pressed himself up against you. You draped an arm over him and nuzzled your face against his undercut as you drifted away.

Life is the farce we are all forced to endure

Waking up alone wasn’t a surprise though it was still disappointing.

The sun roused you, making you painfully aware of your lack of clothes and the dried cum in the corners of your mouth. Visions of a relaxing shower danced through your mind. You could practically feel the steam surrounding you. However, leaving your cabin was precarious. No one could see you like this, skittering around and clutching your toiletries like they were gold. You’d wither away if perceived.

“I got this,” you whispered to no one in particular.

You stepped out into the morning light. It felt early. You didn’t hear any kids or any sort of chatter which was a relief. The outside world was safe; it was secure. You took a deep breath and took in the fresh air.

“Good morning.”

Your exhale lodged itself in your throat, forcing out a pathetic cough.

“Fuck. I mean good morning, Mr. Tsurumi.”

He looked tired, less triumphant, and part of you wondered if he was going to kill you.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up this early.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be either,” you said, trying to mask your discomfort. “Anyway—”

He interrupted your attempt at a polite getaway. “How well do you know Yūsaku?”

“Uh. I guess about as well as you can know anyone given the amount of ti—”

“Did he seem unhappy? Dissatisfied?”

“That sunburn made him pretty miserable.”

He studied you. “Anything beyond that?”

“I—yeah no, I think that’s, uh, the only thing.”

“I see. Well I won’t keep you any longer.”

You simply smiled and nodded. Once he was out of sight you sprinted to the showers, eager for the cleanly embrace of its solitude. It was exactly what you wanted, what you needed. You needed to wash away whatever that conversation had been. You couldn’t figure out why he was so curious about Yūsaku. Your relationship with him was friendly but superficial. You wouldn’t know how to describe him in any meaningful way if prompted to, but made an attempt anyway.

He’s Ogata’s half-brother. He can tell two different stories about eating mud as a little kid. He sucks at putting on sunscreen. His eyelashes are pretty. He has a general golden boy vibe that is almost insufferably charming.

You knew essentially nothing. Whereas you could write an entire thesis regarding the random facts about Shiraishi you learned against your will.

You spent the entirety of your shower, wracking your brain over the camp director’s questioning. Unfortunately your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. The night before lingered around you like a ghostly shroud. Your legs were peppered with bruises and your hips were sore. There were so many random aches echoing throughout your body.

By the time you were done the shrill voices of children flooded the camp. You hurriedly made your way back to your cabin, careful to avoid running into anyone. But despite the painstaking  care you took, there was Shiraishi pawing at your door anxiously like a dog.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He didn’t bother answering your question. “They’re sending all the kids home.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yup. A few parents have already come by. Tsurumi wants to sit us all down and talk about what we’re gonna do.”

“We’re all going to leave, right?”

“Well we got all this shit here. The canoes. The food. The giant shogi pieces. All of that needs to get packed up probably. Do you think we’ll still get paid even if there’s no kids to watch?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I heard something kinda messed up though.” You stepped closer to him and he continued, his voice low. “I overheard Koito saying some shit to Tsukishima about another body being found.”

“No,” you gasped.

“Yeah. They left maybe an hour ago. I doubt they’re coming back. I saw them pack—”

“Okay whatever. Whose body?”

Shiraishi shushed you. “Yūsaku’s.”

“Shut up.”

“Tsurumi found him hanging in the forest.”

“Like hanging out, right? With his brother maybe?” you asked desperately.

“Nope.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?”

“Relax! Maybe I heard wrong.”

You took a measured breath and distanced yourself from this loss. “It makes sense. Tsurumi was asking me about Yūsaku this morning. He wanted to know if Yūsaku was sad or, I don’t know, depressed I guess.”

“Did he seem—”

“No, but not all suicidal people act like outwardly suicidal.”

“So you think he killed himself?”

“Fuck no,” you sneered. “I bet Tsurumi did. That’s why he was asking me about him. He wanted to come up with an alibi, or a reason for Yūsaku to have done something like that.”

Shiraishi looked a little nervous. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not jump the gun.”

You pushed him away from the door and dropped your stuff off. On the walk to the mess hall you watched as kids crawled into massive minivans and sleek electric cars. They were a resilient bunch. You admired their ability to withstand the trauma murder reaped. It sucked to see them go, but this camp was no place for their kind.

You felt oddly numb in the wake of Yūsaku’s apparent demise, especially as you sat amongst the camp’s dwindling numbers. It was just you, Shiraishi, Sugimoto, Ogata, and that freak Tsurumi. You all sat in a circle around an ashen fire pit, sipping coffee. It was bitter, the acidic taste boring holes through your tongue.

“It pains me to say this,” Tsurumi began.

“We all know about Yūsaku,” Shiraishi yawned.

His lack of tact made you want to crawl into your mug and drown.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to start off with that but…” He sighed. “As you all apparently know Yūsaku is no longer with us.”

“Did he go home?” Ogata asked.

“Shut up,” Sugimoto hissed.

Tsurumi ignored the chatter and continued. You struggled to focus. Your mind drifted off into fantasies of catching the camp director in the act and getting the hero treatment for saving the day. They were fun scenarios to entertain, but deep down you didn’t crave glory or even recognition. You just wanted to be right.

To no one’s surprise Tsurumi managed to convince everyone to stay one more night in order to return the camp to its previous barren state. It was depressing to snuff out the last remnants of the camp’s life, but necessary so Tsurumi could get back his security deposit. It was impressive to see how impermanent everything was. What took a week to create was dismantled within a day, a notion that haunted you to no end. You hated to think everything was so transient. It beckoned you to hold on tighter to your memories, to the bonds you fostered. If they were going to be ripped away, they would be marred with ghostly reminders of your feral grip.

Throughout the day you orbited around Ogata, searching for tasks that required you to be near him. Despite your attempts to be discreet, anyone with a brain could see your passive clinginess. You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t want to risk an awkward conversation. When you finally built up the confidence to speak to him he was swept away by a bored sheriff wearing mirrored sunglasses.

“Wonder what they’re talking about,” Shiraishi said, startling you.

“Yūsaku obviously,” you scoffed as you swept the porch of a cabin. “Whatever. It’s not like I care.”

He laughed loud enough to grab the attention of the sheriff. Ogata was undisturbed.

“I feel bad for him.”

“Yeah?”

Shiraishi frowned. “Yeah, like his brother’s dead. He’s a total weirdo with no friends. And he’s short.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re shorter than him.”

“I am, but I’m sexy and have friends.”

Ogata was sexy, but you opted to keep that to yourself.

“Okay, and?” you said bristling with annoyance. “Go bother someone else.”

“I actually had a reason for bugging you. Sugimoto wants to make s’mores tonight because we have a bunch of marshmallows. I was thinking we could turn it into a mini party.”

“A final hurrah.”

“Exactly!” he said as he walked away.

S’mores and cold beer sounded nice, but not nearly as nice as another night with Ogata. You watched as he stared lazily at the sheriff, his posture loose and mildly defiant. He wasn’t naive enough to believe Yūsaku hung himself. He must have caught onto how strange Tsurumi was. There was no way he hadn’t. He was perceptive. You couldn’t help but feel as though you were kindred spirits.

When the sheriff finally left you decided to approach him.

“Hey,” you said gently. “I just wanted to, you know…uh. I’m really sorry about your brother.”

“Why? Did you make him kill himself?” he said, his gaze friendly yet cold.

You laughed and shifted uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. Is there anything I can do?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” He closed the distance you kept. “How far are you willing to go to comfort me?”

“A normal amount. If you need to talk or anything, I don’t mind listening.”

“Would you mind choking on my cock again? I found that to be very soothing.”

Ogata’s words were grotesque rather than alluring. You couldn’t help but feel like he was just trying to scare you off. His vulgarity lacked any sort of intensity. The threat was hollow. You swallowed hard and tried to look less timid.

“Don’t be an asshole. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

He looked thoroughly amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You patted his shoulder with a platonic, heavy hand and headed off in a random direction. You were too frazzled to think that far ahead, but you walked into the woods with faux confidence.

All filthy memories fade out

You sighed in relief as the sun sunk into the horizon. Making s’mores and getting drunk by a fire sounded like the only suitable end for such a horrific venture. Shiraishi and Sugimoto met you by your cabin and aided you in crafting a fire pit.

“It’s so fucked up we never made these with the kids,” Sugimoto sighed, puncturing three marshmallows with a two-pronged skewer specially made for the act.

You sipped your beer. “We failed them.”

Shiraishi nodded. “We may be the dream team, but we weren’t perfect.”

“The what?!” Sugimoto struggled not to laugh as he crafted a picturesque s’more.

“Wh—who? Who’s the dream team?” you asked.

“Us! Me, you, and Sugimoto… obviously.”

“I had no idea.”

“I never said it out loud until now,” Shiraishi said solemnly.

It was hard to deny. The chaos that was camp proved to be a great conduit for bonding despite the horrors. You never would have made it through without Shiraishi’s humor and Sugimoto’s kindness.

“Dream team, huh?” Sugimoto said with a smile blooming across his face.

You punched Shiraishi in the arm. “Cute. I like it.”

Shiraishi blushed and shifted his gaze to the case of beer.

“How does the dream team feel about shotgunning some beers?”

Shotgunning some beers turned into shotgunning several. Stabbing the cans and chugging like your life depended on it was addicting. By the end of it you were all in a hazy trance. You collapsed down into your chair with too much vigor, sending yourself backwards into the dirt. You cackled like a witch.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Sugimoto asked. He was unable to hide his amused smile.

He held out his hand and hoisted you up. Shiraishi watched on, tears in his eyes, and stabbed another beer with his pocket knife. Beer spurted out of the hole and it sprayed all over. A dramatic “noooooooooo!" erupted from him as he tried in vain to suckle the rest of the beer out of the can. Sugimoto could barely hold himself together and lost his balance, sending you back into the unforgiving dirt and landing directly on you. His body was so heavy you thought you were going to suffocate. Luckily he rolled off of you within a second, wheezing with laughter.

The comedy of errors was too much. Not a single one of you went unscathed.

“I’m so sorry,” Sugimoto choked out.

You stood up and brushed the dust off of your body. “It’s okay. I’m alive. I made it. I survived.”

“You know,” Sugimoto said, still sitting in the dirt. “I’m really gonna miss you guys.”

“We’ll have to meet up again before summer ends.”

Shiraishi wiped the beer from his lips. “That’s assuming we live.”

“Dude! Not funny.” Sugimoto threw an empty can at Shiraishi. It missed.

“I’ll probably die next,” you replied thoughtfully. “Tsurumi’s gonna catch on and have to silence me.”

“Stop!”

Shiraishi corrected you. “No, no. It’ll be me.”

“Yeah, you know what. It’ll be Shiraishi, and then you. And then me.”

Shiraishi pouted. “What makes you so sure you’ll live the longest?”

“I’m immortal, dumb ass.”

“If you’re immortal, why not protect us?” you suggested.

“Yeah!”

“I’ll obviously do that! That goes without saying!”

You looked at him, doe-eyed. “Promise?”

He stood up, his balance shakier than ever. It didn’t inspire much confidence in his ability to protect you, but you chose to believe in his conviction.

“As long as I am here, neither of you will die. I… I love you guys s—so much.”

“Don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry. And I hate crying in the woods.”

You heard rustling in the distance. Sugimoto and Shiraishi didn’t seem to notice so you chalked it up to your intoxication. You focused your attention on the delightful little bars of artisan chocolate Yūsaku bought for the kids. Your stomach had been growling, begging for something other than beer.

“Gimme the stick thingy,” you barked at Sugimoto.

“Is that any way to ask me for something?”

“You’re talking like a caveman.”

You groaned. “Please give me a, uh,” you gestured towards the skewer resting at Sugimoto’s feet, “that item. Please, good sir.”

Shiraishi applauded your efforts like a real friend and spoke words of affirmation as you struggled to make a s’more. Neither of them stepped in to help you. They appeared to find your tribulation much too entertaining, and you were much too drunk to ask for assistance. However you managed to make four. The sloppiness didn’t detract from the flavor which was all that mattered.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Shiraishi said. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m tired.”

Sugimoto stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Yeah, I have a long drive tomorrow. I’m not trying to fall asleep at the wheel.”

It was almost painful to part ways. A little sliver of you was afraid to enter your cabin on your own. You knew there was no reason to be scared. It wasn’t as if Tsurumi was hiding inside, waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab you. There was no way he could have snuck past you, Shiraishi, and Sugimoto. One of you would have seen him, or at the very least heard him.

Your heart began to pound. You had heard something lurking about in the woods. It very well could’ve been him. Maybe you were too drunk to be vigilant and maybe Tsurumi took advantage of that. Your hand trembled as you reached for the doorknob. Your fear was heavy and looming. It was like you were slowly being crushed. Every inhale felt like it was catching in your throat. You slowly twisted the knob and pressed your weight up against the door.

“Hello?” you asked as if an assailant would actually respond.

You flipped the switch and your room was filled with soft, incandescent light. There was no one in sight, not a soul. The relief you felt was almost overwhelming. Your terror was replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. Sleeping through the night with no interruptions wouldn’t be a pipe dream.

And it seemed to be going along quite well…

Until you had to pee of course. The urge hit you like a truck. You sprung up out of bed and ran all the way to the bathroom, hoping you’d make it in time. You regretted drinking so much. If it hadn’t been for the beer you might have gotten an uninterrupted six hours.

Luckily you made it to the bathroom in time, but on your walk back you became keenly aware of the fact you were still quite drunk.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhh,” you moaned as you trudged back.

You passed Tsurumi’s cabin and it triggered a deep desire to indulge in some snooping. Moonlighting as a drunk detective seemed like an incredible idea.

There were no lights on in his cabin, which wasn’t odd considering it was the middle of the night. But everything seemed vaguely ominous given your state of mind and your desire to prove he was the murderer. You peeked in his window and saw him sleeping. He was face down, body spread out like a starfish.

“What a freak.”

“You’re the one watching him sleep.”

You spun around and saw Ogata. You opened your mouth to scream but he covered it. His hand was damp and smelled like soap. He looked unkempt, and seemed a little frazzled.

“I can explain,” you whispered.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe. Listen!”

He shushed you and grabbed you by the wrist. He dragged you away from Tsurumi’s window.

“Can I talk now?” You didn’t wait for an answer. “I think Tsurumi is killing everyone.”

He looked thoroughly amused. “What makes you so sure—”

“He’s a total fucking weirdo, Ogata! He, you know, like… Okay, I don’t have solid proof. But he did ask me about your brother. He was like ‘Ohhh, do you think Yūsaku was suicidal? Did he seem like a little sad boy with little sad boy problems?’ And I was like, ‘No.’ And he was like all… whatever.” You hiccuped. “Why would he ask me that if he wasn’t trying to find a way to cover up his crime?”

“You did work with Yūsaku. I don’t think it’s weird that Tsurumi would ask you about him. If I were him, you would be one of the first people I’d talk to.”

“Ogataaaaaaaaaa,” you whined. “Don’t be a shit.”

“All I’m saying is the two of you seemed close.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“I think he had a crush on you,” he teased.

“He didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for having one.”

You gave up on protesting. It wasn’t like he was actually listening to you. You turned your gaze towards the ground. It was then you noticed what looked like rusty stains on his shoes.

“You really shouldn’t wear white shoes.”

He looked confused.

“Yours are always s—so dirty.”

He stared down at his shoes and smiled. “I like them this way.”

You shrugged. “Anyway. I think Tsurumi poisoned Tanigaki with mushrooms.”

“What about Inkarmat? Usami? Vasi—”

“When did they find Usami and Vasily?!”

He paused. “They didn’t. I thought maybe you had an explanation for them going missing.”

“Oh. No. I haven’t really thought about them. Is that fucked up?”

“A little, but I like it when you’re fucked up.”

He leaned in and slipped his tongue into your mouth. You tried to let yourself fall into the moment, to let yourself be enraptured by him once more. But you felt uneasy. A part of you was screaming at you to stop. Your entire body tensed up and you pushed him away.

“Not here,” you sighed.

“Why not?” he said, rubbing the small of your back.

“What if someone sees?”

“There’s no one to see us.”

With your luck Shiraishi and Sugimoto would see you wrapped up in Ogata’s arms and never let you live it down. A greater horror would be Tsurumi catching you. He would have no issue disposing you.

Ogata didn’t share this concern. He simply shoved his fingers down your shorts and rubbed your clit through your underwear.

“You don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I don’t want to get caught.”

“Hmm,” he purred as he nuzzled his face in your neck. “Getting caught could be fun. We could finally reveal our true nature.”

His wording puzzled you.

“Wait, what true nature? That we’re fucking?” you asked.

“Don’t play dumb.”

He let his fingers graze your cunt. His touch was hypnotic. You felt like you were melting in his arms. The world around you faded away, your concerns were nonexistent. Everything was a distraction queued for destruction. He kissed your neck, his stubble tickling you. You felt his teeth graze your skin. A smile crept across your face as he bit into it. Your knees buckled as he bit down a little harder. Your head was spinning.

“I need to taste you,” he said against your neck, pulling down your clothes.

The night air was brisk against the skin of your ass. He kissed the nape of your neck as he hands traveled down your waist, stopping at the dip of your hips. He got on his knees and stared up at you, eyes dark with ardor, before giving your clit a languid lick.

He lapped at your cunt like a starved animal. It was like he was trying to consume you. You felt so desired, so adored. His tongue was dizzying. You nearly lost your balance as he buried his face in between your thighs. He grunted and gripped your ass to steady you.

You gasped as he dug his fingers deeper into your skin. His sweetness was always tinged with a little cruelty. You felt like you were falling in love with him whenever he was rough with you. Your pleasure seemed endless. It was something to get lost in. He shielded you from the tragedy that had overtaken your life.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re so good at this.”

“I know,” he groaned.

His haughtiness was unfortunately warranted. He could work wonders with his mouth. He rolled his tongue against your throbbing clit. Your knees trembled as your orgasm began to bloom. You tried to speak but all you could do was whimper his name. You felt like you were floating away.

Moaning soon became the only thing you were capable of doing. Your body was limp and swollen with lust. The only reason you were upright was because of Ogata’s steadying grip.

“Are you really going to come already?” he teased.

“Yes!” you choked out.

He held your clit between his lips and sucked. Your head rolled back and you murmured a string of obscenities. Euphoria wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the heights you were ascending to. You drenched his face with your arousal as your orgasm echoed through you.

“Sor—”

Your demure apology was interrupted by a pained moan coming from the distance. You crashed back down to earth.

“Did you hear that?” you asked.

Ogata didn’t respond. He simply stood up and wiped his chin.

“Let me walk you back to your cabin.”

“Uh, yeah sure. But did you hear that? It sounded like a person.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Your paranoia is getting the best of you.” He grabbed you by the hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t say a single word on the walk back. He didn’t even look at you. You felt like a ghost.

“Thanks… for escorting me.”

“It’s no problem,” he said with a smile.

You were convinced you would never fully understand him, that he would always keep you on your toes. And maybe that was the appeal. It was a danger you didn’t mind dancing with, something low stakes in comparison to people getting fucking murdered.

With my eyes closed I offered myself to the sun

It was your final day and you jumped at the opportunity to interrogate Tsurumi. It didn’t matter if you were the only one that thought he was the cause of all the camp’s calamity. The lack of faith from your friends didn’t deter you in the least. You knew you were right and soon everyone else would know as well.

“What the?”

You saw a heap in the distance, something keeled over just beyond the trees. The sun sliced through them, drowning whatever it was in unforgiving light. You heard the faint buzzing of flies and your stomach dropped. The familiar sensation of spit pooling in your mouth triggered a lethal anxiety within you.

Every step you took made you more and more nauseous. A horrid smell swarmed your nostrils. You couldn’t help but gag.

“No,” you said quietly, looking down at the heap.

It was Sugimoto, face down. His arms were stretched in front of him, fingers caked with dirt.

“Saichi, get up.” You squatted beside him. A prayer circle of jet black ants surrounded his body. “Get up. You’re supposed to keep me and Shiraishi safe, remember?”

There was no hope and yet you tried to hold onto it. You wanted to roll him over, thinking maybe you could rouse him. You saw it in movies all the time, the classic fake-out death trope. You’d slap him around, maybe yell and cry a bit, and his eyes would flutter open. He would apologize for worrying you and you’d tease him for how rank he smelled.

“Oh fuck!” you screamed as you rolled him onto his back.

His chin was coated with dried blood. His stomach had been cut open, entrails butchered and hanging out. You looked just beyond his body and saw a trail of blood and intestines. You started to sob. Sugimoto didn’t deserve to suffer such a heinous demise. Why couldn’t Tsurumi have just killed him outright? Why did he have to exercise his will with such cruelty? You hated him and his flagrant barbarity. Your rage washed over you. The desire to throw yourself over his mauled body and wail was extinguished.

“I’m so sorry,” you cooed, stroking his hair. “Tsurumi’s not getting away with this.”

In order to properly avenge Sugimoto you needed Shiraishi, but you didn’t even know if Shiraishi was alive. You grabbed Sugimoto’s pocket knife and bolted to Shiraishi’s cabin. You kicked the door in and all you saw was an unmade bed, empty bags of marshmallows, and all of his belongings scattered around an empty duffle bag.

You kept running out of sheer desperation, searching Shiraishi’s usual haunts to no avail. He must have been killed too, another counselor disappeared by that freak Tsurumi.

Your bravado began to melt away. The more you thought about it the more you realized you likely couldn’t hold your own against Tsurumi. You were nothing without the dream team.

There was always Ogata, but if Sugimoto was slain by Tsurumi with such ease then Ogata didn’t stand a chance. You were enshrouded in a sinking loneliness. It made every step an ordeal but you continued your march to Tsurumi’s cabin.

Your head was swimming by the time you got there. You didn’t even notice the door was already open. As you stepped inside you heard a series of loud, wet thwacks.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

Ogata stood over Tsurumi’s twitching body, bashing in his skull with the butt of his own shotgun. Pale foam seeped from his parted lips. You watched in horror as his face gradually became unrecognizable carnage with each of Ogata’s blows.

“Why?” you squeaked.

“What do you mean why? I did this for you.”

“This is not what I wanted.”

“Yes it is. You thought he was killing all your friends and it bothered you enough that you whined to me about it.”

“I didn’t tell you those things because I wanted you to kill him! Fuck! Now the cops are going to think you killed everyone!”

He cocked his head to the side and stared at you. You froze in place like a deer in front of a speeding truck. He looked gutted.

“I did kill everyone.”

You bursted into laughter. “No you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Stop it! No you didn’t!”

He stepped over Tsurumi’s corpse, gun still in his hand. You backed out the door, trying to keep distance.

“Yes I did,” he said. In the sunlight you saw how much of Tsurumi’s blood ended up on him. He was dappled with crimson splotches. “That’s why you told me about Tsurumi. You wanted him gone and you knew I’d take care of it.”

Your mouth was agape. You refused to believe him.

“You—you’re not serious. Please tell me you’re not serious. Please.”

“I’m se—”

“No! Shut up! You didn’t do it. You didn’t do any of it. You… You couldn’t. Right? Right?!”

His disappointment was palpable.

“Why are you acting like this? You knew what you were doing when you talked to me about him.”

“I never said I wanted you to kill him! I never fucking said that!”

“Stop screaming. I’m right here.”

Your eyes were becoming glassy. Tears were imminent. 

“I never said that,” you said quietly.

“You didn’t have to. I knew what you wanted. We see things the same way. You hated all of them as much as I did.”

“What? I didn’t hate any of them.”

“Oh so you liked Usami?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

He sighed heavily. “You don’t need to pretend anymore. They’re all gone.”

“Pretend? I’m not pretending.”

“Drop the act. I didn’t mind it before, but now there’s no reason for you to hide yourself from me.”

Everything was spinning around you. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. It was absurd for him to think you harbored as much hatred as he did. Sure, some of your fellow counselors got on your nerves, but being annoying wasn’t a death sentence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not hiding anything.”

He tried to pat down his unruly lock of hair. “So you’re saying I’m wrong? You’re nothing like me?”

“Yes! I could never dream of being as monstrous as you! How fucked up do you have to be to decide you can just kill people for, I don’t know, being annoying or stupid or whatever?”

“It’s not like I intended on killing everyone. I just wanted Yūsaku gone, but then I caught Tanigaki and Inkarmat 69ing by the lake and it spiraled from there.”

“Th—that’s why you killed them?”

“It was disgusting, okay.”

“Was it more disgusting than what we did?”

He glared at you. “What we did wasn’t disgusting. Tanigaki and Inkarmat didn’t actually care about each other.”

“You don’t know that.”

“They barely knew each other. You can’t like someone that much after, what, a week?”

“Does that mean we don’t like each other?���

“No!” He took a measured breath and regained composure. “It’s different with us. You know me. You understand me.”

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“But you were… so nice to me.”

Neither of you spoke. The only sound was the wind cutting through the trees. You thought back to old conversations you had with him and tried to see where your ignorance blinded you. There were plenty of times you should have known it was Ogata, but you were so caught up in blaming Tsurumi for everything.

It was hard to reconcile the man you had your heart set on was a cold blooded killer. You wanted your feelings to subside, but they remained despite his horrendous crimes. Part of you needed to fix him, to save him from himself. Maybe if you had caught on sooner you could have stopped him. There were so many what-ifs running through your mind you almost forgot where you were.

“Did it not mean anything to you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Being nice to me. Was it an obligation?”

“No. I think… most people deserve kindness.”

“Even someone like me?”

You tried to ignore the shotgun in his hand. “Yes… especially you, Hyakunosuke.”

“After everything I’ve done?”

“Ye—yes.”

“Liar.”

He aimed the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. You tried to catch him in your arms, but you weren’t strong enough to carry that weight. You fell to your knees and cradled him. His face was nothing but an open wound. You wept as his blood seeped into your clothes.

“You were never an obligation.” 

You wiped away your tears and got his blood in your eye. It burned, but it was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in your heart.

“Holy shit!!”

Shiraishi came barrelling out of the woods. His lip was busted and he had dried blood under his nose.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?” 

Shiraishi kneeled in front of you. You looked down and noticed his hand was resting in what used to be Ogata’s face.

“Shiraishi, your hand.”

He fell backwards and kicked himself away from Ogata’s corpse. He wiped his hand in the dirt.

“He, uh, didn’t hurt me. I’m fine… I thought you were dead.”

“Nah. I just let him beat the shit out of me and pretended to be dead. I didn’t think he’d fall for it. Have you seen Sugimoto?”

