#cherryblings

click here for chapter one on tumblr

and click here for chapter two

and here for chapter three

Scott left his former life behind at nineteen with nothing but his sister’s old stuffed animal (a ginger-pelted cat creatively named Ginger), a backpack full of basic but hastily-grabbed essentials, his sister’s suicide note, and some spare change.

He was twenty now, and he was doing what he had to do in order to get by in this life. It wasn’t very glamorous, but it was fine, and that was good enough for him. Everything he had to navigate and put up with was worth escaping Ira Evolet, even if he struggled to accept that idea.

Hard to think this is all worth it when you’re walking home in the middle of an autumn night with your tits out, Scott complained to himself as he held the remains of his top together.

Scott may have been embarrassed by the semi-casual partial nudity if he were new to this, but any potential he had as a blushing virgin had long passed years ago. Voluntarily or not, Scott was very used to existing in minimal clothing, though that didn’t make it the most comfortable way to exist. There was a reason humans wore clothes, reasons beyond modesty. 

As one may expect, it wasn’t (still isn’t) easy to build a life in an unfamiliar city with nothing valuable attached to his name. Scott had to build the little he managed to acquire now from the ground up, and that meant becoming okay with many things very fast, and one of those things was exchanging his sex appeal for money. 

To put it bluntly, Scott was a prostitute, and he made peace with that fact the moment spreading his legs and sucking a few dicks led to him affording a warm meal. The hypersexual traits he had developed as a coping mechanism became a tool he knew how to wield, and the lessons he learned being assaulted became a skill he used to keep a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

It wasn’t a very pretty story to tell, but it was his reality. If Scott was going to be so beautiful that men struggled to control themselves around him, then why shouldn’t he use his fuckability to his advantage? What else could he do? If it was going to happen anyway, he may as well get paid.

To be completely honest, he didn’t find prostitution to be that bad of a gig. Sure, some of his clients had strange kinks or went rougher than Scott would have preferred, but whoring himself out gave him flexibility and job security– there were always going to be some horny bastards looking to get laid.

He first attempted this new venture with scumbug catcallers as a testing ground, and he was glad he did. It gave him a foot in the door, and those few fumbling attempts led Scott to perfect Star.

Star was a persona he created using parts of his past experience and all of the knowledge he knew about human sexuality. She allowed him to play the fuckable girl while also allowing him to explore his true identity without The Haven or his grandmother’s influence. Being Star felt more like performing as a sexy drag queen or crossdressing for Halloween than being Scott did. She was a boundary, a much needed fence-and-closed-gate for his brain to cope, just like Alia was. Scott could access those parts of himself at will, but when they weren’t needed, he could tuck them safely away. He needed that mental separation to stay sane, to stay alive.

Star was confident, sexy, and comfortable with her feminine curves in all the ways Scott wasn’t. She was free from dysphoria and religious shame, able to flirt with attractive men without a problem. She gave Scott an avenue to not only to make money, but a place where he could act on his homoerotic desires, and maybe even enjoy the entire process from time to time. Either way, Star’s clients would never know the difference. He was a professional, after all.

And as a professional who has been in the game for a bit now, Star had plenty of regular clients and cash flow. This meant that he didn’t have to deal with assholes that gained pleasure from ripping his clothes off and coloring his pale skin with dark blue and purple. Scott had half a mind to drop said asshole as a client, but he paid the upfront price handsomely and tipped even better, so Scott wasn’t quite ready to let go of this asshole client just yet. 

Still, he couldn’t help but be pissed off. Scott was exhausted and shivering, and it was dark enough that he barely recognized his surroundings. Fortunately though, Scott has wandered these streets enough times the past year or so to have a fairly clear mental map of the city. He didn’t own a car, so he relied on buses and his own two legs to take him to and from clients.

If his mental map wasn’t failing him, he only had about ten more minutes to walk before he reached his motel. That self-promise motivated him, urging him to speed up his pace. He was so close to taking a proper shower and resting his strained muscles on the shitty motel mattress. He couldn’t wait!

“Excuse me!” a voice called out from behind him, stopping Scott in his tracks. “Hey, wait up! I have something for you–”

Scott stayed still, glancing over his shoulder in preparation as he mentally coached himself. As soon as the stranger reached out towards him, he grabbed their wrist, twisted their arm, and pinned it up against their back.