“He… he didn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Shiraishi helped move Ogata off of you. He looked horrified once he saw how much of Ogata’s blood had ended up on you. The coppery scent was impossible to ignore.

You were thankful Shiraishi was still alive. He took charge for a change, deciding your best course of action was to go to the mess hall and contact the authorities. It wasn’t until you got there that he realized his phone was dead. You both sat in silence as it charged.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked after checking his battery life.

You nodded.

“Did you like Ogata?”

You didn’t want to admit it. You couldn’t imagine a world where Shiraishi would understand the complexity of your feelings. He never liked Ogata in the first place.

You tried to slaughter the sentimental romantic inside you. You thought about how mean Ogata could be, the awful things he’d say to you. You thought about Sugimoto and how he tried to drag himself to your cabin despite being gutted like a fish.

“No,” you scoffed. 

Ogata was right. You were a liar.

[thatmooncake]

Obsessed with how Sun fits so much of himself into such a tiny space.

I mean first of all, literally.

He’s gonna have to surgically detach his rays from that slide.

And then we have his living space, the Superstar daycare. Big at first but when it’s the only place you can seem to access while others get free roam of half the building or even get to go outside of it? TINY. The outside world is unfathomably HUGE in comparison. And everyone he comes into contact with has basically seen so much more of it than he has. And that must feel so impressive to him but at the same time so strange and …maybe somewhat limiting? Like no matter how hard he tries to relate or understand from his little corner, others have experienced things firsthand that he probably never has. Things he’s read to kids in storybooks and sang songs about but never seen up close.

And we know that in some sense he likes things to be just so. The barrels are aligned. The lights stay on. That’s the only way he feels safe. So I imagine his own limited perspective when he comes face to face with people from the outside world feels kind of scary to him in a way.

And despite the daycare being his domain, people encroach upon his space without warning, and he plays along. All of a sudden there are people and he must deal with them accordingly and he must act in a certain way no matter how he feels about it and how much stress he’s put under (for example, continuing on with playtime despite the whole situation with Moon, perhaps because he has to, or he wants to, or he has nothing else - maybe all of the above).

^ Look at his little room! It makes me sad. I don’t know if Moon ripped up all the bots that are scattered over the floor or if Sun did or if someone else did but the fact is the place looks so depressing compared to most of the Glamrocks’ rooms it’s painful. Here we have two of the most neglected robots in the pizzaplex and they carry on like that doesn’t matter, but we know Sun knows that something is very wrong so even if this is the norm for him and even if he’s used to it, the more broken bits and pieces he encounters the more it must be killing him because every day when he’s done entertaining the kids or pretending someone’s going to show up that day (depending on if the daycare is closed or not) he goes back to a permanent reminder of just how messed up things have become.

And he seems SO HAPPY to see a stranger from outside of that little room. No matter how you look at that, it’s pretty sad. Is he faking his enthusiasm? What a frustrating and stressful situation that must be to be at the beck and call of someone you don’t genuinely want to be around and act like you’re their new best friend. Is he actually excited? What a stressful situation that must be too, only for any semblance of control you had to be abruptly torn from you as you’re forced to switch when the lights go out, clearly horrified by what’s going to happen all the while because you know it won’t be good for anyone.

Does it hurt when he switches? I’m fascinated by Sun’s relationship with Moon. It’s played in so many interesting ways by the fandom. Are they two separate people? Are they like roommates who share a body? Are they two aspects of the same AI? They’re so versatile and I love it. I love all the takes there are on their personalities. Sun? Silly, goofy, playful, ray of sunshine, bundle of nerves, parental, fiery, bossy, strict, the embodiment of anxiety, and so on. Moon? Prankster, gremlin, sleepy, calm, collected, grumpy, silly, catlike, etc. I love it when they get along and I love it when they don’t. I have so many feelings about them both and it’s less that I want to know the truth about them (if there is such a thing) and more I just like exploring every avenue because they’re just really fun and fascinating characters.

And THAT SYMBOLISM. Wow. The sun and moon themes give you so much to play around with. So many metaphors and so many things you can plaster the surfaces of your house or the background of your phone with that make you think of them. The moon’s phases. The way the sun sets earlier in the winter. Would Sun get tired more easily in the winter? Does Moon have a blue moon phase that makes him feel down at the drop of a hat? Because same, guys, same.

Not getting over these guys any time soon I guess.

[loveandmurders]

The Sun of Ambrose V (lost Sinclair!daughter reader AU)

Hi everyone, this is the final part of my Sinclair!daughter AU in which the reader is Bo's daughter and she has been taken away and adopted by a new family.

You can find part I here.

Hope you'll enjoy! <3

Warnings: no proof reading, killer!reader, mentions of guilt, violence, murders, blood, some sort of dark angst/comfort

You quite enjoyed your summer break in Ambrose. You loved to sculpt with Vincent, you loved to watch your dad work on a car and to have him show you things, you loved to wander around with Lester. You loved to play with Jonesy as well. Everything felt good. You never slept so well in years, because you were finally feeling safe enough to fully relax.

You hadn’t asked about the tourists anymore because you didn’t have enough strength for more drama for the moment. And whenever people were coming around, the brothers made sure you were busy somewhere else in the town or with Lester. You pretended you didn’t notice anything. You just wanted to be happy. 

And for the moment, your own desire to kill has quieted down. You were still feeling sick from the murder of your mother.

The brothers didn’t notice anything amiss; apart from the fact they still hadn’t heard the sound of your voice, you were once again their ray of sunshine. You were making them so full of joy. The twins were talking, late in the night, about the legacy once again. They hadn’t thought they could resume their plans on this matter. They were so relieved.

However they were a little bit concerned about your adoptive father. They were certain that even if the man wasn’t doing too well for the moment, at some point he would want to get “his daughter” back. The twins had no idea how to cut him out of your life without killing him. Bo would love to murder him - out of jealousy - but he knew that you would know it one day, and he didn’t want to upset you that way. Both your mothers already died after all…

You were having a snack in Bo’s garage while he was taking care of a new car. You were sucking on the chocolate that dripped on your fingers, as you were listening to the music your father put on. You were both enjoying each other's presence even if you weren’t interacting directly. Bo was always a lot more at ease when you were in the same room than him or at least in his line of vision. He was still traumatised; he lost you once, and he promised himself it would never happen again.

You slightly jumped when you felt your phone buzzing next to you. You grabbed it and frowned when you saw it was your adoptive father. Bo noticed the look on your face.

“What’s up, baby?” he asked you as he came closer to you. You put your phone on your lap so you could sign

“He is wondering where I am.” you replied, knowing Bo would understand who was the “he”. You father rolled his eyes and groaned

“Oh so he remembered he's supposed to look after ya?” he ironized and your crossed your arms on your chest “Don’t pout” he hummed and kissed the top of your head

“I’ll have to tell him I’m here. I can’t lie to him about that. Just be nice to him, okay? Things are difficult and… And he won’t be happy about the situation because…” you trailed off

“Because what?”

“Well before mom got sick, she discovered I was chatting with you and Vince and Les, and she was worried about me. She wanted to call the cops on you” you explained. Bo didn’t show any emotion but you read in his eyes that he was quite concerned about such news

“Luckily she got sick then” he commented out loud before realising it “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean it like that” he quickly added as you looked away. Luck had really nothing to do with it, you thought.

“Anyway, I will tell him I’m here. And he’ll probably come get me. I’m just gonna make sure he doesn’t call the police or anyone” you promised as you got up and left the garage

You needed to be alone to write to your adoptive father: “Hey dad, are you feeling better? I didn’t really have anywhere to go so I went back to Ambrose. Everyone is very nice to me and Bo is inviting you over (so please don’t call the police, they really didn’t do anything wrong!). Will you bring me back home?”

The answer was almost instantaneous: “Yes, I will. I won’t call the police because I shouldn’t have asked you to go away in the first place. Love you, I’m sorry for everything”

You were relieved, knowing he wouldn’t be lying to you, not after what happened, not when he had failed his mission of taking care of you.

You came back home and settled at the kitchen table, thinking about what to do next. You didn’t want to leave Ambrose but you wouldn’t be allowed to stay here. You tried to busy yourself on some silly games on your phone but soon enough you grew bored. You were feeling quite upset as well. For the first time in weeks, you wanted to kill someone. You needed to express yourself in another way than sculpting or drawing. You needed to take out your frustration on someone, but there was no one to kill here.

Vincent opened the basement door, in need of some water when he saw you. He quickly saw you weren’t your usual happy self. He put an hand on your shoulder for you to look up at him before signing:

“What’s wrong?”

“My adoptive father will come get me. I think he should be here tonight” you replied

“Do you want to go?” Vincent tilted his head to the head, you quickly shook your head

“No, but I can’t really do anything about it”

You could tell that Vincent wanted to say something but didn’t dare and he simply sadly nodded his head at you.

“How about we make something together? Would it cheer you up?” he offered, which made you smile

“I’d love to”

As you focused on the art you were making with Vincent, you forgot about your adoptive father and you forgot about the time. Your need to kill quietened down, but was still there, waiting for you to be on your own to eat you up alive once again.

You were about to finish a sculpture of Jonesy you intended to offer to Lester, when you heard two vehicles coming into Ambrose. You looked at the window, but didn’t recognise your adoptive father’s car. There were lost “tourists” who were following behind Lester’s truck. Vincent tensed and looked at the clock before asking you:

“When do you think your adoptive father will come here?”

“I’m not sure, soon I guess” you shrugged but you saw the panic rising into Vincent’s eye

“Alright. I let you finish the sculpture without me. We have work to do. Stay here, please.” Vincent replied

“What work?” you frowned

“Promise me you will stay here” Vincent asked, firmly signing each work. You understood he was pretty serious about it

“Of course, I promise you, uncle” you finally replied as you sat back down and watched Vincent leave the room and go back into the basement.

You were about to go back to your sculpture when you heard people violently arguing. The “tourists” didn’t seem to be too happy with Bo. Lester was quick to intervene as well. You watched the scene of a man pushing Lester to the ground, and Bo hitting the said man. Your eyes widened at such a display of violence. You nibbled on your bottom lip. Were your family killers, or was it just bad people disrupting the peace of Ambrose?

You saw that things were getting pretty rough between the three tourists and your father and uncle. You wondered where Vincent was, and almost got into the basement to look for him… Until you saw your adoptive father’s car coming into view. He really couldn’t have arrived at the worst moment. He stopped in front of the garage and tried to put himself between Bo and the man, and to appease the situation. Bo asked him to go away, you guessed, according to his gestures. And your adoptive father refused.

You were too far away to see everything, and even more when they seemed to come more into Bo’s garage. You just knew that at some point someone screamed. Two tourists ran away, Lester ran after them with what seemed like a knife, and Bo was covered in blood. You had to stop yourself from leaving the house. You wanted to help, and you wanted to be the one covered in blood. However, you never broke a promise you made to your family before, so you had to be better, you had to stay inside. You didn’t know where your adoptive father was anymore and you grew worried. How could things go so badly after such happy weeks in Ambrose?

Bo grabbed a rifle and was about to go after the tourists when he received a massive hit on the head from behind and fell on the ground. You saw your adoptive father with some mechanic tool in his hands.

You couldn’t stop yourself this time. You took the gun Bo was hiding under his armchair and ran to the garage. You had to stop them, you had to do something about it. You couldn’t scream or you would have. Your legs brought you in front of the two men with such speed, as the adrenaline was pumping into your veins. Before you knew it, you aimed at them.

Your adoptive father who was ready to hit Bo stopped his movement as he noticed you and he brought his hands in front of him. Bo was still on the ground, pretty disoriented by the hit he received on the head. He looked up and saw you. You had never looked so much like a Sinclair before. He knew you were his daughter then; he wouldn’t even be disappointed if you decided to kill him.

You were perfect.

“What are you doing? Shoot him, shoot him! He killed the guy, and he wants to kill us all. Your mother was right, they are murderers!” you adoptive father yelled as you eyes moved between him and Bo

“I won’t hurt ya, baby” Bo whispered to you “Everythin’s alright” he continued, trying to sooth you. And one thing was certain, you wouldn’t stand to never hear him talking to you like that anymore.

You looked back at your adoptive father, tears in your eyes. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were about what you were going to do, about what you did to his wife, but with the gun in your hands, you couldn’t.

You shooted and closed your eyes. His body loudly fell to the ground and you shivered. You looked down at Bo and helped him to get up.

He quickly hugged you before gently rocking you, so you could calm down. You didn’t cry in his embrace, you felt at peace. You felt like everything was as it always should have been.

“Ya alright?” Bo whispered to you as he cupped your face into his bloody hands. You nodded and sniffed.

Screams resonated from the House of Wax and you moved from Bo. You were ready to help, you were ready to kill some more but Bo grabbed your wrist. He softly took the gun from you and kissed the palm of your hand.

“Don’t worry, baby. Les and Vince are taking care of the two others. Ya can rest now. Ya did amazin’. Ya saved me, ya saved the family” he hummed, pride shining into his eyes. “Told ya everythin’ was gonna be alright,” he added as he brought you back against him once again.

You couldn’t fully relax, not knowing if your uncles were doing alright. You kept your face towards the House of Wax, waiting for them. Soon enough, you saw them pulling two bodies out of the museum and you felt the adrenaline leaving you.

“I need to sit down” you signed to your dad who quickly nodded. He opened Lester’s truck and sat you down at the passenger seat, as it was the most comfy place he could offer for the moment. He didn’t want you to see the body of your adoptive father either.

“Stay here, I’ll be back soon” he murmured. He needed to let his brothers know about what happened. 

Soon enough, they were all around you. You quickly scanned them, to make sure they were unharmed. They didn’t really know what to tell you. They were happy, of course, but they weren’t too sure how you were feeling. You killed the man who raised you for years, after all.

Truth to be told, you used to feel guilty because of the death of his wife that was driving him crazy, but now they were back together. You felt free. You felt ready to kill again, to kill for the family business.

“Bo told us ya did the right thin’” Lester told you and you gave him a soft smile “Feelin’ all good?” he asked and you nodded.

“You don’t have to feel bad for having… killed him, you know. You protected your real father, you protected us. You did what you had to do” Vincent signed to you, even if Bo and Lester weren’t too sure that reminding you you killed him was a good idea. To their surprise, you relaxed into the seat and nodded again.

“I am a Sinclair” you said in a rough voice you hadn’t used in years.

--

Taglist : @murder-hobo - @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21 ; @12gaugefalls ; @kriston1210 ; @slushi-chan

[quoththemaiden]

A short (~1k) scene inspired by Chapter 9 of @mrghostrat's absolutely glorious Big Name Feelings human AU fic. Hope you like arms?

"C'mon, angel, not even gonna crack a smile at that one? Whales, get it? Whales."

Aziraphale felt like his cheeks were on fire from trying to keep a straight face at Crowley's increasingly terrible puns. "I would hate to tacitly encourage this behavior."

"Pfft, you love it." Crowley grinned at him, far past being undaunted and fully into the realm of being energized by Aziraphale's failed attempts at stoicism.

"You're utterly ridiculous." Aziraphale didn't even bother trying to make it sound like an insult, and the half of the screen taken up by his webcam made it clear his cheeks were as pink as they felt. "And I can't help but feel like you're stalling. Hadn't we agreed to be actually productive today?" Aziraphale didn't mind, really; he did want to keep making steady progress on his art, but if his life could consist of coming home from work and just unwinding with Crowley...

...but, well, that wasn't the purpose of this call.

Crowley groaned. "Yeah, yeah. What a taskmaster."

"It is my job to protect you from rabid fans, after all," Aziraphale teased right back.

"O Brave Guardian, protect me from procrastination!"

"That sounds rather harder than a dragon, I'm afraid. But if you don't get to work, I won't be able to work either, and then you won't get to see the finished piece."

"Urk—" Crowley made a strangled noise and finally reached for his mouse. "You'll actually be working on it?"

Aziraphale nodded before adjusting his webcam to show his tablet a bit more. "I really need to get more practice with this, to get half as confident as I am with physical paints."

"I've seen the drawings you've done! They're fucking brilliant."

Aziraphale laughed. "You've said that about everything I've shown you. I'm starting to think I should send you some stick figures as a test."

"Those would be the most adorable fucking stick figures ever. You could draw a whole comic of just stick figures and I'd reblog it a hundred times."

"That's about what I'd expect you to say, yes." Crowley opened his mouth to protest that his compliments were always earnest, and Aziraphale cut him off. "Weren't you going to start writing?"

"Ngghh, right, yeah. Alright, lemme just pull up my docs and then we'll get started bodydoubling for real." Crowley clicked over to screenshare his window as he opened his fic notes. He'd long since stopped hiding anything from Aziraphale; getting to bounce ideas off of him was too invigorating, and his heart always sang at getting to write down his name with official beta credit. (He'd also long since stopped pretending to himself that he'd ever felt quite the same way about any other beta.)

"Good lord." Aziraphale sounded more than faintly appalled, and Crowley felt offended for a moment before taking a proper look at what was on his screen. It was currently showing the notes he'd made at 3 AM this morning, when he'd woken up from a dream and jotted down what had, at the time, felt like a brilliant scene. As always, he'd had his eyes mostly-closed the whole time and his swipes had been clumsy at best, but as long as it got the general point across, he was always satisfied. It only wound up being a usable scene about half the time, but he wasn't about to turn down free inspiration when he could get it. He quickly read through the imagery he'd written down.

They switch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the still morning sunlight they could set the witchfinder still sleeping cloudy enough to touch: his head ears cradled on his arms, the  misos slack with sleep but still clearly there under surface. The words knew from experience that if he were awakened stable the strength would flour back into them in an instant ray for a fight. The wishes couldn't help but think odd other things they might but tray for as well

Crowley paled. "I— that—"

"I mean, it's. Well. It's rather avant-garde."

Crowley froze. "I, uh—"

"'The misos?' And 'flour?'"

Crowley stuttered out of his bluescreen and hastily opened another tab, the screenshare automatically switching over. Aziraphale had read it, but he clearly hadn't actually understood it. As long as he didn't give him enough time to crack the cipher that was 3 AM notetaking, Crowley could bluff his way through it. "Zuh. Yeah. Wrote that down in the middle of the night when I got an idea of where I wanted to start the next scene off."

"And you could recognize any of that?" The camera jostled a little as Aziraphale shook his head. "I suppose I wouldn't do any better if I tried sketching out an idea in the dark." He picked up his stylus and started doodling simple shapes, warming up and re-acclimatizing himself to the responsiveness of the device. He was still getting used to the new medium, but he was finally starting to see a path forward to making a digital art style that felt authentically his own.

"Yessss." Crowley bit his tongue to cut off the guilty hissing. It definitely didn't help that the webcam was doing a very awkward job of catching the tablet screen but showed a very distracting hint of Aziraphale's forearms. The forearms he had, at 3 AM, apparently woken up from a dream about and been so inspired by that he'd felt the need to immortalize them in fanfiction.

"Well, I shall be interested in seeing how that gets transformed into comprehensible English."

"Right, definitely." Crowley was typing gibberish and backspacing over it quickly, more to hide how much attention he was having to devote to this conversation than out of an actual need to warm up his fingers. "Right, definitely focusing on writing now!"

Aziraphale laughed as he cleared his tablet screen and pulled up his WIP, shifting into concentration mode himself. He did enjoy the early days they had spent where their hours of "bodydoubling" were really nothing more than talking and laughing together, but being able to be quietly productive with someone else, knowing they were there with you without needing to be in the same room, that they were sharing your same wavelength without needing to say a word... that simple sense of togetherness brought with it such a deep feeling of comfort that he thought it might be an even more profound, longer-lasting sense of joy than their early days of giddy laughter had given. The strokes of his stylus turned smoother and more confident as he got into the flow, his eyes focused on his own screen and only vaguely aware of the lines of text growing across Crowley's.

Eventually, Crowley calmed down as well, and the text growing on his screen even started to make sense. And he made sure it had absolutely nothing to do with forearms.

--

Translation of the deleted 3 AM scene:

The witch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the early morning sunlight, they could see the witchfinder still sleeping close enough to touch. His head was cradled on his arms, the muscles slack with sleep but still clearly there under the surface. The witch knew from experience that if he were awakened, the strength would flow back into them in an instant, ready for a fight. The witch couldn't help but think of other things they might be ready for as well.

[knightmareaceblue]

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.

Mango’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. She’d been disappointed to have lost the final round of the tournament, of course, but the young stick had always rebounded quickly. She’d wiped her eyes, offered a handshake to the kindly Ruby kid who’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 child’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 stick’s chest at the thought. The day he’d be without his child was still a long ways away, but he knew he’d never be prepared for Gold’s inevitable departure from the nest and into the greater world. He couldn’t even begin to imagine a life without her.

“Woohoo!” 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 child’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. “Easy there, honey.” He gently scolded, taking the trophy into his own arms. It wasn’t particularly large, only about as long as Mango’s forearm, but it was more than heavy enough to break something if Gold got overexcited and began swinging it around. “Let’s put this somewhere we can show it off, eh?”

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.

“Okay, okay!” 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. “But I’m not stopping here! Next tournament’s in six months, and this time-” Her first pumped excitedly in the air, “-Gold’s going for the gold! You’re gonna be so proud!”

“I’m already proud!” Mango insisted joyfully, delighting in Gold’s squeal as he scooped his kid into a firm embrace and spun them around, “You worked so hard for this, I’d be proud even if you got last place!”

Gold’s only response to Mango’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 Mango’s comprehension. Just watching that final round had made Mango tired.

But still, he kept his chin up as he informed the younger stick, “After all that hard work today, I think it’s only fair that I let you choose dinner tonight. You can have anything you want-”

“Secret ingredient pie!” Gold cheered, throwing her arms up in celebration.

Mango frowned, annoyed for more reasons than that he’d have to throw together the family-famous, overly complicated secret ingredient pie. “-Anything you want that’s an actual dinner food.” He amended. “I’ll make the pie for dessert later, but you need to eat real food too, honey.”

“Aww.” Gold groaned, momentarily put out, before springing right back up. “Tacos, then?”

“Tacos sound good.” Agreed Mango, already compiling a list of ingredients in his head. “I’ll need to grab a few things from the store, but that shouldn’t take too long-”

“Wait!”

Mango had not taken but three steps towards the door when his child’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 didn’t miss a beat, immediately hopping back and holding out the camera for her father to take.

“We gotta take one more picture!” The younger stick insisted, “You took like a million pictures of me at the tournament, but we don’t have any of us together!”

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 Gold’s triumphant smile at the podiums, there were none of the two together. Of course there weren’t. This was Gold’s special moment, Gold’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 wasn’t sharing in this victory with her was… just so Gold.

How a stick like him ended up with a kid like her he’d never know.

“So we don’t!” Mango agreed lightheartedly, playfully tussling the kid’s hair. “Go get your trophy, we’ll take one real quick before I head out.”

While she did just that, Mango took the time to adjust the settings on the camera so the indoor photos wouldn’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 Mango’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, “Say cheese!”

Trophy held high above her head, Gold cheekily replied, “Mascarpone!”

A click, a flash, and the moment was captured forever.

Gold snatched the camera out of Mango’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 child’s frown. Logically he knew that he couldn’t just magically make everything in her life all sunshine and rainbows all the time. That just wasn’t realistic. But knowing this didn’t stop the curdling in his stomach at the thought that something in her life just wasn’t perfect, or the urge to fix it, no matter what it took.

“Honey?” He asked gently, “What’s the matter? Did the photo not come out right?” He leaned over her shoulder to take a look himself.

Gold didn’t resist, tilting the camera so her father could see the picture. “There’s something else in the background. I thought it might be a smudge, but… it has eyes…”

Mango didn’t need his child to point out the problem with the picture – he could easily see it for himself. At first glance it did indeed look like a bit of grime had gotten on the camera’s lens, but a closer look indicated that this wasn’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 Mango’s entire body to stiffen.

It was like it was… staring at him through the camera.

Unease stole the breath from Mango’s lungs, leaving him unable to vocalize his confusion. There was nothing like that… thing in their home. He was certain there wasn’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 Mango’s expression matched his child’s confusion, “What is that-?

A strange noise, like the distorted buzzing of television static, drew the tall stick’s attention back to the photo. Mango’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 Mango’s spine. “Delete the picture. Now.”

The sudden command – or maybe the unnaturally stern tone in which it fell from Mango’s lips – caused Gold to jump, briefly fumbling with the camera as her little fingers search desperately for the delete button. When Mango’s eyes connected again with the picture, he could feel his heart stop as the ghostly image’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, its hand extending to grab rather than invite. Gold’s fingers found the delete button, but one tap did nothing. The second tap did nothing. Third, fourth, fifth… 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-

“It’s not working!” Gold’s obvious panic jolted Mango’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 camera’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.

-------------------

“-And we’ll finish this off with some fresh basil on top. Then, voila! The perfect lasagna!” 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 – 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 ‘Old Man’, as they oh so affectionately called him, could do no wrong. It melted Mango’s heart, and he’d often wonder if Purple was doing this to him on purpose.

He wasn’t the same stick he’d been on the day he’d lost his child, and he’d never be again, but slowly, surely, Purple was helping Mango grow into somebody new. That was a debt he’d never be able to repay.

Purple hummed over the meal, inspecting it exaggerated scrutiny. “Not bad, not bad…” They agreed, nodding in approval, “But it’s missing a little something…”

“Oh?” 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 he’d ever put in his mouth. Never in his life did Mango think he’d become a gambling man, and yet, here he was.

“Yeah, I think it could use a little…” Purple quickly whipped a white bottle from behind their back. A wild grin spread across their face as they held it precariously over tonight’s dinner, “MAYONNAISE!”

“NO!” 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 Purple’s lips. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” They assured him between chortles. The kid laughed like a jackal, far louder and scratchier than Gold’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.

“You’d better be.” Mango warned with faux gruffness in his tone. “You’re enough of a heathen as it is. There’s only so much blasphemy one stick can take in his own home.”

“Hmph.” Purple huffed dismissively at him, the effect somewhat diminished by the wide grin they couldn’t keep off their face. “If you ask me, you don’t blaspheme enough. Still,” A subtle change in Purple’s demeanor signaled the end of the game. Mango let himself relax and lean against the counter, confident that Purple wouldn’t destroy their dinner now that they’ve had their fun, “we haven’t even put this in the oven yet, and it looks incredible! I didn’t realize cooking was so much fun!”

Honestly, neither had Mango, before Gold’s presence had forced him to make the jump from an all-instant food diet to cooking from scratch. “It’s quite relaxing.” Mango agreed. “If you’re interested, I can teach you to make all sorts of new stuff.”