“Woah, ow, ow, okay–” the blonde winced in pain as they tried to untangle themself. Scott wasn’t sure why, but he could tell that they weren’t trying very hard despite the fact that the other was visually more muscular than Scott was. “Could you let go? Please?” “Why should I do that?” Scott narrowed his eyes, keeping the man dressed in some sort of uniform in place. “I didn’t steal anything, if you’re a mall cop.” “I’m not a mall cop!” the mall cop security guard squeaked in offense. “I’m a security guard for a building down that way.”

As the security guard talked and nudged his head down the way they came, Scott slowly reached for the gun in the stranger’s holster. 

That had proven to be a mistake, for as soon as the other noticed his intention, he turned the situation on his head. The other man freed himself like it was nothing, but instead of restraining Scott or pulling out the gun to point it at Scott’s chest, he took a few steps back with his hands up in surrender. “Look, sorry, I don’t want a fight.”

A cool wind engulfed his bare skin, making his nipples uncomfortably hard and urging goosebumps to spread over his skin. He crossed his arms over his tits, not wanting to give a non-paying customer the satisfaction of seeing him topless for too long. What could he say? He may be dysphoric about them sometimes, but he did have a “nice rack”, as he’s heard them described before. Where had his shredded shirt gone again? “Then what do you want?” 

“To give you my hoodie,” the security guard answered, holding up the clothing item like it was some sort of offering to a deity or monarch. “I, uh, I noticed that your shirt was, yeah, and I didn’t want you to get sick from the cold, or–”

He didn’t finish the sentence, leaving it at that, but Scott had a feeling he knew. Or get assaulted by sewer rats in the shape of men. Okay, maybe not that wording exactly, but he doubted he was far off. Scott studied him warily for a few heartbeats before accepting the stranger’s gift. Once the hoodie was in his hands, he didn’t waste time slipping it over his head. The hoodie was oversized on him, likely due to his shorter and more slender frame, the hem well past his ass. It was surprisingly warm too, and he couldn’t find any issues with it when doing a quick glance over. No holes, no stains, no strange substances in the pockets… Scott would guess that it was high quality. Why would he give something this nice away, just like this? “I… thank you.” “You’re welcome.” The stranger beamed proudly at him, looking pleased. He glanced at the watch on his wrist before giving Scott an apologetic expression. “I would offer to walk you home, but I’m on the clock right now, and I don’t think the boss would be very pleased to see I’ve left my post for this long.”

The blonde stranger had already turned on his heel to jog back the way he came when Scott managed a “What about your hoodie?” He didn’t want to get a man with a gun after him because Scott’s sexed-out, exhausted mind misinterpreted the terms to the… exchange? gift?

Luckily, the other heard him, throwing his response over his shoulder, “Keep it!”

Keep it. Scott fiddled with the flap of the pockets, face flushed. He hadn’t expected a stranger to be so kind to him, especially one who didn’t seem to expect anything back from him. Scott wanted to believe the best in the other, but the more paranoid side of him was setting off alert alarms, and the selfish side (I’m allowed to be selfish…) didn’t want to give the high-quality zombie-stitched hoodie back. 

Maybe I’ll take a different route home next time.

click here for chapter one on tumblr

and click here for chapter two

Numb. 

He wished to be numb again. He wished to banish the panic he lived and relived again as his mind forced his memories to loop the moment he lost the one person he cared the most in the world. He wished to not feel, or to simply be left to sulk in his misery, but it could never be that simple, could it?

Alia pressed the base of his palms against his closed eyelids so hard he started seeing stars. His emotions felt as if they were teetering on an edge, flipping back and forth from a numbness so hollow and empty that it throbbed to terror identical to that of which ripped through him that dreaded day…

The terror of a locked door and no answer.

The growing concern as he broke into the bathroom they’ve shared since they were small just to find his sister submerged in the tub, limp and fully clothed.

The frenzied worry of lifting her soaking, water-withered corpse out of the bathtub and onto the floor.

The fear of not being able to find a pulse nor see the typical rise and fall of her chest, even after attempting CPR.

The whirlpool of emotions that traded spots with such a sorrowful, aching numbness that he didn’t even know what to do with himself.

What is the point of continuing on? Alia wondered, struggling to see a future for himself without his reason for living in it. I have nothing pleasant without Gem her. She was the joy in my life, my favorite person, the only one I could be myself around. 

I could join her, Alia thought bitterly as he bit at his fingers. I could go up to The Haven’s roof right now and jump off. I’m sure the other Havenites would have a field day finding their favorite punching bag, sex doll, and scapegoat broken and snapped in half on their lawn. 

“Alia, be a lady!” Grandmother swatted at his hands, prompting him to stop biting himself. “I know that you’re upset at Gemini’s passing, as am I, but you can’t act like a toddler with her fingers in her mouth! Either go socialize with those who took time out of their day to pay their respects, or stay by my side and be quiet, like a good granddaughter.”

He wrinkled his nose, but obeyed begrudgingly, forcing his arms to hang by his sides. He didn’t care to stand by Grandmother as she socialized, but it was better than talking to others himself. “Poor Henrietta,” someone nearby sighed in a false-quiet. “She won’t have any legitimate great grandchildren with Gem ascending to Oasis far too early.” “Maybe Alia’s to blame,” someone suggested in a faux-whisper. Alia could see a blur of hand movement in his peripheral, meaning they were likely gesturing as they spoke. “You know, with her tendency to curse those who get too close to her with misfortune and all.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s true,” the first dismissed.

“But it is!” the second insisted. “My cousin– the one who lives near The Haven just down south– tried to charm her, thinking she was pretty, and she rejected him! Ha, like she could do better with her unchastity. Anyway, he broke his leg just two days later! He’s never broken a bone before then; that can’t be a coincidence.” “Well, I heard Gem killed herself,” a third chimed in, turning the first two’s attention. “Maybe Alia did something to drive Gem mad?”

“See!” the second exclaimed louder than a whisper this time, though they did try to lower their voice again as they continued. “Alia’s curse must have poisoned Gem’s mind! Oh, that poor girl. She was so nice.”

“Wait, what?” the first gasped, seeming to ignore the second’s exclamation. “Gem committed suicide? Really? I thought she drowned.”

“She did, but my dad is one of the police officers that went to the scene, and he said there was an empty bottle of this medication or something that’s supposed to help insomnia,” the third explained. “He pushed for an autopsy, but Elder Henrietta refused. Something about not wanting to see Gem all cut up before her casket closed to be buried or whatever.”

“Gods, that is so unfortunate.” The second sighed, almost wistfully. “She had such a promising future, and I had always intended to become closer friends with her. She just seemed so sweet– was so sweet– and she was the most dedicated of all of us in her religious studies, but I was always far too intimidated by Alia to approach her. I didn’t want to get on Alia’s bad side– to be infected by the curse– and I think the guys agreed. I know plenty of the boys who tried and failed to meet up with Gem when Alia isn’t around, and several more who have been waiting for her to be of age to ask for her hand.”

“Hmph,” a third chimed with a huff. “I do wish they would pay more attention to me. It’s so unfair that Gem got all the praise and crushes. I want the boys to like me and not her for once.” “Maybe they will,” he could almost hear the cruel smirk on their lips, “now that the whore killed our competition.”

Another high-pitched gasp, one of excitement. “Do you think?”

Alia had tried to ignore them– he really had– but he couldn’t bear to listen idly any longer as those disgusting bitches gossiped on and on like they were, talking about Gem’s his sister’s life like she wasn’t a living and breathing person, like she was nothing. 

She’s dead, though, a voice piped up. Isn’t that more or less the same thing? 

Alia ignored the voice, refusing to ever think of his beloved little sister as nothing. The dial controlling his emotions turned, switching him from a depressive state to filling him to the brim with pure, unfiltered rage. Too unfiltered for what was proper, considering that, next thing he knew, he was pinning some nobody on the ground outside of Gem’s his sister’s a funeral.

...

Maybe it was a good thing he barely remembered what happened after that. 

The most prominent memory he had of the next however long was more of an urge, an urge scarily close to bloodlust and the desire to go on a murder spree. Alia never considered himself a violent man, but the rules he tended to govern himself by often went out the window when it came to Gem those he cared the most about.

The best way he could think to describe the experience to himself was to imagine he was watching his body through a hazy filter while half asleep, not feeling in full control. Alia only came to as the door to the basement slammed behind him, fear overwhelming his senses for he knew what was to come. Grandmother only threw them him down here like this when she planned to lock the door.

His grandmother locked the door and jiggled the handle to ensure it was closed, stealing the air out of his lungs and confirming his suspicion. No! 

Previous times Grandmother locked him down here, he at least had Gem– his sister– Gem to accompany him. Now, all he had was the site of– he choked on nothing– of Gem’s suicide and all of her their things to keep him company. They were nothing compared to the real deal.

“Grandmother!” Alia cried, tripping over herself as she scrambled up the stairs to the basement door. He twisted the handle, praying that it would open, but he knew better than to genuinely believe that it would work. “Grandmother, please! Don’t leave me down here!”