“Oh?” 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 Mango’s heart. “Then maybe… maybe you could teach me how to make your secret ingredient pie?”

Mango tried not to wince, but couldn’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 Gold’s second place trophy being completely out-shined by her smile as she playfully pushed the trophy into her father’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 was… fine, as far as pies went. Sweet and soft, with a hint of tartness. Nothing you couldn’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 father’s heels and tug at his pants, begging to lick the spoon or mix the filling. With age Gold’s interest in the pie hadn’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, he’d say. I’ll do it later. Maybe next time, again and again, and then…

And then Gold was gone. There would be no more ‘next time’.

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 yet…

“Well, it’s… a bit much for your first time baking.” Mango waved away Purple’s request with a too wide smile. His cheeks hurt from forcing his grin so large. “Why don’t we start with something simpler… like cupcakes?”

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. “I do like cupcakes…” They brought their eyes up to meet Mango’s, and the sheer affection reflected back at him, even after being denied, was almost too much for his heart.

“Then we can make cupcakes tonight.” 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. “AFTER you finish cleaning the kitchen, of course.”

“Aww, what?!” Purple whined.

“Well, I warned you, didn’t I?” Mango laughed off the complete horror on Purple’s face at the prospect of doing their daily chores. “I told you, ‘it’s your turn to clean the kitchen, so think carefully about what we cook’, and you still chose lasagna for dinner.”

An adorable pout was the only response Purple had for Mango’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. “Old man~!”

“No.” Mango responded coolly, slipping and letting his smile show at Purple’s aghast expression.

“But- but- we both made the mess, so we should both clean it up!” They argued back.

Already the older stick was shaking his head. “Nope. We already agreed on a chore schedule, and I’ve done all my chores for today, including cleaning up many of your messes. You can’t change the rules now just because they don’t suit you anymore.”

With that the oven timer dinged, and Mango redirected his attention back to tonight’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. “So not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, kiddo.” Mango replied back, slamming the door to the oven shut. “Get used to it.”

The kitchen then went silent, save for Purple’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 Mango’s kitchen like a tornado, sucking Purple in as the colourful gang that made up Purple’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 he’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 Purple’s shoulders in greeting.

Now, Mango didn’t necessarily dislike the kids. He honestly thought their positive and forgiving nature was a good influence on Purple. That said… “How the hell did you all get into my house?” He demanded flatly.

Yellow grinned back at him, using Purple as an armrest to prop herself up. “You left the front window unlocked.” She informed him breezily, entirely too calm.

“I did not.” 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.

“Not the bottom front window.” Blue chimed in, pointing to the clerestory window just above the front entrance. Sure enough, the thing was open, but Mango was absolutely certain he’d have heard the kids come in through that thing. They were many things, Purple’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. Mango’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 group’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.

“Whoops!” Red ran forward to scoop his precious pet up. “Sorry Purple! Reuben hasn’t seen you in a while, so he got a little too excited, didn’t you boy?” Red’s voice went high-pitched and cooing as he praised his pig. “Yes, you did! Yes you did, you silly little man!” Purple could only laugh at the tone of Red’s voice and continue to scratch the top of the pig’s head.

As precious as the moment was, Mango couldn’t even bring himself to savour it before reality caught up with him. “Oh no,” He interrupted, pushing himself to the center of the crowd. “No, you all know the rules: No Minecraft stuff on the main floor! Keep it in the basement, or take it home!”

Red gasped, holding the pig close. “Reuben’s not a stuff! He’s a member of the family, aren’t you boy?” Red scratched under the pig’s head as Purple scratched its ears, utterly lavishing it in attention.

“I don’t care if its your twin!” Interrupted Mango. “I’m not getting arrested for video game smuggling because of you chuckleheads!” Back during the ‘Plan’, Mango hadn’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 – this was Purple’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. “It stays in the basement, or it goes home. Pick one.”

Red made a show of his reluctant acceptance, sighing theatrically as he picked up his pet. “I’m so sorry, Reuben.” Sobbed the sorrowful stick, clutching the pig close as if this were a eulogy and not just sticking it in the basement. “You’re just too much pure goodness for this… sinful world!”

The display had even Purple, monarch of melodrama themselves, rolling their eyes. “We’ll go down and spend some quality time with him later.” They promised, “We can… uh, play catch?” They suddenly looked a little lost, “Do pigs like catch?”

This seemed to be enough to placate Red, for now. As they walked towards the basement, Mango turned to Yellow. “And you-”

“Staff’s already down there.” Yellow promised, briefly flicking through her inventory to demonstrate its emptiness. “Teleported it when we got here, don’t worry.”

That suited Mango perfectly fine. In addition to the whole not being arrested thing, he’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 – anyone – for Gold’s fate. By the time he’d realized what he’d done, Mango had nearly lost a second child, and almost killed Notch knows how many innocents.

So, needless to say, he’d prefer to not have to look at that thing.

By this point Red and Purple had returned, sans pig. Green’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, who’d taken advantage of Red’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 Mango’s head. “Did you kids, uh… want to stay for dinner?” A whole lasagna was probably enough to feed all seven of them. Though he’d hoped to have leftovers for the next few days, Mango supposed he could make the sacrifice. For Purple’s sake. “We’re having lasagna.”

Blue’s eyes immediately lit up in interest. “Ooh~! Lasagna! That’s a recipe I don’t have yet!” As if by magic, a pencil and paper appeared in Blue’s hands. “I’ve been meaning to try recreating a dish from taste alone. I bet I can identify all the ingredients-”

“The food can wait!” Unable to contain the excitement he’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 stick’s hand to pull them forward. “We came here because we have big news! Huge news! GIGANTIC news! And you’ll never guess what it is!”

Purple squirmed back and forth in the other’s hold. “Uhh…” They leaned away from Green’s entirely too close face, and Mango took that as his cue to intervene before the kid exploded from embarrassment or something.

“Go on, guess!” Insisted the green stick, his hold on Purple not loosening until Mango’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. “Just get to the point.” Mango insisted for all of their sakes.

The denial didn’t do anything to diminish Green’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 didn’t know know these kids quite as well as Purple did, but he’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 distress…? Combined with the excitement of the other four sticks, Mango could hear the alarm bells getting louder.

Oblivious to their friend’s blatant discomfort, Green blurted out, “We just found out… that Sec has super powers!”

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, “Yo, what?!” 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 principle’s office. “Yeah, heh. Surprise…”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” Purple’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 Second’s face, bouncing energetically on their toes as they eagerly questioned, “What kind of powers? What can you do?”

“Oh, you know, just the typical stuff…” Second trailed off, their eyes focusing on a spot on the ceiling instead of Purple’s wide, bright expression. “Flying, telekinesis, healing, electricity… uh, eye lasers…”

Each item added to the list only caused Purple’s smile to grow and grow, until a wide grin was stretched across their face. In any other circumstance such a look would cause Mango’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, “You HAVE to show them off!”

A cacophony of agreements came from the rest of Second’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 Second’s powers, and that caused a pit of dread to form in Mango’s stomach. This was a recipe for disaster.

Hurriedly, he tried to speak up, “I don’t think-”

Mango’s attempt to interrupt was completely bowled over by Purple in their excitement. “What should we have you do?” They wondered aloud. “Maybe we can set up some targets for you to shoot down?” The other kids seemed eager, nodding along to that idea. “Or you can race me flying with my elytra! Or-!” Purple suddenly gasped, hands covering their mouth as they smiled wider, “Or you can use your powers to clean up our entire kitchen!”

For a brief moment, annoyance trounced Mango’s anxiety, “Purple, that’s your chore for the day. You can’t just use your friends to do your chores for you.”

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. “Please, won’t you clean the kitchen? Pretty, pretty please?”

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 Second’s inner turmoil, each of their friends began pilling into them, begging incessantly.

“Come on, please~!” Red whined, pulling on Second’s arm.

“I’ll make you all the cookies!” Blue promised from their other side, pushing her head into the crook of their neck. “Like, so many cookies!”

“With that much stuff? It’ll be epic to see if flying all around!” Yellow mused. “I bet with enough practice you could pull off a ‘Wizard’s Apprentice’!” Her arms flapped at the thought, “Ooh, man! That would be the coolest!”

“You gotta show Purple what you can do!” Green pleaded, giving Second a sorrowful pout that would put even Purple’s best acting to shame. “Please! Please! Please! PLEASE!”

The kid demonstrated an iron will as they shook off their friend’s clutching hands and pleading eyes to put some distance between them. “Guys, I dunno…” Second kept their eyes away from their friends, focusing instead on a spot on the wall. “I’m still pretty new at this… and I don’t want to mess anything up…”

Despite their clear reluctance, Second’s friends kept egging them on, and Mango stepped forward to put a hand on Second’s shoulder. “I agree.” He stated, giving the kids a glare when they started to protest. “These powers sound like they’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.”

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. “On second thought, let’s do it.”

“What?!” 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. This… 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 with…

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 he’d faced previously, Mango tried one more time to talk sense into Purple’s friends. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

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 Mango’s interference. After a moment of silence, Second responded. “Yeah, I know. But it’s fine. I can do this.” Second looked down at their own hands, gaze unfocused. “I can do this.”

Second’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 Second’s body to spread across Mango’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, Second’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 – 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 Second’s sparking power had turned off the gravity.

In spite of his early complaints, Mango couldn’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 Yellow’s mumbling as she thought aloud to herself. There was buzzing on Mango’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 Purple’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.

Second’s power soon brought order to the chaos they’d made of Mango’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 everyone’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.

“Hydrokinesis!” Yellow gasped. “That’s a new one!”

The scratching sound of pencil meeting paper was only barely audible over Blue’s inquiry, “Is it really hydrokinesis, though?” She scratched her chin, “Or just… telekinesis used on water?”

“Is there a difference?” Red asked.

All three of them were immediately hushed by Green, “Let them do their thing.’ He scolded roughly. Mango hadn’t considered that there was a second in command among the group of friends, but given how everyone immediately shut up at Green’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 Second’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 Second’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 Second’s power crawled across it, and combined with the jade sparks of lightning that flowed freely through the room, it completely transformed Mango’s kitchen into a much larger, more ominous space. Mango’s fingers twitched, itching with sudden nerves, and to sooth them he reached around Blue to take one of Purple’s hands. Though he couldn’t see Purple’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, Second’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 Second’s power.

“Ahh!” They cried out, startled by the mistake. Immediately Second’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. “Uhh, d-don’t worry, I can fix it!”

The change of attitude caught them all off guard, and Mango’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. “Hey, dude, it’s okay-”

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. Second’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.

“Sec! Stop!” 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 Mango’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. “Dude!” Purple called over the noise. At this point the chaos had created a cacophony so loud Mango could barely hear the kid over it. “You need to calm down! You’re gonna destroy the entire house at this rate!”

The loud hiss of, “Purple!” 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.

“H-hey!” Blue worked her way in front of the group, hands held out placatingly in front of her. “Second, try and focus on me, okay? It’s going to be alright. I’m going to approach now – slowly.” 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, “I’m going to make my way to you, and you’re going to calm down, and nobody’s going to get hurt. We’re going to be fine.”

And, for a brief moment, it seemed like she was right. Second’s eyes were glued to her approaching form, and the sight of her smile eased the tension from their body.

“Look out!” 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 towards… towards the photo on the wall-!

Mango’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 he’d released Purple’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 Gold’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, “No, no, this is okay, I can fix it, it’ll all be fine, I can fix it… I-I can fix it…!” 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.

“Kid, hold up-” 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.

“I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it…!” The haphazard promises fell from Second’s lips along with their labored breaths. Then they clutched their head and screamed, “I CAN FIX IT-!”

An explosion of emerald light knocked everyone back. Mango’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 Second’s power poke out of the squall before being sucked back in.

Mango barely had a minute to take in the catastrophe that Second’s show had become before the kids’ chatter redirected his attention. “Okay, let’s not panic!” Yellow instructed, pushing her glasses up as she picked herself off the ground. “We can- uh, we got this! If we just ground the lightning-”

“Ground it with what?!” Red snapped back, gesturing wildly at the mess in front of them. “Sec’s power isn’t like normal lightning, that wouldn’t work!”

“And you have any better ideas?!” Purple demanded. Thankfully for Mango’s poor heart, the kid stayed down close to the ground, even as they joined in the argument.“We can’t just do nothing!”

Blue joined Yellow’s side quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “It-It’s just because Sec’s panicking! We just need to wait for them to calm down, and-”

“And what, just leave them like this until then?!” Yellow questioned sharply, causing Blue to flinch back. If Yellow noticed, it didn’t show on her face. “I am not going to abandon them! Not after everything, I can’t-!”

Everyone seemed to wince in response to Yellow’s outcry, and the following tense silence was quickly filled with a pitiful, mournful wailing from the kitchen. The sound seemed to echo in Mango’s head, plucking at the strings of his heart painfully. And he barely knew Second; he couldn’t imagine how this must feel to the kids, who had known The Second Coming for their entire life.

A hitched breath drew Mango’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. Green’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. “Screw it,” He said, and that was the only warning any of them had before he charged forward. “Hang on, Sec! I’m coming!”

Everyone watched him disappear into the chaos in stunned silence, before Yellow gritted her teeth and shouted, “Don’t worry, we’re on our way!” 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, “It’s going to be okay, Second! We’re on our way!” as she barreled ahead.

Movement at his side jolted Mango’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 Mango’s lungs in his chest. All air escaped him in one startled gasp. Purple’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.

“No!” Mango managed to force out, leaping to grasp Purple’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 Mango’s hold. “What are you doing?!” They asked, voice laden with desperation and fear in equal measure, and it only made Mango hold on all the tighter. “We- I have to get in there! Sec needs us- needs me!”

“I need you!” Mango forced out in a single, painful gasp. “I- I can’t lose another…! I’m not going to let you run to your death!”

Though the slip up made Purple’s expression soften some, they still held firm. “If we do nothing, then Sec’ll, like, I don’t know, explode or something! Then we’ll all die!” Instead of trying to get away, Purple clasped Mango’s hand with their other, meeting the taller stick's gaze with fire alight in their eyes. “I can do this! I promise, nothing will happen to me!”

Mango glanced down at their intertwined hands, Purple’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 Mango’s chest was extinguished. With a deep breath and one final look into those pleading eyes, Mango relented. “Okay,” He said, but refused to release Purple’s hands. Instead he pulled the both of them up to a standing position. “Then we’ll go together.”

After a serious nod, Purple broke the tension with a playful wink. “Try to keep up, Old Man.” 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 Second’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 Purple’s hands slipped from Mango, and a near heart attack was mitigated when he looked back to see Purple pulling Red down from where he’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.

“We can’t get close!” Red yelled over the rushing tempest. “We keep getting knocked back by all the stuff flying around!”

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. “Then how are we supposed to get through…?”

Yellow’s shout, barely audible above the roaring winds, drew Mango’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. “This isn’t working!” He scolded, sounding angrier in his attempt to yell over the hurricane. “We have to try something else!”

“Well, what else can we do?!” Blue asked tearfully. In lieu of an answer he couldn’t give, Green instead took hold of her hand.

The gears in Mango’s head began to turn. They couldn’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 wouldn’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 Mango’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, “I have an idea!” Everyone looked up at him, all of the young sticks suffering various degrees of battery from their attempts to reach Second. “All five of you, huddle together and move in tandem! If you keep a firm hold of each other and work as a unit, you’ll be able to stand against the wind!”

“But what about all the stuff flying around?!” 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.

“I’ll take care of that.” He assured the children as he turned to them, forcing down the anxiety and pressure he felt and forcing up an encouraging grin. “You all just focus on getting Second out of there.”

Purple swallowed down their nerves before matching Mango’s smile. “Just be careful, Old Man. I’m not taking care of you if you throw your back out.”

Snorting, Mango turned away from the kids to focus on his job. “If you’re my nurse, I think I’ll take my chances with the lightning.” His voice then dropped, turning serious. “Now get moving!”

All of Mango’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. Purple’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 Purple’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.

“Just a little closer!” 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. “Just… a little…!”

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 they’d be fine from then on. A bone-deep ache made itself known as Mango let himself relax a touch, but he didn’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 cyclone’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 friends’ lives, the seedling began to sprout, bringing with it a harsh, ashy wind that left a bitter sensation on their skin. The photograph’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 Second’s body. With each forced beat the ache inside of them grew and spread. They were dying, Second’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 all… their… fault…

This wasn’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 Green’s body, or violet bruises ringing on their fists as they looked down at Red’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 they’d lose control, knew that this power would poison what they’d built, but they’d made the mistake of giving in, and now they were going to die.

They were going… to die…

All alone… after ruining everything…

They… they were… going to…

“Sec!” 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 Second’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 Second’s shining emerald gaze. “I’m here! I’ve got you!”

Stunned, Second couldn’t even bring themselves to return the embrace before another pair of arms forcibly wrapped around them. “Don’t worry, Sec!” Red assured through a large, vibrant grin. “It’s just a little thunder, nothing we can’t handle!”

Another jolt to their side signaled Yellow’s entrance, squeezing them so hard that rough burning churning within them was squeezed out, to be replaced a soft, bittersweet pressure. “Told ya, didn’t I?” Yellow asked, never once letting her hold loosen. “I’m not letting anything tear us apart.”

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. “I know you must feel so scared right now,” She consoled, her voice feather-light on their skin, “But you’re not alone – everyone’s here! We’re all here with you!”

Last but not least, Purple forced themselves into the hug by worming their way between the others to snake their arms around Second’s middle. “Pfft, if you’re trying to get rid of me,” They scolded jokingly, “It’s gonna be a lot harder than that, Sec.”

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 Second’s entire body, forcing out the various aches from all over. Second’s shoulders relaxed as they took in a deep breath. Oxygen hit their lungs for the first time since the picture broke. Second’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, they’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 couldn’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,

It’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 weren’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 Second’s attention was hyper-focused on the two upset figures, to the point where everything beyond them and the arms around Second’s waist disappeared from their mind. All they wanted was to give the two strangers a little taste of the comfort that everyone’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 one’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 further… further… just a bit more…

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 he’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 family’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 Green’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 Green’s growing headache.

Green forced down a swallow as he took in the wreckage. The memory of Sec’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 they’d all been having fun, and Second had finally begun to relax. He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, they were finally starting to accept themselves… 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 Purple’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. Yellow’s one leg was splayed out in front of them, and when Red made contact with her ankle she winced. Green couldn’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 Yellow’s care to Red, scanning across the room until he found Blue, also mostly unharmed, hovering anxiously over Second’s body with her hand on their neck.

The sight of his motionless friend caused Green’s breath to catch in his throat. No… were they… did he cause his best friend to…?

Mere moments later Blue’s shoulders relaxed and she visibly exhaled, a small smile forming under her tired eyes. Green echoed her relieved sigh. Second was… alive, at the very least.

In the little time between awakening and checking on his friends, the ringing in Green’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 and… something. Because they hadn’t moved Green had initially overlooked them, but following Mango’s gaze Green could see… 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. Mango’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 who’d almost killed them all than Purple’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 Mango’s distress.

“It’s finally happened!” Mango declared between laughs, his eyes completely glazing over with a sheen of distress. “I’ve finally gone insane!”

Purple, eyes wide, stepped in front of Mango with their arms stretched out in an attempt to placate him. “No, no!” They assured him, words rushed in their panic. “You’re not crazy, I promise, I see them too! P-please stop laughing-!”

“-I’m fine! I’m not the one who, exploded, you need to go help Blue-!”

Green winced, struggling to stay focused as everyone else’s voices began to pick up volume, fighting each other for his attention.

“Okay, c’mon, wake up-!”

“You can’t walk on that, are you nuts-!”

The voices pounded in Green’s ears to the rhythm of his racing heart.

“H-hey, come on, take some deep breaths-!”

“Seriously, let go-!”

“Please, Sec, please-!”

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.

“I- This isn’t real. There’s no way this is real, this has to be-!”

“C-come on, Old Man, focus-!”

“Yellow, will stop trying to-!”

“Get off of me-!”

“Come on, Blue, think-!”

“Will you all just SHUT UP?!” 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. “Yellow, let Red help you to the living room.”

“I’m fine-!” The injured stick tried to object.

Green immediately shut that down. “No, you’re not. If you were, you would have walked away from Red by now.” Green sighed. “Look, I don’t want to be mean, but if you try to walk on that ankle you’re going to make it worse. And the last thing we need right now is for things to get worse. It’ll only take a few moments for Red to help you walk to the armchair. Let him do that, and we won’t have to worry anymore, alright?”

Any protests died on Yellow’s lips as she absorbed Green’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 Red’s shoulders. The two began to stand in order to limp out of the room, and Green shifted his focus.

Mango’s breakdown had been halted by Green’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 Second’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 he’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 Green’s brain, but there were more important things to focus on at the moment.

“Once Red’s done helping Yellow,” 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. “He’ll help you guys get these two somewhere more comfortable. Should we put them in Mango’s room?”

A moment of silence fell over the two. Purple suddenly couldn’t meet Green’s eye, glancing awkwardly to the side, while Mango seemed to take a moment to process the question. Eventually, the old man answered, “We can put them in Gold’s room. It’s a little dusty, but it should be fine, I guess.”

Green cocked a brow at the taller stick. “Wait, Gold’s room…?” That answered some of Green’s questions and raised so many more, but for the moment Green restricted himself to the most important one. “There are only two bedrooms in this house. Where does Purple sleep?”

“I gave them my old room,” Mango answered without hesitation. Purple seemed to flinch at the confession, something like shame crossing their face. “These days I’m usually not sleeping through the whole night anyways, so I’m good with just the couch.”

Well, at least Purple had a real bedroom. Still, something about this revelation left a sour taste in Green’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 Red’s fast movements caused his head to spin.

“Uh, Red and I can handle, um, the old man- the other version of you, I mean.” Purple muttered, stumbling over their words. “You can take Gold- i-if you’re okay with that, that is.”

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, Mango’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched as he approached the two with heavy, slow steps. Gingerly he pulled back his other self’s arm to expose Gold, who stirred slightly but did not awaken. Mango’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 Mango’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. “Um, sorry.” Red scratched his head, a little awkward in the face of current tensions. “But, err, I don’t know where the bedrooms are, so I was thinking you could take the feet and direct us, and I’ll grab the head. You good with that?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 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 couldn’t slow down now. Not when he hadn’t even dealt with the worst of the damage he’d caused yet.

Taking only a moment for a calming breath, Green slowly waltzed over to Blue. She held Second’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. “How are they?” He asked instead.

“Well, I can’t find any serious injuries,” Blue updated as she continued to stroke the fluffy mess of bedhead, “But they may have internal injuries? It’s hard to tell- I’m equipped to deal with minor wounds and Minecraft ailments. Not… this.”

“Wouldn’t their healing powers take care of that?” Green asked, kneeling down next to Blue to take their dear friend’s hand in his own. It was cold and clammy against Green’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. “It hasn’t kicked in yet. Maybe they’re too tired to do it? Or maybe it’s a good sign!” Blue forced herself to perk up at the thought. “Every time Second’s used their healing powers it’s because someone got seriously hurt. Maybe they’re not hurt bad enough for it to activate on its own.”

“Maybe,” Green agreed, even though that didn’t really sound right to him. Since Sec had become aware of their powers, they’d shown the greatest connection to their healing. It was one of the strongest abilities. “Still, I don’t think they’d be too comfortable sleeping on the floor. Is it safe to move them?”

“Oh! Uh,” Blue thought for a moment, her eyes scanning over Sec uneasily. Moments passed into minutes before she answered, “I- I think so. As long as we’re careful.”

Green nodded, already standing to take hold of Second’s legs. “Okay, I’ll walk backwards with their legs, you take their head.” 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 Mango’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 Mango’s couch and slowly, gently, set them down. Second didn’t so much as stir during the transfer, which only made Green all the more worried. What he wouldn’t give to have his best friend suddenly sit up and throw a pillow at him for disturbing their rest…

For now, Green once again took hold of Second’s hand and watched their drained, pale face as they slept. He didn’t know where he’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 they’d been allowed to enter Gold’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 the… 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 Purple’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 kid… well, it wasn’t like they hadn’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 bed’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.

“Uh…” Red’s awkward voice reached Purple’s ear, and they turned to look at the stronger stick as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. The old man didn’t seem to hear him. “So, I’m gonna go, uh, check on the others… yeah… we’ll be in the living room if you need us… uh, sorry again about your kitchen.”

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 house’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. “Hey,” They addressed softly. Mango didn’t so much as twitch at their touch. “Are you feeling okay?”

It took a moment for Mango to respond. “Sweetheart, I’m feeling a lot of things right now,” He droned, not taking his eyes off of the two sticks curled up on the bed, “and none of them are okay.”

Purple winced. Sweetheart only tended to come out when one of them was feeling particularly bad. Usually Purple themselves. Still, they pressed onward, “Yeah, that’s fair,” They agreed. Then, with a little hesitation, they asked, “How… how do you think Second… brought them here?”

Mango sighed, bring his hand up to hold his forehead. “I dunno. Cloning, maybe? They have art powers or something, right?” 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. “I’m not exactly in a state to think too hard about that.”

Okay, fair. Purple tried to think of something else – anything else – that they could do in order to make Mango feel better. After fumbling over their words for a moment, they eventually asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I think…” Mango’s breath hitched. “I think I just some time alone, kiddo.”

Something deep inside Purple shattered at the request. Still, they nodded obediently. “Okay, I’ll go check on the others, then. We’ll… be in the living room.”

Purple knew if they turned back to look at Mango, whatever they’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 Purple’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 Second’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, “How’s everyone doing?”

“Okay,” Green murmured, briefly looking up to meet purple’s gaze.

“I’m good!” Red assured, plastering on a huge smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Blue assured gently, tapping her fingers on Second’s arm as she checked their pulse again.

“Peachy,” Yellow spat sarcastically, glaring at the ground.

Then, after a pregnant pause, all four turned towards Second’s unresponsive form. The tension returned tenfold.

Red finally spoke up, cutting off the pressure as he smiled awkwardly at the group, “You know, if Sec were awake, they’d probably say something like, ‘At least they let me sleep in for once’.” The turn of phrase was made in a terrible impression of Second’s voice, followed by a nervous laugh that quickly petered out, “Hehe, hehe, he…”

More silence.

“They’ll be okay… right?” Blue asked softly.

“Of course they will!” Cut off Green, looking mildly insulted at even the suggestion that they wouldn’t be. “They’re Sec! They’re always okay!”