“You attacked a fellow Sister of The Haven at my granddaughter’s funeral, dishonoring not only her name, but mine.” Grandmother’s voice was tight and firm, free of any emotion except maybe annoyance or irritation. “You are to be punished, and I can think of nothing greater than three days of isolation for some much needed reflection. Afterwards, I think it may be time to send you off to Reconditioning.”

Blood drained from Alia’s face as he squeaked out, “Grandmother–” “Silence, Alia,” Grandmother commanded, and Alia forced himself to comply. “I’ve held off for this long because I hoped you would improve without outside help, but you have proven time and time again that my hopes were displaced. I have scheduled for them to collect you at the end of the three days, so, perhaps, if you behave, I won’t send you to them on an empty stomach.”

Alia wanted to scream, to curse, to destroy things, to break down the door with his bare hands– but he didn’t. If he acted in such a manner, there would be no convincing Grandmother to have mercy on him. He had to figure out some way out of this! He had to! Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm– 

But he was only human.

He could only manage to compose himself for so long…

Alia bellowed out in anguish, bawling as he broke under the pressure. The weight of everything going wrong in his life crashed down on him, leaving him more broken than before and unable to glue the pieces back together. 

He pounded his fists against the basement door for what seemed like hours as pleas spilled from his lips. Alia screamed for his grandmother to take mercy on him– to not leave him down here alone– until his throat burned so bad that he couldn’t scream anymore. All that came out was weak and pitiful, his inner spirit nothing more than a stray ash in the wind.

Alia slowly descended down the stairs, abandoning the fruitless venture at the top. He stumbled towards the bathroom, knowing that he’ll have to face the location of his sister’s last moments eventually. His heart clenched as he entered the familiar room, but he ignored it as he turned on the sink faucet and cupped his hands to collect enough water to drink from.

The tap water did little to soothe his scratchy throat, though the physical discomfort was nothing compared to his heartache. He sunk to the floor, letting his vision unfocused as he lost himself in his mind. What is left for me? 

Alia allowed himself to dose in and out of sleep, and in and out of grief-induced dissociation, for as long as his body would allow. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, alone down here for hours upon hours on end. 

What will they do to me at Reconditioning? Will I be able to recognize myself once I complete their program? Alia scoffed bitterly. Probably not. 

He had no idea how long it had been since Grandmother locked him in, but his body did not appreciate all the floor time. His mind was all groggy and his limbs were all sore. Even still, he didn’t get up. He wasn’t sure he would even be able to find enough energy within himself to even make the walk to his bed. There’s no point. 

Alia reached up onto the counter to grab his hairbrush, but he ended up grabbing Gem’s his dead sister’s someone else’s instead.

Someone else who had red hair, redder than his strawberry blonde.

The very hair Aria learned to braid on.

Gorgeous ginger hair on a gorgeous dead soul.

Ginger hair. Ginger. Ginger! 

The word popped into his mind, electricity sparking through his body as recognition took hold of him. Gem’s cat stuffed animal! She barely ever went anywhere without Ginger, and if she did, she would be in her proper spot, but she’s not and I haven’t seen her since before– 

… 

Since before Gem died.

She’s dead.

She’s not coming back.

She killed herself.

Gem is dead.

Stop acting like she’s just on holiday.

She drowned.

Gem is not coming back!

Stop lying to yourself and just fucking accept it already, you pathetic, ungrateful slut–

Aria pulled sharply on some of his strawberry-colored locks, using the tingly sensation of hair threatening to be pulled out of his scalp to ground him enough to focus. He took a sharp breath in as he scrambled to his knees, ignoring the popping and cracking his body made with the sudden movement. Yeah, my body really isn’t happy about my chosen sulking spot. 

He shuffled over to the open-air cabinets situated under the sink, stocked with cleaning sprays, spare toilet paper, extra tubes of toothpaste, and more typical-household bathroom products. His eyes scanned over the various items for only a moment before he began to push the bathroom supplies aside, looking for a very specific box of tissues. The very box of tissues that he and Gem had altered to have a false bottom, using it as a place to hide small items from their grandmother whenever she made the hike down to search their room for whatever reason.

If Ginger is going to be anywhere, she is going to be here. She has to be. Gem… Gem would have wanted to die visit Oasis with Ginger with her, but she wasn’t, so Gem must have hid her for a reason, for me to find her. 

He knew it was foolish to get his hopes up, but it was all he had! He had to try, at least! Aria located the tissue box in question from the back of the cabinet, hidden within regular household items. He barely could keep his hands steady enough to open the box, positive anticipation and excitement pulsing through his veins for the first time since Gem… left.