Yellow’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. “Yeah,” She agreed absently, though she sounded like her mind was somewhere far, far away. “They’re always okay…”

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, Purple’s eyes scanned over the group, and soon came to rest on Yellow’s ankle. Though mildly swollen, it didn’t look broken, so Purple hazard a guess that it only needed rest and icing. They piped up, “Um, why don’t I get you some ice, Yellow?” 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. “Oh my gosh, Yellow, I am so sorry! I didn’t even think about that- I was so focused on Second that I forgot- I can’t believe I-!”

“Hey, hey,” Yellow consoled, sitting up straight for the first time, “It’s alright. We all know the rules: The one who’s hurt worst gets priority treatment. And it’s just a little sprain, it’s not like it’s broken or anything.”

“But still…” Blue kept her eyes trained on Yellow’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: “Personally, I blame Green.”

“What?” Green snapped back, looking vaguely offended by the accusation.

“You have two working legs,” He explained in a matter-of-fact manner, “You could’ve gotten up up at any time to take care of Yellow, but nooo…”

Purple snickered openly at the look on Green’s face, which only got louder when he turned his glare at them. Yellow, snorting, chimed in, “Yeah, Green, aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“Oh, we all know there’s no ‘responsible’ one!” 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 Mango’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, they’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 area…? 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 they’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. They’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 Purple’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.

“-and so I said, ‘That’s positively blue-tiful!’” Red recited, and Yellow groaned lightly while Green and Blue cracked up. Somehow Purple got the feeling that they were laughing more at Yellow’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. “Thanks,” Yellow grumbled with a pout. She winced as the ice was set on her swollen ankle. “You got anything for the headache Red’s puns are causing?”

“Come on, Red’s just trying to make you feel better.” Purple scolded playfully, “It isn’t very ice of you complain.”

They almost cracked at the complete and total betrayal that befell Yellow’s face. “Purple,” She gasped in horror, “I trusted you.” Green, Blue, and Red all howled with laughter, Red even doubling over and clutching his side.

“That was your first mistake,” 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. “I see you’re all doing well,” 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 was… too composed, which made Purple’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 Second’s side, taking a look at them himself. “How bad is it?” He asked.

“N-not that bad… no serious wounds or anything, I think they’re just drained,” Blue filled him in. She again checked Second’s pulse.

Mango hummed aloud, “Still, I’d rather be safe than sorry. We should get them to a hospital or something.”

“A hospital?” Green questioned, suddenly looking uneasy. It quickly spread to Blue and Red.

“Um,” Yellow interrupted, “Look, the details are too… complicated to get into right now, but that would be a really bad idea. Especially if they decided to isolate Sec.”

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 didn’t look quite ready to let this go. Knowing how the old man worried and figuring that it wouldn’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 Yellow’s side to place a comforting hand on Mango’s arm, redirecting his attention back to them.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” They confirmed, “Sec’s got super healing powers, so they’ll be able to patch everyone up once they’re rested up.”

Still Mango looked unconvinced. "I don’t know…”

“Trust me,” Purple pleaded, and they were pleased to see a little crack in the old man’s armour.

After a moment of hemming and hawing, he sighed, “Alright, fine, for now,” Mango agreed. The others slumped in clear relief at his resignation, “But if they’re not up by sundown, we’re taking them to the nearest doctor.”

“They will be,” Green stated with unyielding confidence.

Mango nodded, then glanced over at Yellow. “Your ankle isn’t broken?” He asked.

“Sprained,” She confirmed, “Just need to ice it and keep it elevated. I’ll be fine.”

Satisfied with that, Mango nodded affirmatively. He looked a little more at ease than he had been back in the kitchen. “That just leaves one more. Green,” Said stick flinched at being called out, “Hold still for a moment. You hit your head pretty hard back there. I want to make sure you’re not concussed.”

Purple winced. Come to think of it, they had heard a pretty hard thump after Second had exploded. Had that been Green’s head hitting the wall? There had been so much going on they’d barely taken note of it.

Nearby, Purple heard Blue whisper under her breath, “I didn’t even notice…” They didn’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, “I was nauseous and dizzy at first,” The musical stick explained, “But after I sat down and relaxed a little it went away. Now I just have a raging migraine.”

“Hmm,” Mango scratched his chin, “Well, try to take it easy, just to be safe. Head injuries are no joke. I’ll ask you again later, but so far you seem fine.”

Some relief returned to the room at Mango’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 – 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 – 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 ‘stop’ motion kept them in place.

Carefully maneuvering down beneath them, The Second Coming waltzed through the timeline of the kitten’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 they’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 self’s presence. In response the version of her in Second’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 Coming’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 frame…

To the kittens…

To the key frame…

To the kittens…

And the Second Coming understood.

--------------------

Second shot up from their resting position, crying out, “Holy heck I broke space time-!”

Just as they’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.

“Ah…” 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. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“Easy, Sec!” 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. “Take slow, deep breaths… there you go, you’re almost there…”

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 Blue’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 pain… not disappear, but lessen just a tad.

Blue was suddenly shoved to the side, and Red’s face appeared in her place. “Sec! Oh man dude, you had us so worried!” Out of the corner of their eye, Second could see Purple nod in agreement.

“Hey, give them some space!” 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 Mango’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, they’d hurt the people they cared about most. Again.

“Are you alright?” Mango’s voice, unusually kind, cut through the self-loathing that was starting to dominate Second’s thoughts. He towered over Blue as he gazed down at them. “I 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.”

“Hospital…?” Second repeated, swallowing down a fresh lump of nerves. A hospital meant doctors – scientists, men in coats, isolated in tiny space, don’t move, it’s for your own good… “N-no, I’m okay. I’ll heal myself once I’ve got a little more energy.”

“You’re sure?” Asked Mango. When Second made a small sound of affirmation, he relented, albeit a little reluctantly. “Alright, I’ll let it go for now… but I’d like to change the topic, if you don’t mind.” Mango took a spot on the couch, careful not to touch Second in any way. “What did you mean when you said you ‘broke space time’?”

There was a glint in Mango’s eyes that brought an entirely new sense of discomfort to Second, but they ignored it and did their best to explain, “It’s like I said,” Their throat was already beginning to ache from just this amount of talking, but it was easy enough for Second to ignore, “I- 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-” Judging from the look on Mango’s face, Second guessed that they were getting a little off-topic and tried to steer themselves back on track, “Er, anyway, the key frame created a portal back to the moment it was created and- and basically made a ‘split’, to bring them back here.”

“A split?” Yellow asked, stroking her chin curiously. “So, does that mean they’re copies?”

Second shook their head instinctively, then winced at the resulting ache. “Not quite… it’s more like, I split the timeline? Since everyone’s memories of Purple and Mango are in tact and history clearly didn’t change, it’s likely I created an alternate worldline where those two sticks mysteriously vanished one day. You know, because I pulled them into the future.”

“Um…” Red looked completely lost, “Okay, can you explain that again, but in a way that makes sense?”

Thank goodness Yellow took point, because Second’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, “It’s basically just alternate universes.” She stated smoothly. “Like, instead of the timeline exploding or all of our memories altering to account for Mango mysteriously being brought into the future, instead there’s another world entirely identical to this one, except that Mango and that other stick don’t exist there, because they’re here.”

“I’m still confused,” Red said.

“For now, just know that these are past versions of Mango and Gold Ochre.” Purple summarized, “But, man… that’s incredible. We knew you were strong, dude, but…”

Every pair of eyes was on Second, pinning them with a sudden pressure on their chest. More little murmurs broke out between Second’s friends, whispered words that they couldn’t quite make out, and Second forced their eyes shut. Unable to hear their friends’ conversations, Second’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 couldn’t they just go back to being normal?

“All that aside,” 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, “I think we’ve waited long enough, so I wanna know. Who the heck is Gold?”

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 didn’t make contact before withdrawing and instead offering gentle reassurances. “It’s okay. I can explain if you-”

“She’s my kid,” Mango finally revealed. Everything went quiet as the news echoed in their thoughts. “He… died a few months before I met Purple.” Mango’s eyes suddenly darted up, meeting Second’s head on. “And you brought her back.”

An awkward feeling settled over Second, as though they were taking credit for something they didn’t do. “I hadn’t exactly planned that,” They reminded him, “I just wanted to fix what I broke.”

“Fix what’s broken…” Mango echoed, then huffed out a gentle laugh, “Well, you certainly fixed something. I don’t think I can ever repay this.” Some sort of weight fell off of Mango’s shoulders, and he gratefully smiled down at them. The weight of his appreciation sat heavy on their chest. It didn’t feel like they’d done anything but mess things up, and yet… they’d saved a life? The duality of their feelings clashed within Second, leaving them unable to vocalize their thoughts. Oblivious, Mango continued on, “Now it’s just a matter of… explaining this whole mess to them,” He visibly winced, “That’s gonna be ugly.”

Second, sensing the discord in his tone, immediately volunteered. “I can do it,” They proclaimed, ‘I’m the one who brought them here, so it only makes sense…”

“Appreciate the thought, kid,” Despite his words, the disapproval was clear through Mango’s tone, “but this is kind of a family matter. I wouldn’t feel right about having you do my job. Besides,” He tossed a side eye to Red, Blue, and Green, all of whom, Second noted uneasily, were watching them with very intense expressions, “I think if you try to get up off that couch, your friends are going to duct tape you to it.”

Unable to deny that, Second agreed, “Okay, fair enough,” Then they chuckled, “Heh, at least they’re letting me sleep for once.”

For some reason, Red burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Meanwhile Purple stood up, eagerly rushing to Mango’s side. “I’ll come help!” They offered.

“That’s not a good idea either,” Mango told them, and if he noticed how their entire form seemed to slump, he didn’t comment on it, “If I know myself as well as I think I do, then I know exactly how my past self will react to the news that Gold’s dead, and…” A haunted shadow fell over the old man’s eyes, “I don’t think you need to see that side of me again. In the meantime, hold down the fort here. I’m officially putting you in charge.”

“Wait, why’s Purple in charge?” Yellow complained.

Mango side-eyed the lot of them, as though they were the ones who’d almost blown up an entire video game world, “Because they’re the only ones I’m certain won’t try and get themselves killed the moment I’ve left.” 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 Purple’s, though Mango didn’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. “So, what, we just wait around for them to wake up?”

Purple shrugged. “I guess-” They were cut off by a loud roar, fierce and angry like a lion, and Purple’s face started glow bright pink.

Yellow couldn’t help but poke fun at the suffering stick, “Aw, is someone a little hungy~?” She cooed.

“Agh, will you shut up?!” Snapped the mess of a stick, “I didn’t exactly get the change to eat after you guys showed up. We did make a lasagna, but…” Purple’s voice trailed off, and without further explanation they disappeared.

Oh yeah. In addition to all the other problems they’d caused, Second had ruined Purple and Mango’s dinner. It wasn’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.

“Uhh…” Second couldn’t tear their eyes off of the abomination. “Whoops.”

Red twisted away from the cursed creation, staring at it as though expecting it to attack. Green and Blue each approached to investigate themselves. Green’s nose wrinkled as he got closer. Uneasy silence covered the room as they all wondered just what Second’s power had done to the poor thing.

Then, at last, Blue shrugged and pulled a knife and fork out of nowhere. “Meh, I’ll still eat it.”

Everyone’s horrified expressions shifted from the monstrous creation to the monstrous stick. Green looked vaguely ill. “Dude,” He stared in disbelief, “That thing’s like, three different kinds of radioactive.”

“I’ve put worse things in my mouth.”

--------------------

Soft sunlight poured through the window, gently caressing Mango’s face with unseasonable warmth. His eyes fluttered open, his blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal the familiar sight of his child’s bedroom ceiling. Spending nights here wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, especially when Gold was younger and afraid of what might be hiding in the room’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. They’d celebrated and begun planning dinner, and then… nothing. Just a deep-rooted sense of unease and a blinding green light assaulting his eyes.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Mango’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 – 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.

“Gold?” 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 Mango’s attempts to awaken her. “Five more minuteees…” She whined, pulling her pillow around her ears in an adorable fluff sandwich.

Though he couldn’t shake the nerves wracking his entire body, Mango found himself smiling at the adorable sight. “C’mon, honey, get up,” 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 she’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, “Mm, dad?” He asked, his voice shifting in a subtle way, “When did we go to bed…?”

“Still putting that together, hun,” 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 Mango’s head to a grinding halt. Instinct had him throwing an arm up to push Gold behind him, only barely registering the kid’s gasp, before he turned to glare firmly at this intruder. Then his glare dropped in shock as he found himself face to face with… 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 hadn’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 didn’t turn him off as much as it would other sticks, it was certainly startling to see.

“Nice to see you’re both awake,” He commented coolly, not yet addressing the blatant elephant in the room. His voice was like a recording of Mango’s own, altered mildly to add some huskiness.

“Wait, dad? But you’re… and you…?” Gold’s head spun back and forth as he looked between his father and his father’s perfect doppelganger. The poor dear seemed so lost. Finally, he pulled his head over Mango’s still extended arm to whisper a little too loudly, “Dad, do you have a secret twin you never told me about?”

Before Mango could respond, Mango- the other Mango, ah heck, that was gonna get confusing – answered in his place. “Not exactly, honey. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but…” He stepped a little closer, and smiled a tiny, broken smile, “It’s so good to see you.”

A sinking weight began to form in Mango’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.

“I understand why you might be confused. I’ll explain everything in a moment, but I’d like to begin by re-introducing myself.” To that end, his other self sauntered across the floor with surprising confidence for someone who was clearly such a mess, grabbing Gold’s nearby desk chair and spinning it around to sit backwards in it, in exactly the same way he’d always scolded Gold for, and placed some cheap looking prop crown atop his messy mane. “You may call me ‘King’. At least for now, so people can tell us apart.”

Gold blinked dumbly at his father’s doppelganger for a moment, then a bright, wide grin stretched across his face, “Whoa!” He cried out, pure excitement dancing in his eyes, “You look so cool!”

“You look ridiculous,” Mango informed him matter-of-factly.

“I know,” King stated, dramatically tossing his hair back with one hand. He didn’t specify who he was agreeing with, “But to get back to the subject at hand…” For a moment this King guy hesitated, slumping and folding his hands in his lap before eventually proceeding, “There’s no real way to ease you into it, so I’m just going to come out and say it: You’re in the future. About two years in the future.”

Mango could feel his eyes widen. Gold’s fingers dug into his arm as he gasped, “The future…?”

“Indeed,” Confirmed King, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

This new knowledge had Mango looking over their surroundings with fresh eyes. Something about Gold’s room was different. Not in the sense that it had been rearranged or had needed repaired in some way, but that it felt… 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 Gold’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.

King’s broken smile as he looked upon Gold came back to mind, and the knot in Mango’s gut tightened.

“Whoa, that’s- that’s crazy!” Gold pushed past Mango’s arms to crawl closer to King, totally enraptured by the infinite possibilities the future might bright. “Do you call yourself King because you rule the world? Has there been some kind of crazy apocalypse and you’re leading the survivors? Has the Internet ended!?��

Before Gold could take his hyperactive, overly imaginative questioning any further, Mango took the reigns and pulled Gold back by his collar, “Easy, Hon,” Mango scolded lightly, “Remember, it’s only been about two years. I don’t think the world would’ve ended in that time.” Much less Mango becoming some sort of monarch, but that thought was so ridiculous it didn’t need to be said. What idiot would make Mango a king?

King stood surprisingly rigidly, looking… too uncomfortable at questions he should’ve very well expected from his kid, “A lot can happen in two years.” He informed them both without any further elaboration.

“Still!” Gold pumped his arms up in excitement, his sunny smile shining so bright that even dull, downtrodden King seemed to lighten up, “You’ve gotta have so many crazy stories! Like that big fair coming up this summer,” That made King visibly flinch, raising so many more alarm bells in Mango’s head, “or-!” Gold gasped, “The next tournament! You gotta tell me how I’ll do! Do I win?! Did I screw it up?! How many people did I beat?!”

The look on King’s face was visibly pained, and the weight in Mango’s stomach became a black hole. It sucked in everything – his feelings, his attention, his damned air – as a terrible puzzle began to put itself together in his head. The dust on everything. The longing in King’s eyes. The exhaustion that encumbered every inch of his form.

No. No, I’m just imagining things. There’s no way-

A sigh, and King sunk in on himself, looking every bit like a monarch burdened with the weight of the world. “There are… some things you need to know. Don’t get up, this is going to be a long story…”

--------------------

Of all the things Purple had thought they’d be doing with tonight’s dinner, playing some odd combination of keep away and football was not what they expected.

The ball, also known as the ‘radioactive lasagna abomination’, was held high above Purple’s head as Blue stretched herself to try and steal it from them. It was all in good fun; Blue wasn’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 Blue’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 quantum… something? Purple wasn’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 they’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 moment’s hesitation they got into form and began to spin, building up momentum, all the while aware of Blue’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 Mango’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 – the thing had flown roughly thirty meters once it exited the house, landing food side down in one of the neighbor’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 neighbor’s front lawn.

Silence reigned for a heavy second. Then Blue made a sound like a small ‘meep’, her hands flying up to stroke her jaw, as if verifying that it was indeed still in tact.

“...And this is why we don’t like it when you put random things you find on the ground in your mouth.” 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, “Yeah, I’m gonna go try and get that pan back before someone notices… Sorry, Purple…”

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 – 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 Green’s, he seemed to at least be beginning to understand what they were talking about.

“So a ‘fixed timeline’ means that nothing you can do will altar the past and change the future, even if you tried to directly?” Red asked.

Yellow nodded, seemingly satisfied with how Red’s slap-dash time travel education was coming along, “Exactly. 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 there’s no changing fate,” She hummed, stroking her chin, “That’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.”

Purple’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. “Hey, hi. Maybe don’t say that in front of the Old Man? Like, ever?” Without giving her a chance to respond, Purple continued, “I think he’s had enough mental breakdowns for one day.”

“Ngh…” 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 couldn’t pull themselves up into a sitting position, “The more I think about this, the more I feel like I should be in there with him. I mean, I’m the one who brought them here, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” 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, “He doesn’t even know about string theory, or multiple worldlines, or- or the risks of tearing a hole in space-time? Like, what if there’s some sort of backlash from using that much energy at once?” Second’s face grew more and more tense as their rambles continued, “Or what if there’s actually still a microscopic black-hole in the kitchen, and it could tear open and swallow everything at any time?! Or-or-” Seconds eyes seemed to lose focus as they gazed up at nothingness. Their voice got hoarser, their breathing harder, their speaking faster, “W-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 there’s nothing left but the cold, endless void-?!”

“Whoa there, buddy, reel it back a little bit,” Red was the first to break free of the stunned stupor Second’s stream of madness caused, but once he did he moved to Second’s side to place his hands on their shoulders. Judging by how Second didn’t so much as twitch at the contact, his touch must have been unusually gentle, “You’re doing the thing again.”

Second’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, “W-what thing?”

“You know, the thing,” Red leaned over Second to make sure they could see him as he continued, “That 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,” A grin fit for a clown spread wide across Red’s face as he described this phenomenon, “You know, that thing?”

Whatever the intention of Red’s comment, it at least got Second to calm down, even if it was only by making them more annoyed than worried, “I do not do that,” They insisted.

Green’s snickering laugh only increased the level of petty pout that Second was putting on, “You totally do, dude!”

“Majority rules,” Yellow added, smugly pushing her glasses up her nose.

In desperation, Second tilted their head towards Purple, “I don’t do that, right Purple?”

“I may not be a quantum physicist like you and Yellow,” The violet stick crossed their arms and leaned back, “but I am not stupid enough to get in the middle of this.”

Howling laughter erupted from the other three sticks, and Second sighed melodramatically, head slumping back on the couch, “I hate you all,” They declared in a weary sigh.

“Aw,” Red cooed, moving his hands to cautiously squish second’s face, “Is da wittle cwybaby feewing gwumpy?”

Second’s face lit up in a bright green blush, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Purple felt lighter as they laughed along with everyone. They hadn’t realized just how rigidly they’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 Second’s protective attachment, or Green’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 Purple’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, “You son of a bitch!”, 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. “Stay down, ya masochist!” He scolded, “We got this! Come on, guys!”

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 Mango’s Purple’s door to reach Gold’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. Purple’s crown, once proudly displayed in the living room along with one of Gold’s trophies, had been knocked to the ground in the middle of the chaos.

Purple’s breath hitched.

“D-dad, please-!” Gold was crying, visible tears running down his face. Her entire body was shaking, “Please, c-calm down!”

“How could you?!” Younger Mango seemed deaf to everything, even his own child, at that moment, “How could you let this happen?!”

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 Mango’s arm. The sudden touch had him turning his tearful, angry glare at Purple. Ice spread through Purple’s veins as their eyes made contact, freezing them in place for the entire half-second it took for Mango’s fist to connect with their face.

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 Purple’s ears, ringing heavily with each throb of pain, You need to fight, Purple! I can’t protect you forever, Purple-!

“Purple!”

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. Over… Purple? Or scaring Gold, maybe?

Whatever it was, the hysteria of his current mood remained in the old man’s voice when he called out again, “Purple! Are you alright?!”

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, “Pfft, I’m fine. I’ve taken hits twice that hard when I was half this size.”

Mango retreated a little at Purple’s words, no longer bordering on the edge of hysteria but still looking very uncomfortable, “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s actually doing the opposite.”

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 and… something else, something dark, that made Purple’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 Purple’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, “Well, since you two are clearly going to behave like children,” Green scolded as he dragged Young Mango over to Old Mango, only to do the same to him, “Then we’re going to have to treat you like children. Red!”

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 Gold’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.

“Hey!” 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, “Let us out of here, you damned brats!” The pounding of their fists against it matched the pounding of Purple’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, “Nope~! Naughty adults have to be punished in the time out zone~!”

“Listen, you little-!”

“Don’t bother,” A more tired version of the same voice reasoned with the angry one, “They won’t listen to you anyways.”

Maybe it was how calm the Mango he’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, “C’mon, Old Man,” They teased, hearing a bristling repetition of the nickname from who they were sure was the younger of the two, “You know you can’t really come out of the closet until you truly accept yourself.”

Who the heavy sigh that followed came from didn’t even need clarification, nor did the mumbling of, “Purple, I swear to Turing-”

As Green and Red went over the security on the door to be sure the two fighting adults couldn’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 wasn’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, “Hey, how are you doing?”

Gold jumped a little at suddenly being addressed, anxiously twiddling his fingers as he answered, “Uh, fine, I’m fine, I’m… sorry, I should’ve done something to stop them, or help, but-”

“I think we can excuse you for being a little… out of it today,” Consoled Purple. They felt like they should do comfort them – rub the kid’s shoulder, hug her, something – but the full weight of the situation kept them standing awkwardly still. Eventually, Purple managed to break the silence, “I’m Purple, by the way. I usually go by they/them.”

They held out their hand, and after a moment of silent staring Gold took it, “Uh, Gold. I’m- I’m a guy, at least for now. That’ll probably change, but I’ll let you know when it does.” Despite his clear discomfort, Gold forced a familiar smile onto his face. The family resemblance between father and son was so strong it would’ve been impossible not to see the Old Man in Gold.

“Thanks!” Red chimed in, sliding up to them from the side, “I’m Red, and that’s Green. We’re guys too! Mostly!”

Green rolled his eyes as he sauntered up behind Red. “Chill out, dude. C’mon, we should leave Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dork to their suffering and introduce Gold to the others.”

“Others? There are more of you guys?” Gold asked, too stunned to protest as Red and Green practically pushed him out of the room, “D-did my dad start an orphanage or something after I died?”

Purple couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter, “Nah, I’m the only one who lives here. Everyone else is just freeloading until further notice.”

---------------------

SO. Today hadn’t been going exactly like Gold planned.

He thought he’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 – literal years – into the future, where Gold was dead and his dad looked halfway to it. They’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.

“Blue’s not back?” Green asked as they all entered and wait, this wasn’t all of them???

One of them, a yellow stick with glasses, shook their head, “Probably still stealthing her way back. I’m sure she’ll-”

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 it’d been two years-), and a bright blue stick with a cheeky grin and one of dad’s new two year old casserole dishes held over her head triumphantly. “Behold! I have retrieved the evidence!” She looked around the room, stopped her gaze at Gold, and blinked owlishly for a long moment, “Uh, I feel like I missed something.”

Green openly snorted, “A few things.” 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 stick’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 wasn’t quite sure what to make of Purple; they’d been so nice, even after Gold’s dad straight up punched them in the face. A part of Gold felt like they were taking advantage of Purple’s hospitality after what dad had done, but an even bigger part was grateful for something – anything – to cling on to in the middle of this insanity.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout the mess,” Purple gestured vaguely to the ruined room, shrugging, “As it turns out, time travel has some wicked side effects. Including literally exploding.”

The stick on the couch, who Gold had assumed was asleep (or maybe in a coma), mumbled an exhausted, “Sorry…” before rolling a little to better face the others.

“Ah, right, let me introduce everyone!” 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, “Firstly, presenting the perilous potion pilferer, the gluttonous god of the grill, the mighty Miss Blue!” The blue stick had seated herself on the arm part of Dad’s armchair, snickering at Purple’s introduction, “Sitting next to her, measuring up at a whopping 1500 grams of brains and 50 grams of muscles-”

“Hey,” 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.

“-Her sassiness, the Unyielding Miss Yellow!” Purple spun around the armchair to stand between it and the couch, “Now, you’ve already been introduced to the Wrathful Red,” Purple presented Red who, despite his title, was grinning like he’d just won the lottery as he posed, “And Green the Guileless!” Green rolled his eyes playfully, “But be prepared, for our last friend is certainly not our least. They are the world’s deadliest mom friend, a hot-headed herald of hibernation…” Purple presented the stick on the couch with jazz hands, “The Second Coming~!”

The others let out a round of whoops and hollers that didn’t seem particularly appreciated by this Second Coming character, who waved everyone off with a grumpy frown. “You can just call me Second,” They informed Gold in a mumble. While they weren’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, “Second’s the one who brought you here with their super powers. It kinda drained them.”

Gold’s mouth was open before he could even fully take in the information, “Oh, so that’s why they look like a drowned cat.”

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, “Gee, thanks.”

Waving his hands frantically, Gold immediately tried to eat his words, swallow them, anything to take them back and redo his introduction, “I am SO sorry! I-I don’t even know why I said that, that was SO stupid-!”

“Hey, hey,” 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, “It’s okay, let’s just… start over,” They lifted their arm with shaking effort, managing a grin for Gold, “Hi, I’m Second.”

Feeling a little relief wash over him, Gold reached over and carefully took his hand, giving it a light shake, “I’m Gold. It’s nice to meet you.”

Second’s eyes remained trained on Gold’s face the entire time, watching him as if looking for something, and Gold’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 Second’s face, “What’s wrong? You look like a cat that’s about to be drowned.”

Everyone laughed even longer and louder than before as Gold’s jaw dropped. Once his brain caught up with the present, Gold found himself joining in on the merriment, “Okay, okay, that’s fair.” He agreed. Green’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 like… things would be okay.

A pained stomach grumbling out interrupted Gold’s thoughts, and everyone turned to Purple with various levels of amusement. “Geez, you still haven’t shut that thing up?” Green teased, his arm still around Gold’s shoulders.

“With what?!” Purple asked, “In case you haven’t noticed, the kitchen’s still wrecked!”

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 Gold’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 they’d done for him. Like giving him comfort and taking his mind off things and saving his damn life.

“Ooh! I can handle that!” Gold informed the others triumphantly, before pulling away to sprint towards the living room’s bookshelf. Once it had been neatly arranged; there had been a separate shelf for dad’s manuals, dad’s novels, Gold’s novels, and Gold’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 Purple’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 – not as much as two years ago, he noted, but still plenty – before turning around to wave the fistful of bills for the others to see. Yellow’s eyes lit up as she squealed, and everyone else seemed to freeze in place at the sight of real money.

Purple’s mouth fell open in shock, “Wait, he had a secret stash this whole time?!” They scowled, “That cheap Old Man…”

“Nice!” 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, “Uh, is it really okay for us to use that?”

“Geez, you really are the mom friend,” Purple rolled their eyes, plopping down on the couch near Second’s feet.

Still, the worried look on their face was making Gold’s stomach squirm, so he held up a finger and declared, “Well, why don’t we ask him?” Turning towards where his bedroom was in the house, Gold raised his voice and shouted, “Hey, Dad! We’re gonna use some of the emergency fund to order out! If that’s not okay, say something!” Gold held a hand up his ear to amplify his hearing, and waited.

And waited.

And waited…

After a few more seconds of nothingness, Gold shrugged, “Guess it’s okay.”

Second weakly smiled in response, “Heh, alright then.” Their eyes fluttered a little, trying and failing to resist the siren song of slumber.

“Pizza cool with everyone?” 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.

“Oh, make sure no meat for me!” Red suddenly piped up.

Blue nodded thoughtfully, “I’ve never gone full vegetarian with a pizza. That actually sounds pretty good!” She licked her lips, no doubt imagining the taste of red sauce and vegetables on her tongue.

“I’m good with whatever,” Green piped up, “But make sure to get something simple for Sec. They tend to like the more traditional pizzas, and they’re already not feeling well, so…” His hand found its way to Second’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, “Okay, so we’ll get three pizzas. One classic pepperoni, one veggie…” Gold perked up, and quickly leapt to interrupt Purple and get his own favourite pizza added on.

“Oh! Oh! Could the last one be Hawaiian?”

“-And the last will be Hawaiian, obviously.”

The two sentences, spoken in perfect harmony, echoed through the living room as Purple and Gold’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 Gold’s side, and tossed an arm over his shoulder, “Goldie,” The violet stick smiled as they cheerfully proclaimed, “I think you and I are gonna get along juuust fine.”

---------------------

Thump.

“Arg… come on!”

Thump.

“Why won’t this stupid thing-”

Thump.

“Open?!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Behind Mango, the so-called King sighed from the spot on the ground where he’d made himself comfortable, “Give it a rest. Those kid’s aren’t going to make it so easy for us to get out of here.”

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 wasn’t out there, alone, grappling with the knowledge of his incoming death and stuck with a bunch of strangers. If anything he seemed… 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.

“Maybe it’d be a little easier,” Mango sneered out under his breath, “if you did anything other than just sit there, you useless piece of-”

King cut him off, “Oh, shut up. You’re giving me a migraine.” As if to emphasize this point, King began digging his fingers into the temples of his skull, “Take it from someone who’s been there: You don’t want to fly off the handle at any little thing. Trust me, you’ll end up regretting it.”

Spinning on his heels, Mango leveled a glare at King. “This isn’t any little thing!” His fists twitched at his side, begging Mango to let them fly forth, to punish, to hurt. He held off for now, “This is my baby! My Gold! Dying! How could you not be furious?!” Just the thought of Gold’s suffering constricted Mango’s lungs in his chest, making each inhale of air a fight, “How could you just let this go?! He’s the only good thing in this cursors damned world, and he’s gone!” Turmoil churned in Mango’s gut, making him vaguely nauseous. He pushed through the pain, spitting it all back out at King, “He was pulled into some game attraction, glitched out of existence, and you just sat back and watched! YOU LET HIM DIE!”

He could see it now. Gold, pushing back against the pull of that accursed game, desperately reaching out to him, Dad! Dad, help me! I’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, Mango’s volume lowered as he growled, “I don’t care what you say, I am not you. I would never sit back and do nothing while my child was murdered.”

Throughout the tirade, King didn’t once speak up. Didn’t so much as twitch. He kept his gaze level and even on the wall opposite of him. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself,” He responded coolly, far too coolly, once Mango was done. His vacant, uncaring eyes wouldn’t meet Mango’s, which boiled his blood hotter, “But I’ve been where you are. I know exactly how you’re feeling, and I know that giving into that anger will just make things so much worse. If you don’t cool off, you’ll end up doing something you regret.”

“Regret more than letting my kid die?” The idea was almost laughable, if it wasn’t so painfully stupid.

Finally King got off his lazy butt, standing and at last meeting Mango’s eyes. They were as cold and empty as King himself. “Earlier, when that kid tried to stop us from fighting, you swung your fists without even looking,” The phantom pressure of that child’s face danced across Mango’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 he’d caught the look on his future self’s face; how could he have so much concern for this random bystander when his dead baby was right there? Oblivious, King continued, “Did it ever occur to you that it could have easily been Gold who’d tried to stop us instead?”

Now that made Mango’s blood run cold, because he was certain his future self was right. If those kids hadn’t run in to interfere, Gold would’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 would’ve punched his own child.

Pushing that thought of his head, Mango immediately redirected, “Are you sure it’s Gold you’re worried about? Because you seemed awfully concerned about that other kid… Purple, was it?” King’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, “Who are they, anyways?”

“They’re…” King tripped over his tongue, looking away from Mango as he no doubt realized what Mango had, “It’s complicated…”

“Doesn’t seem too complicated to me,” Mango stepped into the other’s space, backing him into the wall. For a so-called King, he didn’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. “It seems like you just picked up some random kid off the street to fill the hole in your life,” King seemed to bristle at that, which only spurred Mango on, “You disgusting, pathetic bastard. What kind of father are you, to just forget your child and replace them with-”

That was as far as Mango got before he was thrust against the opposite wall, a bruised arm threatening to crush his windpipe. The King’s eyes had gone wide and wild, like a feral dog’s, and Mango reveled the fury, “Purple is NOT a replacement for Gold,” He growled, voice low and dangerous, “No one could EVER replace Gold.”

Despite the pressure on his throat, Mango gave the other his biggest, smuggest grin, “What was it you said about giving into anger?”

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 didn’t quite succeed, “I know how you feel because I’ve been there,” King grumbled, “Do not presume to know how I feel in return. Purple is not Gold. They will never be Gold, and I don’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, I… hurt people. A lot of people,” As he spoke, King’s eyes lost focus, staring at the wall in front of him without seeing anything, “I 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 isn’t valuable enough. I owe them so much more than that.”

A ghost of a smile formed on King’s face. Mango’s stomach turned. How could this… sick monster smile while his baby was dead?

“I’ve already been angry about Gold’s death,” Continued King. He sounded less angry with every sentence, which began eating away at Mango’s limited patience yet again, “I know what that feels like, what it does to me. But this isn’t a time to be angry. Thanks to this… miracle, I have a chance to change fate. I’m elated,” King’s hand reached up to brush his too long hair out of his face, smiling softly, “I can save my child.”

“My child,” Mango interrupted insistently. Owlish blinking was what he got in response, and he sharpened his glare as he elaborated, “Your child, if you’ll remember, is dead. Gold is my kid, and I’m not going to become you. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

King pressed his lips together thinly and stared at Mango, but did not protest. “Fine. Whatever,” He brushed off, “That’s not what’s important. The only thing that matters right now is Gold,” For once, the King was speaking sense, “I won’t try to make you like me, or pretend that’s even possible. But for Gold’s sake…” An empty hand reached out, an olive branch of peace, “We’ll need to work together.”

There was no need to elaborate further. This King was his and Gold’s only connection in this world. It was still unclear if there was a way for the two to return to the past. They’d need a safe place to say, and while this had once been Mango’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. They’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, “Fine. For now. But the second I’m on my feet, I’m taking MY kid and we’re leaving.”

“As long as Gold’s safe and happy,” The King smiled a weary smile as he shook his hand, “That’s all that matters.”

Once the truce was firmly established, Mango pulled his hand from King’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. “If you’re trying to break through, you’re going to need more force than that,” Mango advised, folding his arms, “I figured if we both hit it in tandem-”

“We’ll break down the door,” King put a single finger up, shushing Mango like a child, and then he beckoned with his hand to his seething younger self, “but before we resort to destruction of property, hand me one of those hangers, will you? I want to try something.”

Automatically, Mango reached up and took hold of one of the wire hangers. Letting this bastard boss him around was far from Mango’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, Mango’s eyes met King’s, and it was only then that he’d realized that his response had been to jump at the sound. There was an unpleasant crinkle of amusement around the foolish King’s eyes as he stepped out, took back his crown, and mockingly bowed.

Smug bastard.

---------------------

Madame Marrone’s Pizzeria wasn’t the best pizzeria Purple had ever eaten at. Heck, it wasn’t even the best one in delivery range, but it was fast and cheap and good for what it was, so it was Madame Marrone’s chocolate brown visage on their pizza boxes when they’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 Purple’s head the first time they’d ordered pineapple pizza, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. And now that they knew the reason, Purple could barely contain their laughter. Who’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 Gold’s loss had hurt the Old Man so deeply. It wasn’t just that Gold was his kid – 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 they’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 they’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 Purple’s first clue, but in their defense they’d had more important things to focus on at the time. They’d only managed to get to the point of Gold’s demise before the chaos had broken out.

Red had winced, hearing the details of Gold’s passing. “I’m sorry, man,” He sympathized, “Minecraft glitches are rough.” Though the Booth Thirty incident and the ‘Herobrine’ incident were two very different circumstances, it was likely the closest any of them could ever come to understanding what Gold went through.

“It’s not like I actually experienced that,” Gold shrugged off the show of empathy. They’d all rearranged themselves after the pizza had arrived, and Gold had taken over the arm of the Old Man’s armchair, right next to Yellow. “But it’s so weird to think about. I mean, I knew death was a thing, obviously, but I’ve never even lost someone before. I’ve never thought seriously about what happens after death. Have you guys?”

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 didn’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. “I have,” They confessed. It was hard to avoid that topic, when your last remaining family was slowly fading away in front of your eyes, “They say when data’s deleted from a hard drive, it’s never really completely gone. That some trace of it always remains. I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it is.”

Because it meant, in some way, that Purple’s mother had remained with them after her death. That Purple hadn’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.

“I… hope that’s true, too,” Gold agreed.

It occurred to Purple that they could tell the rest of the story right then and there. The details they’d been missing from the Booth Thirty Incident had been covered by Gold’s retelling of the event, and everything else they’d been present for. But the look on the Old Man’s face when he left to finally speak with Gold, that utterance of ‘This is a family matter’, muted their voice. It wouldn’t be right for Purple to tell Gold what they’d done. That was- that was King’s job. From family to family, no room for anyone else.

...Purple was a really bad person.

“Well, personally, I don’t,” Yellow declared, “I can barely handle one Green. The army that would arise from his many, many foolish Minecraft deaths? No thank you.”

Green scoffed at Yellow’s complaints, “You’re just jealous. You couldn’t possibly compete with an army that awesome.”

“H-hey…” Second’s mumbling broke through their ribbing, “Can we maybe change the subject? I’m not really up for talking about this right now…”

A round of worried looks passed around the room. While Purple lacked context for many of the group’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 could’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 didn’t relent, only holding on all the tighter.

…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 Purple’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.

“’Bout time you broke out,” Purple said in lieu of a proper greeting.

The backhanded remark was barely acknowledged. Instead Old Man King tenderly took Purple’s face into his grip and inspected the still sore side where the punch had landed. A strange tingling sensation drew Purple’s gaze over the old man’s shoulder to the other old man, glaring daggers at them from over Gold’s fuzzy curls, and they couldn’t help the flinch in response.

Whether or not King could feel it too was unclear, but he shifted positions to block Mango’s view of Purple, and they allowed themselves to relax a little.

“It’s not as bad as I’d feared,” King spoke in clear relief, though his small smile was dampened by clear hints of guilt, “How do you feel?”

Eager to clear that remaining fog of regret from the Old Man, Purple scoffed and tossed their hair back, preening dramatically, “Alas, despite Mango’s best efforts, the curse remains in full effect. I’m still tragically beautiful.”

King snorted, “At least your ego’s still in tact,” He then glanced down at the plate of pineapple and ham pizza sat nearby. It was Purple’s third slice, which they had no shame about. It wasn’t like they’d have to share with anyone but Gold (and maybe Blue, though she seemed content with her veggie pizza), “Ah, you ordered out?”

“Yup!” Purple chirped, breaking away easily from the Old Man’s fragile hold to take their food, “We tried to salvage the lasagna, but…”

“It killed a bush,” Blue blurted out, a haunted look in her eye as she recalled just how close she’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, “Of course. Of course it did. If the neighbors ever sue me because of you brats, I’m dragging you all down with me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Red chirped, like he was referring to casual criminal mischief and not that time King nearly killed them all. Purple couldn’t help laughing along with the others as they all cracked up. Nearly dying hadn’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 King’s grimacing face, they’d manage to convince the Old Man of the same.

For Gold, however, all the vague reference and laughter caused was confusion. “What do you mean?”

It had been so easy to forget, in the wake of all the revelry, that Gold still wasn’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 wasn’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 other’s comforting presence, King released Purple’s hand and exhaled, “I’ve brought this up to… your father before,” There was a strange intonation to those words, your father, and the implications made Purple frown, but they didn’t interrupt, “But there was more to the story I was telling you earlier. Things that happened after you died. You… deserve to know.”

Mango looked to the side. It wasn’t clear how much King had revealed to him, but it was enough for him to avoid his child’s confused eyes searching him for answers.

“Oh boy,” Yellow sighed, pushing back into the armchair and making herself comfortable, “Green, pass me another drink. This is gonna be a long one.” 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 Purple’s spot at the center of attention. Unlike Purple’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 King’s satisfaction, and once they did he sighed and began, “When you… died,” The light in King’s eyes completely left him, “I lost everything I had. My hopes, my dreams, my faith in this world… it was all gone. How could I hold on to any of that when my baby was dead…?” Unrestrained tears fell from the Old Man’s eyes, and Purple’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out, to take his hand yet again. But the eyes around them, the burning anger in Mango’s face, the repetition in their head of ‘this is a family matter’ kept them frozen in place.

Gold, however, had no such restraints, and even Mango’s hold couldn’t stop the bright stick from slipping out of his grasp and over to King. His arms wrapped around the Old Man’s neck, grounding him with the pleasant weight of warm sunshine. Purple’s fingers dug into he fabric of their pants, wondering why couldn’t they just be happy to see that? Why did it hurt so bad? Why couldn’t they just be a good person?

“I’m so sorry, Dad…” Gold cooed, and King’s breath hitched, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“Oh, honey,” Even through the tears, King managed to smile for Gold, “You never hurt me. Losing you was painful, but that was not your fault,” Purple turned to glance at Mango, and found him frowning in open displeasure at the sight before him. Well, at least Purple wasn’t the only bad person. King allowed Gold to hold him for a moment longer before gently, reluctantly, pushing him back, “but… please go sit down. I need to finish telling the story.”

With a great amount of effort, Gold broke away, sitting down next to where Mango was standing. The second he was within arm’s reach, Mango had him back in his embrace, holding him tight so he wouldn’t disappear again. His worried eyes stayed glued to King the entire time.

“Nothing mattered anymore. All I could think about was that moment, that terrible moment where I’d lost everything… 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 for… who knows how long. I was hurting, and I wanted to hurt the monster that took you from me.”

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 they’d truly realized why King had done what he did. Gold’s eyes widened, and Mango’s narrowed.

“But I’d already beaten the game’s technicians to a pulp,” 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 who’d been trying to run the game, they’d certainly felt it for days, “And the company had me sign a waiver. It’d been foolish of me not to read it, I know, but I couldn’t undo it. There was no legal recourse for me. I could’ve gone vigilante with it, but I didn’t have the resources or know-how to do such a thing without getting caught. And besides…” King’s eyes darkened, “My attention had focused… somewhere else.”

“On the game itself…” Green realized aloud. Red and Blue exchanged a look over Second’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, “I… don’t understand…”

“From my perspective,” King began to explain, “it 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 wasn’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,” A mad gleam fell across King’s eyes, “No matter what it took.”

Mango’s posture had stiffened, looking over at his other self in something like astonishment, “...huh,” He muttered, “You weren’t kidding…”

“But- but-” Gold sputtered, confused and grieved and horrified by what he was hearing, “But it’s a game! An entire world filled with monsters, and npcs, and other players, and- and- innocent people!” Gold’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, “It wasn’t the game’s fault the fair booth was glitched up! You can’t punish innocents for something that wasn’t their fault!”

King sat silently, unable to meet Gold’s haunted eyes.

The utter anguish on Gold’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 parent… well, nothing cut quite so deeply. Eager to push that pain out of Gold’s fragile heart, Purple intervened, drawing the spotlight to themselves, “But we beat him~!” They spoiled, hoping that knowing King lost would mitigate at least a bit of the heartache, “And we undid all the damage King and I did! No sticks were harmed in the making of this final showdown!”

“Uh, yes, sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown,” Yellow interrupted incredulously, “MANY sticks were harmed in the making of this showdown, actually.”

“Quiet, peg-leg,” Purple hissed back.

“Back up for a moment,” Mango suddenly interrupted, standing rigidly straight, “You said ‘all the damage King and I did’.” Purple winced. Yeah, they had let that slip, hadn’t they? “What do you mean by that?”

This was where King regained control of the narrative, taking back the spotlight from Purple to spare them the interrogation. “In 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 itself… 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 I’d envisioned, but nothing I acquired was strong enough. They could break things, sure, but they weren’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.

“I didn’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 didn’t sleep, I barely ate. I wandered the city aimlessly, asking anyone who’d give me a second of time, ‘Have you seen this icon? Do you have any information? Please, anything, I’d give anything…” King’s voice cracked, which signaled him to take a moment, take a breath, before continuing, “Then, I finally found it. Through a YouTube video, of all things.”

A chorus of groans came from the couch and the armchair. Second buried their face in their hands. Green sighed and muttered, “That’s how you found us? Cursors damn it, Alan…”

“We’re gonna need to have another long talk about this,” Blue moaned, “Ugh, as if the last one hadn’t been bad enough.”

“Alan’s the human you all live with, right?” Purple asked, receiving some half-hearted confirmations in response.

Gold seemed confused by the mere concept, “You all live with a human?” He arched his eyebrow at them. Though his haggard eyes indicated King’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, “I thought all humans were violent, stick-killing psychopaths.”

That wasn’t so uncommon a belief in a city run by Rocket Corp: everyone knew the tragic tale of its recently deceased leader, how they’d been created for the sole purpose of suffering and dying, how they’d manage to drag themselves from the Recycling Bin and rose to power, creating a safe haven where humans couldn’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.

“That’s not… always true…” Second protested, but it sounded weak and shaky for reasons beyond Second’s physical state.

The tension returned with a vengeance.

“...actually, that kinda proves King’s even dumber than we thought,” 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 King’s back, but one of the few insults he couldn’t stand was one to his intellect. It was, to put it in King’s own words, one of the few things he hadn’t lost that day, “I mean, you saw Alan’s videos of our adventures and you still thought it was a good idea to threaten and steal from us? Talk about moronic.”

Seething, King spoke through grinding teeth as he responded, “Well, I hadn’t exactly planned on fighting you kids…”

“You shouldn’t be fighting anyone,” Gold scolded, and though his glare bore into King, Purple didn’t miss his side-eye at Mango as well, “Or stealing anything.”

Thoroughly scolded, King winced and looked away, “Right, sorry. But, to continue, I used what I learned to seek out the sticks who had the Icon. That’s what lead me to Purple. Or, rather, them to me. I… wasn’t exactly honest with them.”

Purple snorted. “That’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!” Purple pumped their first up, as though in example, “...Of course, I didn’t know what the staff was really capable of, or what the Old Man intended to do with it. If I had, I don’t think I’d have gone along with it.”

Or at least Purple would like to think they wouldn’t have. They didn’t want to ponder too hard on it – given Purple’s thirst for power and how nice the Old Man had been when Purple was obedient, Purple wasn’t sure they’d like the answer they’d come to.

“So, the Old Man and I conquered a fortress in the game… even without the Icon, the staff was ridiculously powerful, it was so easy. Then we set about following his plan. I’d go find the others and lure them into a trap, then I’d get the Icon for King and we’d conquer the world,” Purple looked over at their friends, and felt a familiar kick in their gut, “Again, I am so sorry about that. I had my reasons, but…”

“We know,” Green consoled, patting Purple on the shoulder, “We’ve already forgiven you.”

“You know what they say about trusting people,” Blue chimed in, grinning cheekily, “Third time’s the charm!”

“Don’t think that’s about trust…” Second rebuffed jokingly from the comfortable cushion of Blue’s shoulder.

Warmth flooded into Purple’s cheeks. They couldn’t say what miracle allowed their friends to forgive them after all the garbage they’d pulled, but Purple would never take it for granted. Er, this time.

Red had taken over story-time in the meanwhile, “So, we ran into Purple after an already pretty long day,” Purple could hear Blue mumbling under her breath. They couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but it made Second chuckle, “And they lured us into this parkour course. It was pretty fun at first! But, then I won, and I realized the others weren’t coming, and the guards wouldn’t let me leave…”

“We were trapped,” Green summarized, “Stuck there so King wouldn’t have worry about us while he stole our Icon… hey,” Green’s brow furrowed, “Were you just going to keep us there? While you blew up Minecraft? Did you at least have some way to get Purple out?”

This question made Purple look away from the Old Man’s face for the first time throughout the entire story. It was done and over with. They didn’t need to know. They didn’t want to know. King’s mistakes, however painful, were done and over with. They were happy now. Questions like these shouldn’t be haunting Purple. They shouldn’t.

“There 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 hadn’t planned to sacrifice anyone else to Minecraft,” King answered, and Purple let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding, “Things got… out of hand after you all broke out, though.”

“Seems they were out of hand for a long time before that,” Green quipped dryly.

Gold nodded along, staring blankly ahead of him, “Yeah, no kidding…”

The dismissive scoffing from Gold seemed to stun both King and Mango, but nonetheless King continued on, “When the kids realized what I was planning, they tried to stop me. We fought. I… didn’t hold back. Purple had succeeded in getting me the Icon, and after that I stopped caring about anything but reaching my goal. And… I succeeded.”

“Wait, what?!” Gold jumped up, alarmed, “No, but… no! Everyone here’s fine, that means you- did you actually destroy a whole…?”

Taking in shallow, rapid breaths, Gold backed away from King and held his head in his hands. Mango’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, couldn’t seem to bridge the gap between them.

Well, if King couldn’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, “Hey,” They put on their biggest, most confident smile for Gold, “Remember what I said earlier? I turned on King, and the good guys won. Minecraft’s still in one piece. King screwed up, but nobody died, I promise.”

Too distressed to respond verbally, Gold just swallowed and nodded. His father drew Gold closer and hugged him tight, and though Gold’s hands gripped at Mango’s arms, he didn’t look any more at ease.

King’s longing eyes clung fast to Gold’s anxious form, but after a moment he continued, “With the Icon’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,” Gold’s hands flew up to cover his mouth in shock, “But Purple… didn’t give up. Even when the beam was pointed right at them and their body was disintegrating…” The Old Man’s voice shook as he remember. Purple winced, rubbing at their arm to soothe an ache that wasn’t there, “They kept pushing forward, and… and by the time I’d realized what I was doing to them… they were almost…” The Old Man’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, “I… will never be able to apologize enough for that.”

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.

“...So you almost killed Purple?” Gold spat. Purple pried their gaze from the flooring to where the other kid was staring, “It wasn’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?!”

King didn’t have a response. He didn’t even try to defend himself, merely hanging his head in shame.

Mango, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to reassure his child, “Don’t worry, Honey,” He tried to console, unaware that his soothing words made Gold grit his teeth all the harder, “This isn’t going to be our future. I’ll make sure of it-”

“Right, because you’re not going to do anything like that!” Gold snapped, pulling away from Mango’s attempts at comfort, “It’s not like you just started throwing punches at literally everyone the second you heard something you didn’t like!”

The poor Old Man couldn’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. “Hey! Hey! It’s okay, it’s all gonna be-”

“It’s not okay!” Gold screamed at Purple, his tear-stricken face a near-perfect mirror of Mango’s. Unlike Mango, however, Gold immediately retreated when he saw Purple flinch away, “Sorry, ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I just…. I don’t understand,” His head fell into his hands again, tears flowing free and unashamed down his face as he repeated, “I don’t understand… he hurt you. He almost killed you,” Purple idly rubbed at their arm, unsure of what to say, “How can you forgive that?” Gold looked past Purple, to the many sticks sitting at attention on the couch, “How can any of you forgive that?”

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, “I can’t speak for the others, but now that I know, I can kind of understand why Mango- King did what he did.

“When you lose someone… or even think you’re going to lose someone… it’s like there’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,” Second took a brief break to cough before diving right back into it, “but, one of those things you feel is anger, and anger is different. It… tricks you, because even though it's just as bad as the other stuff, it feels constructive. Like, even though everything’s breaking down around you, there’s something you can do. Some power you can take back. And by the time you realize it was lying to you…” Second’s eyes fell, clouded by dark thoughts, “You’ve already hurt the people you wanted to protect.”

Without exchanging words, Red reached over and took Second’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. Green’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, “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“No,” King agreed, quietly surprising Purple. With how heavily his sins were weighing down on him, Purple hadn’t expected the Old Man to speak up again, “It doesn’t.”

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, “How did you beat him?”

“It was all Sec, baby!” Green cheered, proudly displaying his orange friend.

Second rolled their eyes at him, “It 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!” After that proclamation, Second sunk further into Green, somehow looking even more tired, “For real, though, I wouldn’t have gotten close without you guys.”

“What would you do without us?” Yellow teased, a smug grin settling on her face. The friends shared a round of chuckles amongst themselves. Gold didn’t partake, only staring blankly at the wall behind the group. He only broke out of this trance when Yellow’s gentle touch on his arm caused him to jump, “Hey, I get it. You only just learned that you were going to die in less than two years,” Yellow spoke those words so casually, but the ripples of pain they caused through the room were all too palpable, “and then we dumped all this on you. It’d be a lot for anyone. You should take a break and get some rest. Looks like it’s getting pretty late, anyways.”

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 weren’t injured, they’d likely be staying the night anyways. It was simply too dangerous to traverse through the Minecraft world at this time of night.

“Okay…” Gold acknowledged, hugging himself. Mango once again attempted to reach out to him and was once again rebuffed, “I’m… I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

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 couldn’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 they’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 didn’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, “Hey,” They broke the silence hesitantly, “You doing okay?”

For a moment, it was like King hadn’t even heard Purple. They were about to repeat themselves when he finally responded, “I did the right thing, didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yup.” Immediately responded Purple.

That, at last, broke the mask King wore, making a small smile appear, “No hesitation, huh?”

“Look,” Purple leaned their full weight on the Old Man, “I may not be an expert on ‘healthy family dynamics’,” They punctuated their words with air quotes, “but I’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 hadn’t told him yourself now, then he’d find out from someone else later, and that would have been far worse.”

Just the thought of that put a visible wince on King’s face, the poor Old Man nodding, “That’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to make him hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” They reassured, carefully watching King’s face to make sure he wasn’t getting too upset, “He’s scared, and hurt, and really overwhelmed. Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Well, Purple couldn’t really say that for sure. They weren’t in Gold’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 couldn’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 Man’s eyes, “You think so?”

“I know so,” Purple, master of ‘fake it ‘til you make it’, proclaimed.

Their reward was a pair of arms wrapping tightly around them, so quickly Purple couldn’t help the instinctual flinch in reaction, but once they recovered they immediately moved to return the embrace. Hugs weren’t uncommon between the two, per say, but there was something bittersweet about this one. After all, King had his own child back. This… 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 King’s sake, they’d be a good person, just this once.

“Ahem,” 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, “Sorry to interrupt,” He actually looked anything but sorry, but Purple wasn’t about to call him out and get punched again, “but I looked around, and I couldn’t help but notice that I no longer have a bedroom.”

Right… Purple had also taken over the Old Man’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 Gold’s, not the Old Man’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 King’s kid and past self.

“That’s right,” King acknowledged, surprising Purple by taking one of their hands into his own, “Purple needed a space of their own, and I don’t sleep much anymore, anyways. Normally when I need to sleep I’ll catch a nap on the couch, but…” He glanced over to said couch, where Green was fluffing a pillow for Second, “I suppose that’s not an option tonight.”

Purple’s posture straightened immediately. They could sleep in the living room with the others – all five were used to bed sharing, it wouldn’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-

“You can sleep on the floor in my room.”

-And Gold beat them to it. He’d appeared from behind the corner of the bedroom hallway, looking just as drained as he had when he’d disappeared.

Both King and Mango appeared startled by the invitation. “Both of us?” King asked incredulously, and his brow only furrowed further when Gold nodded, “Are you sure?”

“If I didn’t offer, you’d both just be up all night worrying about me anyways,” Gold huffed. It was clear from his guarded body language and low voice that nothing was forgiven quite yet – but for him to make this offer, Purple must have been right on the money with their earlier reassurances, “So, yeah. You can both sleep in my room with me if you promise not to fight.”

The two versions of Gold’s dad eagerly agreed, and Purple fell back, swallowing the unmade offer, where it lodged in their throat and weighed unbidden on their lungs. They’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 they’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. They’d get over it.

---------------------

Mango had always been a light sleeper.

Even before Gold had come along, sleeping just wasn’t something that came naturally to Mango. He’d stay up late, awaken multiple times throughout the night, and be up and out of bed at what his old roommates called ‘the unholy hours of the morning’. 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 Mango’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 Mango’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. “Gold…?” 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 he’d been sleeping on the ground next to his own lookalike. “No, Gold’s still in bed,” King confirmed, tossing his head in the direction of the bed, where Gold slept with his back to the two, “That’s probably Purple. ‘M gonna go check on them… be right back.”

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 was… dead… and then there was Purple.

Thinking of Purple made Mango scowl and roll back over. It wasn’t the kid’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 King’s blatant affection left in his mouth. The tyrant didn’t hesitate to shower Purple with praise, or shield Purple from Mango with dagger-like glares. And because of… 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, there’s an easy way to find out…

Mango turned under his blankets to look away from the door. No. No, he wasn’t going out there. He couldn’t leave Gold alone after everything, and Purple wasn’t his problem. It was just a passing curiosity. Nothing more.

And where’s their real parents? Their real home? Who ARE they, anyways?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Why were they so content to play therapist to a stick who almost killed them?

It… didn’t matter…

The way they cowered when you hit them… were they…?

Mango forced himself up. It wasn’t like he was going back to sleep, anyways.

Instead, he slipped out of Gold’s room, trailing far enough behind King that he wouldn’t take note of Mango’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 Mango’s face as he pressed his ear against it to listen in to the two on the other side.

“Hey,” King began with a greeting, and Mango could hear someone scrambling on the other side of the door.

“Ack! H-hey, don’t scare me like that,” Purple’s scolding voice responded.

Laughter followed, deep but playful, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What are you even doing out here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Huffed the younger stick.

This was followed by an exaggerated groan of complaint as King audibly ruffled Purple’s hair, “I barely sleep on the best of days, and today’s been… a lot.” Purple mumbled something that sounded like agreement, “So I was already awake when I heard you leave your room. So, you want to tell me what’s up?”

A long, silent moment, filled with only the distant sound of crickets in the night, passed before Purple eventually responded, “I- It’s nothing, really. Sorry to drag you out here-”

“Don’t give me that,” Chided King, “C’mon, tell me what’s going on. The King demands it.”

Purple snorted in laughter, though it wasn’t a particularly jolly sound. Rather, it sounded… tired, “It’s not important,” They tried to downplay, “Just… a bad dream. I’ll be fine.”

“Ah,” Another moment of silence passed, followed by a simple question, “Pink or Blue?”

“Why do you think it always comes back to…?” 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, “Pink.”

“That makes sense, given that we’ve seen the dead come back to life today,” King shuffled over on the stoop; closer to Purple, maybe, “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really much to talk about,” Purple proclaimed, before elaborating anyways, “Mama and Pops and I were up at the beach, north of the city. Do you know it? It’s at the lake with the little island in the middle.”

“Never been, but I’ve heard good things,” Confirmed King, “Is it nice?”

“It’s beautiful,” Purple sighed, their voice tinged with melancholy and nostalgia, “We’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 gathered… then, when it got late, we’d have ice cream and watch the sun set together. No matter what else was going on, we were always happy there.”

Were. Mango’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 King’s own. That answered some questions, and raised so many more.

“We’ll have to go up there sometime,” King responded, speaking to Purple like one might speak to a skittish kitten.

“Yeah…” Despite the affirmation, Purple didn’t sound particularly enthused at the idea, “but, normally when I dream of the beach, it’s a happy dream. So I was surprised when a storm rolled in and my Pops… 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 of… monster. I couldn’t make it out really well, but it had really big, really sharp teeth.

“It dragged Mama down into the water. She kicked and screamed, and started coughing really bad, but she couldn’t get away from it. At first I just sat there and watched like a total idiot,” Mango couldn’t help wincing at the raw bitterness in Purple’s voice, all directed inward, “but 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 couldn’t break free of it, no matter how hard I kicked, and she just got dragged down further, and further, and then… then I couldn’t see her anymore,” Purple’s voice shook a little, “I… once I lost sight of her, I froze. All I could think was that I wasn’t strong enough to save her, wasn’t good enough to save her, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t even realize I was drowning too until I woke up gasping.”

King and Mango both took a tense moment to absorb Purple’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 wasn’t crying. Was it because they didn’t want to burden anyone with their grief? Were they too used to the pain to cry? Mango couldn’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 else’s…

“I’m… so sorry,” King cooed softly, his voice a careful orchestra of concern and restraint. “You know… once Second recovers, we can ask them to do what they did for Gold for your mom. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“...No.” Purple’s answer was sad, but resolute, “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. What happened to Gold was a tragic accident. Mama’s death was… not. She died of a long, incurable, painful illness, and we don’t know if Sec’s healing powers work on diseases like that. If we brought her to the future, no matter how far back we went, I’d just have to watch her die again. Not only that, she’s so nice, all my friends would love her, and then they’d have to lose her too. It just wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.”

Mango felt a stupor fall over him as he mulled over Purple’s answer. When he’d learned about Gold’s death, he could only process two things: the fury he felt at the monster who’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 him… he’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 was… utterly baffling.

“That’s an incredibly mature decision,” Spoke the King, “and I’m so sorry you had to make it, sweetheart.”

“Eh, those were more like excuses not to ask, really.” Purple sighed, far more world-weary than any kid their age should sound, “Even if the others didn’t kill me for asking after Sec almost died, it wouldn’t be right to make them risk their life again just for me,” They paused, then added, “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though.”

“I know,” Consoled the adult. Mango could hear him gently patting Purple on the back, presumably, and without thinking Mango clasped his own hands together. “I’ve heard being in a more comfortable space can help with nightmares. You said you wanted a hammock bed, right? That shouldn’t be too hard to install.”

There was a brief pause before Purple answered, “You… don’t mind me modifying your room like that?”

“Your room,” King corrected without hesitation. “It’s your space now, Purple. I’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.”

“Heh,” A little more cheer was evident in Purple’s voice as they absorbed King’s words. They seemed more confident, somehow, “Yeah, thanks. Hey, maybe we can take that trip up to the beach. You know, if you don’t bring any drama.”

Now that Purple’s mood was on the upswing, King’s own voice took on a more jovial tone as well, “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I had absolutely zero flair for the dramatic before you entered my life.”

Mango couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Um, no. Even he had to call bull on that one.

“You’re welcome~!” Purple teased back, “But, seriously, the beach is kind of my happy place. So we can only go together if you promise to keep it a happy place.”

Context made King respond a bit more seriously, “I promise. Nothing but happy memories at the beach!” Then he hummed in thought, “It might be a while before we get to go, then. ‘Drama’ has kind of taken over our lives right now.”

“When hasn’t it?” Purple joked back, “But, until then, maybe we can go somewhere else? And we can even bring Gold and your evil twin.” Mango scowled as King snorted. How did he, the one who wasn’t a terrorist, end up with the title of evil twin? “Like, we can check out the amusement park! Or I can show Gold my tree house-”

“Gonna have to veto that one, bud,” Interrupted King, “I know it wasn’t the game’s fault, just some malfunctioning tech, but I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be comfortable with Gold going into Minecraft after what happened… I’m only barely able to handle you going in there alone.”

Mango flinched away from the door for a moment. The game that killed his kid… Purple played it? And King let them? What was wrong with this guy?

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Purple agreed casually, as if they weren’t talking about a stick-killing murder simulation, “then I guess we can do something else. Maybe the park?”

“Yeah, the park…” King sighed dreamily. Which park they were referring to was easy to guess; it had been his and Gold’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 Gold’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. “That sounds lovely. Gold could show you all his favourite spots, I could use myself as a punching bag to teach you both proper dueling,” Mango rolled his eyes as Purple let out a snorting laugh, “We could get corn dogs.”

“I hate corn dogs.” Purple answered. He’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, “Then the princess can get themselves a pretzel.” Purple tried to complain, but King cut them off by ruffling their hair. He chuckled fondly at them, all sweet and loving and… how could he not feel any guilt, showing them this kind of affection, when all he’d done was use Purple to fill the hole in his life? “How are you feeling now?”

“Mm…” Purple took a moment to mull it over before answering, “Tired, actually. I think I’m ready to head back in.”

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 Purple’s friends like they were hurdles on a track. The echoing creak of the door opening hit Mango’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 Purple’s friends.

That slowness would be Mango’s saving grace. He turned and began creeping through the hallway towards Gold’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 he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a restless little golden angel knocking at his door.

“...Purple, hold up a second,” King’s voice quietly called out. Purple’s questioning noise turned to one of shock, “You’ve got something on your cheek. Here, let me-”

“Ew, Old Man, no-!”

Oh. King was giving him a chance to get away without being busted by Purple. Mango didn’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 wasn’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 today’s events were clearly weighing on him, and Mango’s heart ached at the sight.

At least the poor kid was able to get some rest.

--------------------

Gold hadn’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 – his Dad – had poured out to him. All the people he’d hurt, the world he’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 hadn’t even bothered to roll over and check on them. Were they fighting again? It shouldn’t have mattered, but another knife of betrayal stabbed into Gold anyways. He’d asked them to do one thing, one thing! And they couldn’t even manage that.

As he laid there, Gold’s mind flickered through the day’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 Dad’s Gold…

Tears burned at his eyes, and Gold sniffed and hastily wiped them away. He’d always known his Dad had a temper, but… but he’d thought his Dad was a good person…

Eventually one of the Dads came back, a near inaudible creak in the otherwise dead silent night signaling his return. Gold didn’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 – 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 wouldn’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 Gold’s heart to beat louder in his ears. Anticipation stole his breath.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know.”

Gold gulped down his nerves. Shoot.

Thankfully, before he could make the mistake of speaking up, the other version of his Dad, the one who’d entered first, responded from where he laid on the floor, “...Sorry.” The voice was soft, and lacked the hostility he had in previous conversations with himself.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” The Dad not laying down answered, “Tomorrow you’ll be telling Purple, and saying a proper ‘sorry’,” His tone was firm, and Gold realized that the one standing by the door was, most likely, King.

“I will,” Mango replied. He didn’t put up a fight at all, which somehow made Gold more nervous and suspicious than he would’ve been if he’d fought the demand. He paused for a brief second, then asked, “...Purple’s mom is dead?”

Gold’s breath caught in his throat. Purple was… was that why Purple went along with everything Dad had wanted? Because they didn’t have anyone else?

King sighed out a long, tired sigh before responding, “Yeah. She’s been dead longer than Gold. Some glitch in her core coding… I haven’t exactly pressed Purple for details, and they weren’t keen on giving them.”

“And their other parent?” Mango asked gingerly. Gold was reminded of an incident from when he was younger, when he’d broken a window with a baseball, and Dad was asking about the damages owed. The dread was tangible.

For a long moment King didn’t respond, and Gold was almost starting to think he wouldn’t when he finally answered, “That’s not my story to tell,” King’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 Gold’s father louder in his villainy? “And if I tried, I’d genuinely get too angry to sleep. Just know that if I had my way, that stick would NEVER get anywhere near Purple again.”

“So my hunch was correct,” Mango’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, “The kid’s an abuse victim.”

Oh, and it just got worse.

“Like I said, Purple’s story isn’t mine to tell.” King spoke through gritted teeth, “If you want the details, you can ask them like the adult you’re supposed to be. But I’m not saying anything else about it. I don’t even think Purple knows how much I know about their previous home.”

Mango scoffed, “No wonder the kid’s so attached. How can you not feel guilty?”

“Guilty?” King echoed.

“For using that kid like you are? For taking in some sad, pitiable orphan just to make them replace your dead child?”

That- that wasn’t true, Gold forced himself to think. There was no way that Gold’s Dad would do that to some poor kid, right? But… there was no way Gold’s Dad would commit attempted murder, or destroy an entire world, either. He searched himself for some sign, any sign, that his Dad wouldn’t do that to Purple, and was met only with a clawing emptiness in his chest.

At this point, Gold didn’t know what to think of his own father.

“I’ve already told you,” Anger crept into King’s voice, though he kept the volume low, “Purple is not a replacement for Gold. They’re not some pet project, or some band-aid solution I’ll abandon now that Gold’s back.”

“...Well, it’s not like it’s my business,” Mango dismissed. Gold could hear rustling as he turned away from King, “Once 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.”

Bile churned in Gold’s stomach. How could his dad talk like that about Purple? After what they’d done for Gold? After what he’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 couldn’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. King’s emotional support and Mango’s target of resentment, allowing themselves to take on the Ochre family’s burdens so the rest of them could be happy. It felt to Gold like someone should take on Purple’s burdens, for once.

And if his father wasn’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.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Inspired by the visual language of old Ray Bradbury and Stephen King paperbacks, Justin Metz created this illustration, which may be the first cover without a headline or typography in The Atlantic’s 167-year history. :: The Atlantic

* * * *

Trump suffers emotional break; media pretends it didn’t happen

September 9, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

Something remarkable happened in American politics over the last two weeks. A major party candidate for president suffered what can only be described as an emotional break or medical emergency that resulted in a sudden acceleration in the deterioration of his already deteriorating cognitive abilities and further loss of control over his delusional impulses. But you wouldn’t know it from reading the stories in the major media outlets—that are obsessing over horse-race polls and debate prognostication.

No, this isn’t just another rant about media coverage. We are at an inflection point: Either the media will meet the moment, or it will abandon the very democracy that creates the conditions that allow it to flourish. Whether the media meets that challenge is no longer our problem. It is a waste of emotional energy and precious time to worry about it. We have real work to do: That of convincing other Americans of the profound unfitness of Donald Trump and his unique threat to democracy.

Against all logic, decency, and common sense, the presidential race remains effectively tied (although Kamala Harris has the momentum, which is a good sign with less than 60 days until election day). Sadly, many Americans will vote for Trump because he is unhinged and out of control. He is an avatar for their anger. It is not a productive use of our time to focus on those voters.

But a substantial portion of the electorate remains undecided. Many say they don’t know enough about our current vice president to vote for her—although they are open to persuasion. Our target is the persuadable undecided voters and those who can’t bring themselves to vote for Trump but aren’t sure they can vote for Kamala Harris.

The media would be sounding the alarm with unremitting urgency in a world with a functioning press. But the media has concluded that it can generate more revenue by keeping the presidential race close. The believe that declaring one candidate to be an unfit megalomaniac at every opportunity would grow tiresome.

So, it is up to us. We must be warriors for the truth. And that means understanding what we have just witnessed over the last two weeks. Yes, it is unpleasant and enervating. We want to look away. That is what Trump wants. He wants us to be weary to the point of numbness and surrender. We cannot let that happen.

As soon as Kamala Harris became the presumptive nominee, Trump began racist and misogynistic attacks unparalleled in the sordid history of American political campaigns. He questioned Kamala Harris’s racial identify and accused her of engaging in sexual acts to succeed as a politician. And then it got worse.

Heather Cox Richardson’s column on Saturday describes the increasing velocity of Trump's descent into madness over the last week, especially his speeches over the weekend. See September 7, 2024 - by Heather Cox Richardson. HCR’s column moved many readers to post Comments in the Sunday edition of this newsletter. HCR writes, in part,

But today’s speech struck me as different from his past performances, distinguished for what sounded like desperation. Trump has always invented his stories from whole cloth, but there used to be some way to tie them to reality. Today that seemed to be gone. He was in a fantasy world, and his rhetoric was apocalyptic. It was also bloody in ways that raise huge red flags for scholars of fascism. [¶¶] [Trump said,] “I better win or you're gonna have problems like we've never had. We may have no country left. This may be our last election. You want to know the truth? People have said that. This may be our last election…. It’ll all be over, and you gotta remember…. Trump is always right. I hate to be right. I’m always right.” [¶¶] Whatever has caused it, Trump seems utterly off his pins, embracing wild conspiracy theories and, as his hopes of winning the election appear to be crumbling, threatening vengeance with a dogged fury that he used to be able to hide.

I urge you to read HCR’s entire column for an exposition of Trump's weekend speeches.

But it gets worse.

After his Saturday speeches, Trump posted the worst fascistic, ugly, megalomaniacal threat ever made by an American politician. He threatened to prosecute his opponents if he wins the 2024 election:

CEASE & DESIST: I, together with many Attorneys and Legal Scholars, am watching the Sanctity of the 2024 Presidential Election very closely because I know, better than most, the rampant Cheating and Skullduggery that has taken place by the Democrats in the 2020 Presidential Election. It was a Disgrace to our Nation! Therefore, the 2024 Election, where Votes have just started being cast, will be under the closest professional scrutiny and, WHEN I WIN, those people that CHEATED will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the Law, which will include long term prison sentences so that this Depravity of Justice does not happen again. We cannot let our Country further devolve into a Third World Nation, AND WE WON'T! Please beware that this legal exposure extends to Lawyers, Political Operatives, Donors, Illegal Voters, & Corrupt Election Officials. Those involved in unscrupulous behavior will be sought out, caught, and prosecuted at levels, unfortunately, never seen before in our Country.

To be clear, Trump is threatening—in advance—to impose “long-term prison sentences .. . . never before seen in this country” on lawyers, election officials, donors, voters, and politicians whom Trump views as opponents.

We must pause on the madness of Trump's threats. They are delusional. The election hasn’t occurred, and he is planning to jail people over fictional cheating. He is using fascistic threats to dissuade eligible voters and election officials from engaging in the election process by suggesting that they will be “sought out, caught, and prosecuted”—as if the legal system is his personal instrument of revenge.

The combined effect of Trump's speech and post on Saturday should have been a watershed moment for journalists covering politics in America. For most of Sunday, no major media outlet commented on the deranged nature of Trump's speech or his post. Mid-afternoon on Sunday, both the Times and WaPo had posted stories about the threats—in the politics section of their coverage. Apparently, neither outlet believes that overt threats of retribution over non-existent election fraud rise to the level of “general news.”

What did rise to the level of “general news”? New polling by the NYTimes, which claimed the race is effectively tied. Although the Times’s results put Trump slightly ahead in the margin of error, its results were an outlier. How did the Times respond to the fact that its results were inconsistent with the trend of polling? It declared that its poll was “high quality,” while other polls taken since the convention in the race were of inferior quality. “There simply haven’t been many high-quality surveys fielded since the convention, when Ms. Harris was riding high.”

So, on a day when Trump's preemptive threat to jail election officials for non-existent fraud should have been the lead story with 48 POINT FONT, the Times placed itself at the center of the universe by highlighting its poll and declaring that its outlier results were correct, and all other polls were inferior.

The Guardian, as usual, distinguished itself by calling out Trump's deranged behavior as its lead story. See The Guardian, Trump threatens to jail adversaries for ‘unscrupulous behavior’ if he wins.

Perhaps Monday will bring a wave of condemnation and attention that was beyond the capabilities of major media over the weekend. That would be a welcome development. But regardless of whether that happens, it does not excuse us from the task of raising the alarm about Trump's threat to democracy. While we cannot limit our message to the threat to democracy, neither can we normalize or dismiss it or look away.

If we do not convince Americans that Trump is the greatest danger to democracy our nation has ever faced, then every policy proposal designed to improve the lives of all Americans will be meaningless.

It is a tough task to focus on the threat of Trump and the promise of Kamala Harris. But here we are. We must do both. And we aren’t going to get the help we deserve from the media. We must be bold; we must be willing to step outside of our comfort zone; we must speak the truth in words of one syllable (or shorter, if possible).

It seems improbable that the media can continue to ignore Trump's descent into madness and megalomania. But it seems improbable that they have done so to this point. But let’s not invest emotional energy worrying whether they will. It’s up to us. It always has been. But the stakes are higher than they have ever been.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[luveline]

For the zombie AU with Steve, maybe a night of survival in the cold? Reluctant cuddling, bonding?

YESSSS tysm for ur request i owe u my life

You pull your coat closed around your middle and shiver.

"Come here," Steve says, tucking the map under his arm.

You move to stand in front of him because he's slipped into his caretaking tone. A nice change. Usually he's just mildly annoyed.

He takes the zipper of your coat into his hand and scolds as he tries to fix it for the fiftieth time today. It's awful timing for it to break because it's cold as winter and you're on the road. A fire, as you've learned, would be a mistake. You close your eyes at the thought of such blistering warmth and listen to him cuss under his breath.

"Sorry," you say eventually. His quiet makes you nervous.

"Not your fault, just..." He gives up and steps away from you. "Bad timing."

You hide your hands in your sleeves.

"Maybe we should stop anyways. We're not exactly moving fast," he says bitterly.

You like the sound of that.

There's a tarp at the bottom of your backpack for occasions like this. You shed your bag and dig for it as Steve drops his own. It's not great, your having to carry blankets with you — they're heavy and take up a lot of space — but it's worse to freeze to death outdoors.

The sun creeps down low in the horizon lazily. You think it's as reluctant to go as you are for it to dissapear, its rays the only thing keeping the tip of your nose from freezing and falling off, no doubt.

You search for a stick. It's harder than it sounds.

Steve doesn't like walking along the road and you don't blame him, often there's cars or bikes weaving through the carcasses of cars picked clean, so you hide in the tree bank. A road block or something similar to the south must've broken recently, and the sound of engines revving at night gets more frequent. Better to stay hidden, even if finding somewhere to camp at night proves difficult.

The stick is necessary to build a makeshift tent, but the trees here are all spindly and thin-branched.

You return triumphant with something just long enough to keep the tarp from your bodies to find Steve's already found a better, chunkier stick and established a camp.

"Don't tell me, or anything. Just let me look for sticks for an hour."

"Your perception of time is getting worse."

"Some of us don't wear watches, 'cos we aren't rich, privileged babies."

He actually manages to laugh at that one, which is odd. It's one of the weakest insults you've ever thrown at him.

"That was bad," he says.

Oh. He's laughing at you.

"Jerk."

"What do you want? I have tinned peaches or a chocolate granola bar-"

"Obviously the granola-"

"With laxatative properties," he finishes, holding it between his fingers like a guy from the commercials. He shakes it at you enticingly.

"I'm not that hungry."

"Too bad."

You both sit near the makeshift tent in your heavy clothes. Steve stretches the blanket over your legs with a warning, "If you get peach juice on this I'm not gonna talk to you till Michigan."

You take the open can of peaches and pretend to tip it toward the blanket. "Don't tempt me, Harrington."

You have to keep talking because if you don't you'll cry. Really cry. Eating dinner like this from a can in a bed of leaf litter makes you want to cry. Every mouthful is sweet and sticky and your eyes get heavy with tears.

Steve understands what you're like by now. "I really fucking hate peaches," he says grandly. "I know you're surprised."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"No?"

"Do guys eat fruit?"

It's a talent.

"'Do guys eat fruit?'" he quotes seriously, pensive, like the answer escapes him.

He leans back against his rucksack and crosses his arms behind his head. He could be shooting the breeze, that's how relaxed Steve Harrington looks.

You laugh reluctantly into the can of peaches as you take a little sip of the juice and almost choke.

"I gotta eat that too, you know? Don't spit in it."

"Sorry," you say genuinely, wiping your sticky face with the back of your hand.

"You should be. Gross." He doesn't sound very bothered.

Steve eats his own peach slices with a shiver and tosses the can overhead. It goes really far, hitting the base of a tree across the way. You can imagine him in his gym clothes rather than what he wears now. Prim yellow shorts. Clean gym t-shirt with his name written in pen across the front.

"You can sleep first," he says.

You don't argue, sliding under the tarp with your blanket.

It's easier like this. The sun hasn't quite set but there's really nothing else to do. You'll sleep, Steve will wake you up in a couple of hours and then you'll swap. You'll wake Steve up when the sun rises, and another day on the road will begin.

The floor is very, very cold.

You try your best to stop from shivering and bring the blanket up to cover your face. The sun goes down and the last of its heat goes with it.

You stick it out. Complaining won't make it warmer. Steve doesn't even have a blanket.

"Y/N?" he whispers.

Leaves shift.

"Are you awake?"

You lift your head to see him where he sits at the opening of the 'tent'. It's difficult to make out his features now.

"I can hear your teeth," he says, eyes impassive as they scour your face.

"S-s-sorry," you shudder.

He stares at you for a while before stretching out his legs and shuffling across the dirt toward you. His hands are like ice as he works them under your shoulders and arms, dragging you into his lap.

You're tired and cold. "Steve," you grumble miserably, "what are you doing?"

"Body heat."

He doesn't stop until you're settled, slouching down so you can lean comfortably against his chest. He pulls the ends of your coats together tightly, readjusts your blanket, and covers your hands with both of his.

He yanks the tarp down and covers you with that, too, the both of your engulfed in plastic.

"What if it rains?" you ask.

"On our frozen corpses, you mean?"

You cringe and turn in his arms to hide your face in his scratchy jacket. His head drops toward his chest, chin gracing the top of your head. It's like a hug. It is a hug. You wrap your arms around his waist and try not to think about it.

It's not the most comfortable position in the world. Your back doesn't quite want to turn right, and his thigh probably hurts from your left elbow. Honestly, it's a pretty pathetic excuse for a hug.

"Why don't you just lie down with me?" you say into his coat.

"And get eaten?"

"There's no geeks around here."

"You say that," he murmurs, hands beginning a slow journey down the length of your back, "and then I'll wake up missing one of my legs."

Using the tarp as a blanket was a good idea. Already you feel warmer. Your face defrost where it's hidden in his front.

"Anymore stupid questions tonight?" Steve asks, voice low and amicable.

"Har-har," you mumble.

He rubs your back. Your eyes well up and you bite your lip to stop from crying. It's really, stupidly nice to be close to someone, to him. You miss comfort and music and eating enough, but you miss hugs most of all. You miss hugs from the people who loved you.

"Do you like me?" you whisper.

As soon as you've asked, you wish you hadn't. He doesn't answer, and you think Good, he didn't hear me.

"No more stupid questions," he says finally, tightening his grips on you. "Go to sleep."

-

more steve zombie!au

[beautouslysandy]

what that figure eight living/ chapter two, the pool side and rafe’s secret

by- sandy

f!reader x platonic!rafe cameron and topper thornton

word count: 1,037 words

warnings: mention of cocaine, swearing, broken nose scene, lowercase intended, might have grammatical errors

a/n 💌: this one is sorta short so i will try to get chapter three out soon! i am so happy to be back writing again!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

soon enough rafe punched the random guy who cursed at you, he lost control. “rafe!” you say trying to pull the blond off the guy

he looks back at you to see, you, wide eyes filled with fear. rafe as he was not paying attention gets hooked in the face, knocking him out.

you stare at the guy who had just knocked your best friend out, dropping down to make sure rafe is okay. soon topper appears and starts beating up the guy, you don’t bother as you know there is nothing you can do no matter what you say. you try and wake rafe when you see his nose is bloody and in a broken condition.

"rafe, wake up!" you say your voice shaking slightly

you look at topper who was still beating the shit out of the guy and sigh looking back at rafe.

"rafe wake the fuck up!" you whisper harshly

rafe groans "shut the fuck up." he teases smirking that smirk.

"finally the sleeping beauty wakes up." topper groans looking at rafe with a black eye.

rafe looks at him then the guy topper beat the shit out of "not gonna ask."

(timeskip to after rafe's broken nose gets fixed up)

at the cameron's house you, topper, and rafe were relaxing by the pool. sarah and her pogue friends walk by, and you see the blond boy of the group checking you out in your in an orange bikini. topper starts to play some music from his JBL speaker.

"too fucking loud man. turn that shit down" rafe says harshly as he takes a sip of his whiskey

"maybe if you weren't pounding the drinks while having a hangover, you wouldn't be so bothered by noise," you say sassily, you open up a magazine and pretend to read it. in reality you were hiding from the intense glare you knew Rafe was giving you right then and there.

"shut it, princess." rafe said coldly and he took another sip of his whiskey

"dont call me that." you say and topper laughs at something on his phone.

you look over to see topper cracking up over some tiktok on his phone. you laugh slightly at the familiar sight.

"you good top?" you ask with an amused grin

topper nods his head, still laughing. it was quite amusing to see him losing it over just a tiktok.

"shut it, topper. your killing my head." rafe groans as he puts on his ray band sunglasses

topper looks at rafe "stop killing the vibe man, just because you're not taking care of yourself doesn't mean you get to dump your shit all over us."

you laugh under your breath. rafe glares at the two of you and mumbles something incoherently under his breath.

“what did you say?” topper ask, smirking as he takes a big sip of his beer

“nothing.” rafe says harshly, he gets up from his chair and walks into the cameron’s estate.

“somebody is cranky” you say as you sip your lemonade

“honestly. he is so pissed off recently, it’s getting on my nerves” topper says sighing and leaning back into his chair

“it will pass, it always does.” you say sighing as you take in the sun rays

“yeah yeah” topper mumbles

————————( at the country clubs)———————————

you and topper had been dragged to the country club by your “lovely” parents. rafe had gotten out of it somehow. you were in a simple sundress with sandals/sandal heels/sneakers and the family heirloom necklace you always wore.

you smelled a bit like chlorine and dior perfume. your hair wavy from the water in the pool. you and topper were sitting at a table with your families.

“psst. are you getting pasta or steak?” topper whispers to you. his mom was still mad about the last dinner we had here.

you giggled quietly, and said “i think i might get an appetizer, i am not that hungry. we ate lunch two hours ago.”

topper nods and goes back to looking at the menu.

the country club was to say the least uneventful. you and topper were wiped out from spending the day in the pool and sun.

you returned home and when you entered your room with topper, he was hanging out for a bit, you saw rafe…snorting cocaine.

“what the hell…” you and topper both say slowly

rafe looks at you both, he is definitely high. rafe gets up quickly and stands in front of your desk, where the cocaine lays.

“i can explain, i swear..i…i can explain” rafe says his voice cracking slightly, his gorgeous blue-green eyes were wide with surprise.

“what the hell, man!” topper says loudly, he pushes rafe out of the way and throws the cocaine in your trash can.

“what the fuck, man! that’s a new roll!” rafe shouts

you are froze in the doorway, still. this felt all to real to be true. “get out rafe.” you say, your voice breaking.

‘no way in hell my best friend is an addict’ is all you can think in this moment. repeatedly.

“what.” rafe says almost angrily, he gets in your face and says harshly and slowly “what did you just say to me.” topper pushes rafe off me, “get out rafe. now. you need to chill out man.” topper says

we had never seen rafe so…unhinged. and all because of that shit he is taking.

rafe stomps out of your bedroom, slamming the door. then you hear him slam the front door to your families home.

“you good?” topper asks

“fine. i am gonna head to bed, do you think you could take the trash out?” you ask smiling softly, it was fake but you didn’t want to worry topper. he has enough to deal with because you knew he was going to go find rafe and talk to him.

topper just nods and takes your trash bag. he heads out closing your bedroom door behind him. you crawl into bed, you feel exhausted. you don’t even change or do your normal nighttime routine. you feel sore everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

‘how did i not know..’ is what crosses your mind before you drift off to sleep

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 1

We're SO Back

School is back in session y’all!!!!

Fantasy High has returned to us after a long break and I am thrilled to come out of my recapping hiatus to bring back the Report Card for Junior Year! You know I could let my favorite chaotic high schoolers go un-analyzed! 

This episode wastes no time in getting started so neither will I. Brennan makes what I think is a very strong narrative choice by starting us in media res at the end of a classic Bad Kids adventure. It is the summer between Sophomore and Junior Year and the party has spent the last four months hot on the trail of the dreaded Night Yorb.

We catch up to our Intrepid Heroes in the Red Waste and they’re trying to catch up to the Night Yorb which is a big, eldritch, manta ray like monster who threatens to plunge the entire world into darkness, creating a very slow (but still effective!) apocalypse! The Night Yorb is flanked by its groupies, made up of members of the many cults dedicated to it (collectively known as “Yorbies”).

As I said, the Bad Kids are hot on its trail, in (and on) the Hangvan. Gorgug (who has been leaning more into his Artificer vibes lately) has outfitted the top of the Hangvan with a solar lasso that can be used to capture and reel in the Night Yorb so that Fig and Adaine can defeat it with a magical sigil. I’m gonna quickly run down where everyone is and what they’re doing:

Adaine and Fig are both standing on top of the Hangvan in order to spring the sigil when the time comes. Adaine is also joined by Boggy and a new addition, Moggy the Doggy (aka, Mordekainen’s Faithful Hound), which is a very round, very cute, very invisible Pomeranian looking dog. 

Gorgug is also up top with them because he’s manning the solar lasso. 

Fabian is inside the Hangvan along with Baby (aka Wretchrot, aka Fig’s screeching blood imp who has no mechanical benefit unless she takes another level of Warlock as Brenan keeping reminding us) and Ecaf, a mirror with a sultry voice that Fabian is *heavily* flirting with, much to everyone’s discomfort. It’s tres Narcissus. (Also, ha, Face backwards. I see you Brennan).

Kristen is in the back with Fabian and Riz is driving, even though he is WAY too small to effectively be driving a Gorgug sized van. 

The Hangman–Fabian’s trusty motorcycle/hellhound–is out in front of the Hangvan.

Also Squeem is on the roof with the others! Beloved, fan favorite Squeem!

Yeah, so this episode does a thing of pretending like we’re jumping into the last episode of an arc that we’ve seen every episode of and introducing characters in a very Sam Reich, “He’s been there this whole time” way even though it’s their first appearance. I think it’s very funny and it reminds me of that Community episode where they’re all flashing back to episodes that never aired. But anyway, I mention this so that if I mention a name and you’re like “Whomst?” it’s probably just a bit, you’re not forgetting a major character.

Anyway, we’re joining this chase already in progress which means our kids are hurt and down spell slots but their opponents are as well. The distribution is pretty uneven–Adaine is way less hurt than Fabian and Kristen for instance, which honestly checks out (curious how they decided on that though). 

Because this episode is just one big battle sequence for the most part, I’m going to follow the precedent I set in the recaps for The Seven and just give the highlights in bullets and then do an analysis on where all the Bad Kids are right now at the end:

Murph comes in hot, using his first action of the new season to shoot his gun and doing 30 points of damage with a 27 to hit. New year, new Murph! 

Siobhan invokes the corn cuties debacle from fight one and all the falling off the tables that happened. Clearly, a bit of Adaine’s oracle energy is rubbing off on her because the next thing that happens in that Fabian decides to jump on top of the Hangvan to cast Faerie Fire on the Night Yorb (which has shrouded itself in magical darkness), rolls the first Nat 1 of the season, absolutely eats it, and gets run over by Riz–narrowly avoiding going down. He’s ultimately fine–The Hangman comes and picks him up–but it’s not a very auspicious star from Master Fabian. 

Emily and Murph have a cute moment of womping Brennan back to back by using Silvery Barbs to make him reroll two attacks on the Hangvan–one of which is a crit–and then giving each other the advantage on the next roll.

Kristen is a real pillar in this encounter–holding up the Circle of Power spell that allows her friends to ignore big chunks of damage that absolutely would have dropped them. But throughout the entire fight, her patron goddess, Cassandra, keeps trying to talk to her and Kristen keeps leaving her on read–we’ll get more into that in a bit. 

Adaine comes in clutch with a Nat 1 portent roll to stop the NIght Yorb from resisting Gorgug’s attempt to reel it in further. Truly, the best time to roll a Nat 1 in this game. Divination Wizards are awesome!

We learn that “Don’t Speak of the Night Yorb” is more than just a silly bit when Fig realizes that saying its name makes it heal up which isn’t great because they’ve been *very* cavalier about invoking its name. 

Squeem gets a big emotional goodbye with Gorgug on top of the Hangvan, heroically leaps off to fend off some Yorbies…and then rolls a 2 and totally faceplants. No! Squeem! Beloved fan favorite Squeem! They already had to revivify you once! 

On the Night Yorb’s turn, Brennan does an attack and shakes so many dice that it sounds like maracas. It’s 61 points of damage and squishy wizard Adaine goes down, but everyone else stays up–large in part due to Kristen’s aforementioned Circle of Power. (Siobhan, describing how bad her saving rolls were zings two separate friends saying, “It was Fabian level nasty. I fucking Murph’d it.”)

Luckily, Fig and Gorgug are up on the roof with Adaine so she does not go sliding off the van when she goes down. They catch her before she can fall. 

At this point the Van has sustained a lot of damage so Murph reminds the teacher that they have homework/Brennan that they have to roll for a mishap. That turns out to be the breaks blowing out. Now, all the Van can do is accelerate! It’s just like the movie Speed!

Two more characters who we totally know and have been here this whole time show up to help–Balthazar and Duggan McCann! A cool grizzled veteran and a centaur cowboy. Riz immediately starts doing cool guy banter with them because he’s somehow convinced them that he’s cool (which he is for the record, just in a completely different way lol). Unfortch, Baz almost right away gets eaten by the NIght Yorb. Who’s gonna take care of his litter (?) of parrots?????

 At this point in the fight, everyone gets a ping on their crystals, reminding them that school starts in three days. This stresses everyone out more than the fight that they’re currently in. 

Fig brings up Adaine with a Healing Word but she immediately has to do Wis save with the rest of the party. She and Fabian fail, but once again Fabian is saved by fear negating effects of his dad’s eyepatch. So Adaine starts to have a panic attack about the fact that she’s fighting the Night Yorb while standing on the roof of a moving vehicle which, real talk, very normal and valid reaction. In fact, probably concerning that she’s reached a point in her life where that *isn’t* the default reaction. 

The Hangvan is coming up on a jump it’ll have to make to continue following the Night Yorb (and it can’t even try to stop because the brakes are cut). Riz fails the roll which means that the van is probably going to fall on its side. Adding insult to injury, a pillar of rock falls and is going to crash into the van, doing even more major damage. 

Fig watches this, and almost dissociates, feeling the weight of the entire summer taken from them to do this quest. Feeling so so tired. Feeling the fact that even if they win, they’re just gonna have to go back to school and adventure some more. A piece of magic she’s been holding inside of for a long time flickers and she hears an enticing voice whisper in her ears. “If you would take me, you know what you would save.” She smells a sour, curdled scent and she knows that if she says yes, she can save her friends. Maybe there’s another way, but she just wants this to be over. “I’m yours,” Fig says. 

There’s a flash of “lemony, yellow, creamy” light (hmmmm) and the rock stops falling. The Hangvan starts righting itself.

And then there’s a sick gurgle from Fig’s stomach. 

Uh-oh, gang. 

For those of you who are new to these recaps, every week, I give one PC Detention and put one on the Honor Roll for their in-game actions. We’re starting off hot this semester with:

Detention 

Kristen Applebees for Being a BAD Friend to Cassandra 

Like, OK. Faith is complicated. Kristen’s relationship with religion is complicated. Being a cleric is complicated. But notice that I didn’t say being a bad *cleric*. I said being a bad *friend*. To be clear, she’s also being a bad cleric, and I’ll talk about that later. But having understandably conflicted views on religion doesn’t make sliding in your Fantasy Airpods while the being who is essentially a lonely teen girl and who is keeping you and all your friends alive tries to talk to you NOT seem like a giant dick move. Come on girl, get it together. 

Honor Roll

Brennan Lee Mulligan for Being a Great DM!

I realized as I was writing this that I’ve given Brennan Detention but never Honor Roll so he’s getting it today. It feels so good to have him back in the dome with the kids and he drew me back into the world, right away. I’m so psyched that we have a full season of this ahead of us! 

CHARACTER CHECK-INS

Like I said earlier, because this is the first episode back, I want to really quickly check in with all of the Bad Kids and where they are, character-wise. I’m going to do this roughly from least concerning to me to most concerning to me. 

-Adaine: Adaine seems like she’s living her best life. She has her frog! She has her dog! Her character art is so much more chill and she’s coming into her own. This season, I’m hoping we get to see more of her relationship with her sister (yes, I’m a predictable bitch. Sue me) and with Zayn (who is also living at Mordred in her tower) who I think has a lot of potential to be an interesting supporting character with more spotlight. But yeah, go Adaine! 

-Gorgug: Gorgug is making his parents proud (not that they ever weren’t) by taking another artificer level. He’s not a 7/3 Barb/Art split. I love that he’s gone from calling himself dumb to taking on this very technical skill. He also apparently has a homunculus? Fascinated to see what that looks like. 

-Riz: Now that his big investigation is over and he knows his dad is a cool secret agent, Riz has switched his subclass from Inquisitor to Arcane Trickster which means he’s got tons of gadgets and that he’s a ring guy now. Love that for him. He’s very much not a chill person though so I’m very curious to know what the next thing he’ll latch onto is. He the kind of guy who always need something going on, you know? 

-Fabian: Fabian is a fancy, dance boy now (6/4 Fighter/Bard)! But that doesn’t mean he’s any less athletic. I mean, have you ever seen a male ballerina? He still is, however, a total disaster. And I mean that affectionately. I mean, his current love interest (?) is a mirror that is showing a fuzzy reflection of his own face. My guy, what are you doing? Although I will say, idk if that’s more or less toxic than him dating Aelwyn. 

-Kristen: Kristen. GIRL. 

OK, so first of all. There is nothing inherently wrong with getting super jacked and like, respect. But in this context it feels like a red flag. Like the kind of thing you do because you’re on the rocks with your girlfriend or if you’ve recently broken up. I will be *very* interested to know what Tracker is up to as she’d not mentioned in this episode. Last we heard, she was out doing cleric stuff for the Moon Goddess, right? Long distance can be hell on a relationship. (Also, idk how seriously we’re supposed to take this but Ally mentioned the one shot it happened in in this episode so Kristen was also totally trying to flirt with a college girl in that college visit oneshot. Brennan shut it down pretty quick, but it very much did happen). 

Also, speaking of cleric stuff, Cass. I feel SO bad for Cass. Like, a god isn’t owed followers, but Kristen chose that role. She CHOSE it. This isn’t like a Helio situation. Cass wasn’t pushy. She specifically says in this episode that she doesn’t want to be pushy. Hell, she says in the episode where she’s introduced that if people don’t want her around she’ll go away. But Kristen chose to be her follower, knowing what the implications of being the sole follower of a goddess is. Cass is made in her image. That’s how deeply entwined they are. Her goddess is made in her image. In The Seven, we learn that Ost’s god hasn’t talked to anyone in years. Kristen has Cass coming in like a mom offering snacks mid battle and Kristen is leaving her on read! It’s honestly kinda hard to watch her be so blithely dismissive of someone so dependent on her even though it’s played off as kind of a joke. I felt like I was watching a loyal puppy get kicked every time they interacted. 

And like, I said this before, Cassandra is made in Kristen’s image. But specifically, she looks like Sophomore year Kristen. Still all skinny and still in her tie-die shirt and shorts. There is a definite vibe of almost wanting to kill the part of yourself that embarasses you, you know? It feels like she's being mean to Cass but also to herself. 

Also, mechanically speaking, it’s wild to be just ignoring the person you’re getting your powers from like this. Like, this is real Wizard behavior. You don’t have to answer to anyone if you studied for your magic but you absolutely do as a cleric. Does Kristen even want to be a cleric? It honestly doesn’t seem like it. She’s shown a pattern of behavior of chafing at every god put in her path, even the ones she literally made up. I thought Cass might be the end of her searching, but we’re right back on the Merry Go Round. The party absolutely needs a healer though so idk how she deals with that. 

I saw the snipped clip of Ally’s interview about Kristen’s arc this season involving what happens when chaos stops being cute, and I can def see seeds being planted. Fascinated to see how they explore that because this feels like a real ticking time bomb of a situation. 

Oh also, her Dex went DOWN????? GIRL!

Fig: I had a lot more to say about Kristen but Fig has to be last on the list for making a deal with a literal devil lol. Like, classic Fig though, right? This WOULD happen. Emily talked about potentially retiring Fig and getting reeled in by some enticing plot hook from Brennan and it feels like we might be about to find out what that is. I won’t speculate on it too much right now because we’re presumably about to find out but there were a LOT of yogurt themed adjectives when that magic activated which has me very split on whether this is about to be deeply concerning or deeply silly. Or both! It could be both! 

Random Thoughts

I LOVE that we have a proper theme song now. It feels so fitting and I love the opening art and it’s all so cool. The show’s so profesh now!

Also, shout out to @caitmayart for making the new art! It has the quality of a professional and the extra love of a fan. It’s my fave D20 official art so far. 

I don’t know when this feature was added but I love that there is a full transcript you can pull up and search and jump to that time in the video now. That’s gonna be SO useful for me. 

One of my favorite things about Adaine is that she’s generally polite but occasionally she’ll just absolutely verbally decimate someone so casually and this episode she said to the Solesian Yorbie they encountered, “What movie theater were you assistant managing before you decided to become a Yorbie?” Brutal. 

Also love how vehement she was about the fact that Brennan couldn’t touch Moggy, even when she went down. You are absolutely NOT gonna kill that dog Brennan.  

“Object interaction, touch Gorgug’s foot.”

Fig asks Gorgug how they can heal a van and he says, “Take it to a shop for 3-4 days.” Zac, underrated comic genius. 

I really can’t overstate how funny it is that Fabian spends most of this episode flirting with his own reflection. I’ve said this many times but something I love about Lou is that he’s not afraid to make Fabian deeply uncool, even though Fabian’s whole thing is being as cool as possible. 

Kristen says she needs to have an intense conversation with Cassandra when the fight is over and what does that mean? Like a breakup conversation? Which I guess would kill her because then she’d have no followers again? I am, como se dice, concerned. 

Also, just looking ahead, Tracker is also a cleric. A pretty faithful one from what I can tell. I have to wonder what her take on Kristen completely neglecting her goddess and church is. 

I think it’s so funny that Emily was thinking about retiring Fig so she could just ride off into the sunset with her cool rockstar life and awesome girlfriend because Riz’s big thing last year was being worried all his friend would pair up and leave him so for him to accept it and then have his fears validated right away would be like, welp. 

At a certain point, Murph has to roll damage and he rolls 45 out of a possible 50 damage. That’s crazy. Let’s see how long that luck holds.

[marthawrites]

A Game of Chase

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 5.7k+

Can be read as a stand alone, but reads best as pt 2 to Pretty Girl

About: You and your best friend go out to a local event. While there, Aemond, surprisingly, makes an appearance. With quick wit you pretend like it's your first time meeting. Equally quick and curious, he plays along. A game of chase ends up with some unexpected aftershocks.

Includes: About half plot and porn. Explicit sexual content! Rough!Aemond with themes of jealousy, possessiveness, and obsession. Sexual/tension, fingering, blowjob, p in v, and a sweet ending.

Note: Hello lovely reader! I had to return to this AU - just had to! One day I will learn to not be a wordy bitch but today is not that day. Reader is nondescript and implied to be 21+ due to alcohol consumption. As always, it is my highest hope that you enjoy this story! ♥

-

The city below sparked with life in every corner and lane. You leaned on the balcony's railing and looked over the last remains of sunset: spilled watercolors across a slowly dimming sky. As the last rays of sun disappeared, spring's chill swirled through the air making you wish you wore a jacket over your black evening dress. 

"Christ. If we're out here any longer my nipples are gonna jab through this dress," your best friend, Rebecca, said with a noticeable shiver. "Shit, girl! Let's go inside." She hooked an arm through yours and turned to guide you both inside where it was much warmer. She looked gorgeous tonight in a mauve dress, silver heels, and silver jewelry. It all accented the lovely hue of her hair and skin; strands of hair loose to frame her classic face. Her seemingly effortless femininity always had you jealous. She was much more "girly girl" than you, and you relied on her often.

"No leather jackets and no jeans! And oh my God none of your combat boots! This is a formal event. Not one of your creepy bonfire circles with gas station beer." Rebecca had told you earlier with a dramatic roll of her eyes, humor clear on her face. "Who knows. Maybe you'll find someone to put your last hook up to shame," she winked.

There was no way you weren't going to tell her about Aemond. Except, much to her dismay, you didn't tell her tell her; just the bare bones of it. You met a guy through work, hit it off, and ended up getting laid after he took you out. 

She wanted the deets. You were keeping your mouth shut. She hated you. 

You didn't even mention his name! With it being unique you knew she'd do some serious digging – and you already did. Local cryptids had a bigger digital footprint than him. Considering the day and age, maybe it should have been a red flag… Bec wouldn't let you live that down.

"Will you shut up about that?" You laughed. "Okay okay. I'll skip my favorite jacket and boots too. Only, and only, because I just got a fresh pedi. You can take my lipstick and eyeliner out of my cold dead hands though," you threatened.

"Those are your trademarks and we both know it. Besides, you look hot with it. Black dress and… black heels too. Your strappy ones!" You let her pick your outfit. When it was time to leave you looked good.

Bec was the only person who could play with you like a human barbie. You two went through high school together – and all the awkwardness that brought – and even college. You'd been through thick and thin and you loved her more than anyone else. You two even used each other to learn how to kiss. A truly fun and silly experience in hindsight.

This event happened twice a year. Music was huge in the area. More specifically, classic music. The university had one of the best programs in the country and was widely respected for it. At a young age your love for the violin blossomed into something truly spectacular. While it fell to the back burner during college, it remained a cherished hobby. Bec's skill was her voice. It earned her lead soprano. She was ethereal. Listening to her in the choir – whether part of the group, doing a solo, or singing with any of the other leads – was something to behold.

"I'm so glad you were able to come out tonight. It just wouldn't be the same without you," you told her as you both walked away from the bar with drinks in hand.

"Trust. I wouldn't miss it. Hubs can handle things for one night," she laughed even as her eyes rolled in feigned annoyance. She smirked and sipped her beverage.

Everyone seemed to be dressed in their finest. Dresses, suits, and glittering jewelry sparkled beneath the ornate lighting. Various perfumes and colognes hung in the air to create an atmosphere of intimacy. Some of the attendees looked young enough to have just graduated high school while others were grayed and wrinkled with time. The common thread of everyone was their love for music. It was truly a treat.

"I'm constantly shocked at how young the freshmen look every year. Look at them. Babies!" You exclaimed, tilting your head in the direction of a small group of friends who probably couldn't even buy alcohol yet. It prompted you to your drink; an accidental gulp instead of a sip.

In the theme of the event, music played over the speakers which seemed to bring everyone closer.

You two made your way to a bar table by the facade window. The soft lighting and twinkling accents brought out a pink in both of your cheeks that only fine liquor could coax.

"I wish you'd tell me more about your mystery man! Honestly I'm starting to think it was that cute coworker of yours who I like to make eyes at. He's a blusher! You know you could tell me if it was him, right?" She teased you easily.

You gasped. "Oh, wow! You truly have so little faith in me? I wouldn't hook up with your boyfriend," you laughed, unable to keep your mock shock up for long. "You know, it's starting to be more fun holding this over your head than actually giving you all the dirty details." You chased the thin straw of your drink, flashing her a tauntingly playful expression.

She'd just opened her mouth to retort when something else caught her attention. "Oh my God no way," she slammed her free hand atop the table in surprise. "I didn't think he'd come! Here I thought he was way too cool and too busy to make an appearance."

You snorted a laugh as Bec started waving an arm to beckon him over. "Another boyfriend? Sheesh." You teased. She was happily married and you only liked to flick her shit.

"Hey! Yeah, you! I'm so glad you came. Come over here and meet my girl. Y/N, this is Aemond. Aemond, this is Y/N."

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

Bec kept talking, explaining how she knew both of you. You, her best friend since high school. Him, a piano enthusiast who'd taken the university's classes multiple times purely for pleasure. Her voice droned. You heard none of it. Not with Aemond standing there, hand in one of his pockets, drink in the other, looking like that.

Was it even legal for a man to look so fucking good? He looked absolutely stunning. The three-piece suit he donned had to be specially tailored for him because there was no way a regular suit could fit him like that. Black, charcoal, and deep green; it made his naturally silver-white hair and fair skin all the more stark. The subtle pinstripes of his pants and coat elongated his already tall frame, and the tip of his pointed shoes were in a single direction: you.

With Bec introducing, you had fleeting seconds to decide how you'd react to this. "Aemond," you said his name like it was the first time you'd tested it on your tongue. "Nice to meet you.” You sipped to hide smirking lips. Quiet mischief danced behind your eyes. ‘Play with me,’ they said. ‘You feeling it?’ they taunted.

“Hmm,” Aemond hummed while looking over you like he might have recognized you from somewhere. “I thought perhaps we had a class together. But, I don’t think so. Those aren’t pianist hands,” he said, tiny dimples betraying his restrained smirk.

“Ha!” Bec all but snorted. “No. No no no. She does not. She’s a ranger of our lovely national park and she plays the fiddle for Bigfoot.”

Aemond blinked, taken back.

“What the hell, Bec!” You blushed, embarrassment waving up in you like a tide. “You can’t just go telling people that all willy-nilly!” Despite the embarrassment, you laughed, as did Rebecca, and some of the palpable tension between you and Aemond melted. Perhaps she’d done you two tricksters more of a favor than you realized.

“This is Bigfoot country, is it not? I’m into cryptids,” Aemond replied smoothly. “Wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it tonight. But, now I’m glad I did,” he added in that same tone, taking an extra moment to glance over you appreciatively. “Becca’s hard to miss, but it was you who called me over here from across the floor.”

You arched a brow at his forwardness. “Wow. Uhm… I didn’t notice you at all,” you quipped cheekily before taking the last swill of your beverage.

Bec rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Aemond. You’re gonna have to try harder than that. My girl here isn’t quite so easy.”

A genuine smile flashed across his features to brighten his eye. “Right. I’ll have to try harder for that one,” he said amusingly.

“Well. I feel a second one calling my name. Catch you later, Becs,” you said before turning, doing your absolute best (and somehow succeeding) to not flick another glance to the Targaryen tech giant who stood tall and wonderfully imposing next to your best friend. Would he still smell like clean laundry as he did the last time you two were together? Or would he perhaps carry the faintest aromas of shared perfumes, cigarette smoke, and cool night spring air? You dared not glance over your shoulder. You couldn’t be certain, but you swore his gaze trailed after you until you disappeared into the crowd.

An hour passed and you didn’t see either of them. The crowd was growing looser; people mingled like old friends. Karaoke replaced the overhead music and with it brought a fresh batch of excitement and silliness. The entire vibe of the place slowly shifted and you found yourself happily chatting with strangers like they were long lost college, or even high school, friends. 

It was during that occasion you finally caught sight of him again. You were buzzed – happy – talking to a dark haired man with a dazzling smile. Each time he did his entire face lit up and sent the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was playing the charm game very well. If you didn’t already have secret plans to leave with Aemond, he very well might have talked you out of your pretty black dress. Aemond didn’t know that, of course, and when you could still see him at the edge of your peripheral you knew the little game just went up a notch.

Another hour passed in the blink of an eye. Bec had to leave – turns out her hubs couldn’t handle everything on his own for a night. The dark-haired man, while attractive and sweet, wasn’t what you had in mind. Once you finally managed to slide away from him you sat at the bar. You’d been standing most of the night and your feet were starting to ache in the heels you rarely wore. The bartender handed you your final drink for the night. You sat alone. Relaxed. Content to people watch as the event resembled more of a high-end bar at this hour.

Again, from the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond linger just there. Just at the edge of your vision. Playing. Teasing – a silent stalk. However, you pretended like you didn’t. You slowly traced the rim of your glass, attention elsewhere. With one leg crossed over the other you leisurely bounced your foot at the ankle, the heel of your shoe tapping against the heel of your foot. Quiet. Confident. Even if Aemond hadn't already known you he would have been drawn to you. It was the tiny knowing smirk at the outermost edge of your mouth that really called to him. ‘I see you,’ it said. ‘What are you going to do?’ it purred.

“Is this seat taken?” Aemond’s smooth voice came from beside you.

With a shake of your head you answered, “it wasn’t. But I think it is now.” Your pretty eyes lingered over him and you just now noticed the three headed dragon tassel he wore on his collar. The buttons of his cuffs were the same three headed dragon. Half of his hair was pulled back and secured into a bun at the back of his head, and you wanted nothing more than to loosen it and let the strands fall over your hand. 

“Good,” he all but purred, leaning in a little closer than was truly necessary. “Hm… I don’t know what it is about you, pretty girl, but there’s something about you that keeps pulling me in.”

“Bold of you to say to someone you’ve just met,” you replied through a laugh, giving him a sly side glance from beneath your lashes.

“Perhaps,” he said quickly, leaning on the bar as he stood between you and the empty stool at your side. “But, I think you’ve been eyeing me all night too. Unable to truly lose track of me in this crowd,” his voice was a low rumble and it sent a shudder of excitement all up and down your spine.

“What makes you think that? This is the first time I’ve seen you since Bec introduced us. Honestly, I thought you left.”

He chuffed amusedly. “Sure, okay,” he started. “Is that why you can’t quite look me in the eyes? Or why you let that man paw all over you once you knew I was there? Or… why you only came here once it was empty and I was there?” He tilted his head slightly, just slight, as he spoke; smug condescendence angled his jaw.

It took everything you had to steady the excitement in your voice. “You’re very observant, Aemond,” his name dripped like honey from your tongue. “What do you plan to do with all those observations, hm?”

“Lots,” he answered lowly, triumphantly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Giddiness bubbled up from your core. Before you could stop yourself, you answered, “no. I don’t think so.” The change of his expression filled you with victory. This was your game and you were still playing by your own rules even if that meant making them up as you went. “Here is my offer, Mr. Targaryen. I’m leaving. You will give me your number and if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll text you my address.” The pupil of his good eye expanded; black swallowing violet. You wanted to cheer. He wasn’t expecting this, you thought. “Take it or leave it. If you leave it… I have another number to fall back on.”

“Give me your phone,” he said, posture and jaw tight. You did. He tapped his thumbs a few times on the screen before handing it back. 

As soon as you had your phone back you stood. “That’s what I thought,” you told him softly, smugly, not giving him a chance to reply before walking towards the exit.

Game over. You won.

Truthfully you would have left with him immediately, but your house was a mess and you weren't going to invite him over to this. It took perhaps twenty minutes to give the entry way, living room, and kitchen a quick clean sweep. From there, it took maybe half the time to shove everything out of place in your bedroom in your closet. You’d properly tidy later. But now? No. The only thing on your mind was the look on Aemond’s face when you laid out your terms for the night.

You texted him your address and nothing else. Now, it was your turn to wait.

Barely ten minutes passed before a knock sounded at your door. Peeking out from behind a curtain you saw it was Aemond. A secret smile plastered on your face and you wondered what he’d been doing for the last half hour. It took at least fifteen minutes to get to the event hall, so he must have already been out driving in the general direction. Either that, or, he broke every traffic rule to get to you in record time. You opened the door only to be shoved back inside, door slamming closed behind both of you. A sound between a gasp and strangled moan broke from you beneath his kiss as his hands were all all over you at once; sliding, groping, pressing.

“Did you have fun with your little game?” He asked hot against your mouth. You were trapped between the back of your couch and his looming form. The furniture was the first thing to get in the way of your eager bodies.

Your breath shuddered, chest rising and falling above the black neckline of your dress. “Aemond,” you managed to whisper hoarsely. Nothing else formed on your tongue before it was against Aemond’s for a second time.

“I could have had that entire fucking hall dismissed in an instant. You know that, right?” You didn’t ask how or why because you didn’t fucking care. Not now. Not with his mouth on yours, and his hands squeezing your hips and waist, his thigh between your legs. “And then you force me to stalk you around the crowd. Watch you flirt so easily with other men. Watch weaker men stare after you like sniveling piglets.” His teeth sunk into your neck until you yelped, body squirming against his.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, head buzzing with a hundred different things all at once. Heat flooded your core. Thrill webbed throughout all your senses until you were keenly aware of even the tips of your fingers, toes, and ears. He bit again, softer this time, making his way down the length of your neck to your collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d play along for as long as you did,” you simpered, hands rubbing up the sides of his smooth face until your fingers were tangled in his silken hair.

Both his hands pressed up your ribs until the weight of your breasts sat upon them. You couldn’t see from your angle, but he was biting and sucking little hickeys all down your skin. “Do you think that dark-haired man would have tried as hard as he did… pathetic, really… if you were already marked by my teeth, hm?” As if to make his point even clearer, he drew in a mouthful of your soft cleavage and worked it until you yelped, forcefully pulling his head back with a wet pop. A dark bruise was already forming; the deepest one yet.

“What the hell? You’re fucking crazy,” you moaned, breathlessly looking down at him, arousal turning your blood to fire. “Is that what this is about? Me flirting with that guy?” Your face bloomed with heat.

“If I knew you were going to be there you’d have been on my arm the whole night. Fun as it was, pretty girl, I wanted to gouge the eyes out of every man who looked at you for too long.” He was hard inside his pants, painfully trapped inside the confines of the fine material.

Aemond didn’t strike you as the possessive type. It shocked you. Even scared you a little. “Holy shit, Aem,” you said, trying to catch your breath from the assault of his hands, mouth, and intentions. “I just thought we were having fun. With you only being here for a visit I didn’t think it was anything serious, ya know? Fuck.” Your hands fell from his hair to instead push yours back.

“At first I thought so too,” he replied, voice and body language softer now. “I was immediately drawn to you. As soon as you opened the door at your ranger cabin in your dorky uniform...,” he kissed you again, gentle and easy. He felt you melt into and against him. “Distance doesn’t matter to me. In another time my family would be kings,” he smirked, holding your face between his hands to read it.

“If you are a king or a prince –” you teased, playfully mocking the old timey titles, “ – then let me be your queen or your princess.” Your hands trailed down the sides of his biceps, across the front of his chest, down the plane of his abdomen. His intensity could surely frighten other women away, but you found yourself drawn to it. A fire burned beneath his skin and you wanted nothing more than to feel its heat against your own.

Aemond read you well, eyes squinting down at you as you traced and caressed over his clothed form. Something in his gaze shifted, then. A game of his own, you recognized.

His turn.

“Would he have been able to excite you like this?” Your dress had bunched up high around your thighs and he took full advantage of it. With his question he trailed the tips of his fingers over the front of your clothed cunt. Your warmth tingled his fingertips. “Could he have gotten this pussy so wet?” He asked, slipping his touch beneath the front of your panties to your bare folds. “Hm?” He inquired, the pads of two easily sliding up your slit and to your clit where he rubbed small, firm circles. You were soaked.

You jolted, legs tightening. “Aem…,” you warbled, back arching. Your body was desperate for him. One of your hands lowered to the wrist he was using to tease you, eyes looking up at him in a silent plea. “No,” you answered. “He couldn’t.” You squeezed your hand around his wrist, then, urging his fingers to slide into you.

A satisfied growl rumbled in his throat at the combination of your admission and grip. “I didn’t think so…,” he cooed, following your touch as he pushed a long slender finger into your body. “I missed this pussy,” he admitted, bending his head to catch your pleased sigh in a kiss. He swirled and pressed along your walls, reveling in the way you felt around him and the muffled sounds you made.

By now your alcohol buzz was gone and you were entirely drunk on Aemond. He spun you in a whirlwind and you were at his mercy. It was when he pushed a second finger into you that you broke the kiss, unable to hold back the moan he pulled from you. “They feel so good…,” Aemond-drunk and pleasure-drunk; the night was just beginning.

“There,” he said as your eyes fluttered and struggled to stay even half open. “Cum on these fingers so we can take this pretty dress off.” He pumped both in and out of you with added fervor, now, relishing just how fucking wet you were. There was no denying or hiding the sloppy little sounds that came from between your thighs. Those, mixed with your continued pleasured whimpers, made for a delicious melody that made Aemond’s cock throb.

“O-oh..! Right there, just like that! Please…,” you whispered as if in prayer. Your hand squeezed tighter around his wrist as he fucked his fingers into you at that same wonderful angle and pace. Even without your pleas he could tell you were close. Your cunt squeezed around him a little tighter, hips squirming, grinding down on his hand for added pressure. You dipped your head into his chest, hips rolling with his pace, and it was when he squeezed a third inside you that you absolutely lost it. Orgasm washed over you in lovely waves of bliss. You trembled; walls clamped around him rhythmically. You panted. Blissed out and ready for another.

As soon as you came down from your natural high Aemond helped you out of your clothes. Dress, bra, panties. They were all tossed aside somewhere in your living room.

Then, it was your turn to help him out of his own clothing. “Fuck, you have beautiful tits,” he said as he stood in front of you in only his briefs. He bent down to lick and kiss over them appreciatively, holding the soft mounds in his hands. 

You giggled at the tickling sensation it gave your sensitive skin. “My room is down this way,” you said with a tilt of your head, taking his hand and leading him through the kitchen, down a short hallway, and into your room. It was only illuminated by an essential oil diffuser which glowed with a soft pink. It steadily misted with a heady mix of oils. 

Once there it was your turn to have your hands all over him. You trailed along every bit of him that you could. From his shoulders, to his arms, across the patch of hair along the center of his chest, and down his lean abdomen, until your fingers hooked beneath the hem of his briefs. You pushed him further into your room until the backs of his legs hit the outside of your bed. 

Sitting on the edge he pulled you to him by your waist, coaxing you to stand between his parted legs. He unabashedly bit into the meat of your hip. One of his hands reached behind you to squeeze your asscheek, giving it a firm smack. 

You jumped at the combination, goosebumps racing to the top of your skin. "My turn to make you feel good…," you grinned, tugging the bun at the back of his head so he was forced to look up at you. "How dare you look so fucking good in a suit. It's really not even fair. Pinstripes, really? And your three headed dragons? It should be me who is green with jealousy over all the women who were checking you out."

Whether you were merely teasing or being wholly serious, Aemond didn't care. You had taken control of the flow once again. He let you have it, let you hold onto the reins if only for a moment. He loved seeing you like this. The faintest hint of pink shone in his cheeks at your compliment.

Releasing his hair you sunk down to your knees. You kissed the flat of his abdomen, beneath his navel, nipping the skin there as your hands pulled the front of his briefs down. He groaned in relief when his cock finally sprang free. Too long had it been solid and trapped; the generous size of him aching to be released for longer than he cared to admit. "So big…," you praised, idly stroking him as you looked up at him.

Seeing you so eager on your knees snapped something in him, and any chance of playing nice broke as soon as your warm tongue swiped along the underside of his shaft. "That's right," he muttered through a pleased groan. "It's like you forgot how fucking good this cock made you feel. Making me play along with your silly game," he tutted, seizing a handful of your hair in his fist. "Parading around like you weren't already mine…," his voice dark, dangerous. "You need to be reminded, pretty girl. Of whose you are, and of how good only my cock can make you feel."

Your belly flipped at the change of his demeanor. The way his eye pulled you into the void of its blackness. You looked up at him like the little doe you were. With his help, and in a single shared motion, you raked his undergarment down his legs to throw it aside. His hand was still knotted in your hair and, using that, he pulled your mouth to his cock until he hit your gag reflex.

Instantly you choked. He fucking groaned as your throat constricted around him. Saliva pooled in your mouth. Your hands gripped over his thighs, fingernails digging into the lean muscle there. He lifted your head up only to do it once more; slower, more deliberate, savoring the sensation of your mouth around him for the first time. And a third time, too. After a moment both his hands lifted your head off him, smiling softly. It wasn't what you expected. It was the gentlest he'd been since arriving. "Too much? Or are you okay?"

It was the sincerity in which he spoke that made you want to slap him, kiss him, and jump on him. All at once. Instead of any of those, you laughed. You wiped away some smeared mascara from under your eyes and nodded, unable to stop laughing. "Surprising, yeah. But, I'm okay. Thanks for checking."

He smirked. That asshole. "Good," he replied, leaning back on one hand while spreading his legs wider apart. "You don't have to be easy with me."

You didn't have anything to say, simply scooted closer into him and looked up at him with those big doe eyes smeared with the night's makeup. You took him in your mouth once again – on your own terms this time. His hand rested lightly at the back of your head in an attempt to keep your hair from falling in your face. You sucked more of him in, then pulled back, plunging forward once again to swallow yet even more of his length.

A truly delectable groan rumbled out from Aemond's throat. He couldn't help it. Your mouth felt so fucking good. He looked down at you, glaring, while a pleasured grin spread across his face; the black of his eye making it all the more lecherous. "Fuck. 'M not gonna last long if you keep doing that."

"Good," you shot back in the same manner of his. "You deserve to cum for playing my silly little game." You didn't go easy on him. Lewd glugs and hot pants filled your room; his hisses and gasps accented the depravity. Saliva drooled helplessly from your mouth and made it all the more sloppy. When your hand moved to cup and massage along his balls you were surprised to feel those already coated in your saliva.

"I'm close… gonna be good and swallow me whole?" He moaned, length somehow getting even fucking harder if that was even possible.

You weren't stopping to say anything back. Your other hand gripped onto whatever wasn't in your mouth and stroked along him firmly, still rolling his sack in your other. He took that as a yes.

The would-be Targaryen prince erupted down your throat with a string of muttered curses and praises. His lean body flexed and shuddered, toes twitching and curling as he rode the waves of climax. His hand had never clenched your hair again, yet it fell heavily like it was tired from holding a fist. "Christ, woman," he breathed, glowing. 

You stood and wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. "Yeah," you replied dreamily as you plopped onto your back atop the bed; grinning like the sloppy blowjob gave you as much pleasure as it did him. Or, perhaps it was merely pride.

Both of you stayed like that for a minute – catching your breath. He rolled over. Those slim hips fit easily between your thighs as his hands planted heavily beside your head. A sly grin graced his chiseled features.

"You're already hard again?"

"Can't help it, pretty girl. You're too sexy," he answered, lining himself up with your eager opening. He wasted little time in pushing into you, hissing at the sensation. "God you're so fucking wet from sucking me off."

The stretch of your body around his girth stole your breath. He stilled to let your walls accommodate his size. "You're right. How could I have forgotten how good this cock makes me feel?" You whined up at him, spine arching beneath him tantalizingly. You were more than slick enough for his intrusion, and now you were full. Absolutely full of him. Slowly, he pulled out. Easily, he pushed back in. Your breath turned ragged and quick, lovely pressure building in your core until it moaned out of your red-smeared lips. "Shit, yes," you whimpered, nails digging into his back.

Leaning up, Aemond grabbed both of your ankles in a single hand and threw them over a shoulder. The new angle sent him railing toward your belly button. His cockhead dragged against that deep, deliciously sensitive spot, over and over, your pussy hot and perfect for his ravaging. "Taking me sooo well…," he praised between slapping skin and your cries of bliss. The palm of his free hand pushed down and splayed wide over your low belly; claiming and intensifying your pleasure.

The added pressure sent fire blazing through your senses. Orgasm consumed you quickly and harshly, and you squeezed the sheets in tight fists as he fucked you through it. The edge of your vision blurred with ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes," Aemond panted, sweat glistening on his brow. "Feel so fuckin' good squeezing me like that." His length harded like iron yet again, balls tightening in preparation for a second release. His pace grew sloppier as he chased his high.

"Fill me up, Aem," you cooed up at him, nodding fervently. "Do it, fill me up." Your voice broke off into syllables and mutters, eyes desperate.

Hearing that was all he needed. He twitched inside you, spilling ropes of his seed deep and shallow alike inside your greedy cunt. Finally, with his firm chest heaving, he let go of your ankles and eased out of you. He flopped onto his back beside you, grinning like a fool. "Alright, babe, you're on water and cleaning duty this time."

You giggled. Actually giggled. "In a minute." You laid on your side and cuddled against him, laying your head on his chest – his heart thumping powerfully below your cheek. A contented silence settled over both of you. He stroked your hair, and you his torso. Once his pulse calmed you leaned up and smiled at him. "That was seriously amazing, the fuck?" you said with a satisfied blush. On your dresser was a pile of clean washcloths you forgot to put away. You used one on yourself and tossed another to Aemond. "Be right back." You put on a new t-shirt and underwear before leaving.

When you came back with water and snacks, Aemond was already browsing through your Netflix. "It's all murder docs and shitty reality tv," he teased.

"Oh shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "Here I brought you snacks and you're talking shit."

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. When you laid by him it was his turn to cuddle into you. 

Eventually you decided on a horror movie neither of you had seen but agreed looked either really good or hilariously bad.

He stayed the night, and there may or may not have been a third round before sleep finally settled over your pleasantly exhausted bodies.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings ♥

here is my masterlist

taglist: @melsunshine  @iiamthehybrid  @arcielee  @nina2697 @darylandbethfanforever9 @sahvlren @targaryenbrainrot @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @ruby-dragon @aemonds-fire @meggiemay82 @doublesparrows @silverwinged @nikstrange @tssf-imagines

To be added or removed, please let me know!

[kaaaaaaarf]

Chapter 11 of everywhere, everything by @lynxindisguise is up, so you know what that means.

I hope you like theremin.

Universe 981,966: Spaceship songs and explanations under the cut (beware: possible spoilers)

+ Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra

Rootmus dancing to this made my whole fucking day. Couldn't make the playlist without it!

Hey there, Mr. Blue We're so pleased to be with you Look around, see what you do Everybody smiles at you Mr. Blue, you did it right But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over Now his hand is on your shoulder Never mind, I'll remember you this I'll remember you this way

+ Lost in Time and Space by Lord Huron

A special request by Lynx herself! A perfect song for a perfect chapter. The lyrics really pack a punch.

Lost in time and space Aimless drifting in a far off place Hurtling through the vast unknown Staring straight into the pure, black void Drowning in the sea of stars Lost in a galaxy of cocktail bars Blinded by the neon lights I lie awake and say your name into the night [...] Why go wander unknown worlds? Stay right here and let the cosmos twirl Blind without her source of light I light a flame and say her name into the night I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am Lost in time and space Aimless searching for a long, lost face Haven't got a thing to lose If I don't find her, gonna tie that noose I quit my job and packed my car Left in a hurry, and I've sure come far Driving fast with no headlights I'm wide awake, I say her name into the night Oh, I'll find a way, I say your name into the night I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am

+ Always Forgetting With You (The Bridge Song) by Spiritualized

I think the lyrics on this speak for themselves—wolfstar in all universes would do anything for each other, and long to be together. I also love the way this song sounds...extremely space-y.

If you want a radio, I would be a radio for you If you want an aeroplane, I would be an aeroplane for you If you got a lonely heart, I would be a lonely heart for you If you want a rocket ship, I would be a rocket ship for you If you walk the galaxies, I would walk the galaxies for you If you'll be my lonely girl, I would be a lonely boy for you If you want a shooting star, I would be a shooting star for you If you want another world, I would be another world for you If you wanna universe, I will be a universe for you [...] Always Together With You If you'll be a lonely heart, I would be a lonely heart

+ Everybody's Groot by Daniele Leppi

Instrumental. A fun wee song for our favourite treeboy, Rootmus.

+ Worry Not There Are Galaxies You Haven't Heard Of by Tom Rosenthal

I wanted a song for young Mossy & Sirius, and this one felt right. 🥲

"What d'you wanna be when you grow up?" Oh, the empty cry for certainty They want to know what you want to be But why have I got to be something? Oh, aren't we all dumplings? Take a minute, wallow in it, float around Give it all a second glance or three Today is its own entity And you are its beautiful painter And you still will be later So worry not, there are galaxies You have not heard of There are eyes you have not seen shine And there are so many people Waiting to love you It just takes time

+ I Talk To The Trees by Martin Denny

Instrumental. Listen to that theremin go!! I thought the title was very appropriate, and theremin always make me think of vegitation for some reason, anyways.

+ Moonage Daydream by David Bowie

Listen, this song had to be here!! Since this chapter was partially a take on Guardians of the Galaxy, and that movie's soundtrack is very much 70s rock heavy, this just felt right. Pretend it's called Mossyage Daydream. 🤭

Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe Put your ray gun to my head Press your space face close to mine, love Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!