Since Gem killed herself. 

Aria choked back a mournful wail that yearned to accompany such a thought, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. For the first time in gods-know-how-long, Aria got lucky. Inside the false bottom was the twelve-year-old stuffed cat in question and… and a note. A suicide note.

He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, holding Ginger close to his chest as he stared down at the folded piece of paper. Tears blurred his vision, and he allowed them to as he attempted to find his courage. Slowly and hesitantly, Aria reached for the off-white notebook paper. Breath caught in his throat as he unfolded the paper and struggled to focus his vision enough to make out the words.

Dear Alia Scott big brother,

I love you. 

I’m sorry. 

I was never going to make it to eighte– 

I’m sorry, I shou– 

We both deserve freedom, and I found mine in death– 

Does the Cherry Sibling Oath cover final words, or only Sleepovers? I hope so, and if not, I hope you make an exception and allow me to explain myself: 

I was never as perfect or as favored as they all said I was. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and the gods never listened. Or, if they did, they never fulfilled any of my requests. Hopefully they’ll fulfill this one. 

I am in so much pain every day, my brain fighting against my mind, and I just can't find it in me to go on anymore. All I am is a lie, a fraud, and I can't fake it anymore. I can’t keep sitting idly while you are punished in my place. 

I was just another reason for them to hurt you, yet you stayed. You suffered so much to protect me, even when you arguably shouldn’t. Maybe, with my death, I can protect you this time. I can free you from your never-ending sacrifice.  

Once I'm gone, you won't have to protect me anymore, and maybe they'll leave you alone. Or maybe you could finally leave like you should have the moment you became an adult. You can live life as your most authentic self without having to hold yourself back for my sake anymore! I just– I never wanted to hurt you, and I never wanted you to get hurt for me. I’m not worth tha– 

Just trust me– Trust me when I say that my death is the best thing for the both of us. 

I love you so much, but I have to leave this place. I can’t do it any longer, and I’m going to do it in the only way I know how. I've held out for this long, for as long as I could, I did! I stayed on earth for you and you only… and maybe a little bit for Grandmother, but you– You were the only thing that kept me here for so long, but that is selfish of me, because it made you stay too. I was being selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but I can attempt to make it up to you with my final act. By dying, I am letting you go, I am releasing you from the chains I kept cuffed to your wrists, neck, and ankles. 

During my last hours on this plane of existence, I prayed to every god that would listen, asking them to accept my life as a sacrifice in exchange to improve yours. That’s supposed to comfort you, not– You're better than everyone, including yourself, gives you credit for, and you deserve the chance to find a place worthy of your presence. I hope you find that, find a place that loves you for you.

I love you more than I can express,  

Gem <3 

P.S. If you weren’t just trying to make me feel better or whatever by saying you don’t have a specific name in mind yet, then I’m going to place my final vote on Scott. You looked most at ease when I helped you try that name on, and I think it suits you! Up to you, though <3 

Droplets of water dripped onto the note, further warping the already tear-stained paper. Alia Scott was so unbelievably overwhelmed with emotion that he didn’t know what to think. Once he reached the end of the note, his gaze bounced back to the top to start again. Alia Scott wasn’t sure how many times he read and reread Gem’s last words, but he didn’t exactly care. He would read it a million more times if that’s what it took to commit such a small fragment of his little sister to memory forever.

If how dark it was through the small, rectangular windows were anything to go by, it was very late, likely past midnight. If it were a regular day, he may have curled up in his bed and slept until morning, but he hadn’t known a regular day since he lost Gem. 

I need to get out of here. 

A plan to respect Gem’s final desires formulated in his mind, filling him with a new sense of purpose. He couldn’t let Grandmother send him to Reconditioning. He couldn’t fail his sister again by losing the parts of himself she loved. He couldn’t fail himself, allowing them to erase everything that made him Alia Scott and build up a stranger in his place.

Scott started to gather a few choice items– including Ginger, Gem’s suicide note, and the cash they’ve managed to save in another hiding spot without their grandmother knowing– to pack in carriable bag, just so he wasn’t leaving with only the clothes on his back. After he finished packing, he would need to figure out how to escape the basement without Grandmother knowing, and then walk toward the nearest bus stop. Once he arrived, he would need to look at the map to determine which bus would take him the furthest and what stop that was. 

Mental note to buy a cheap, old phone. One of those will probably be useful. 

click here for chapter one on tumblr

If this was someone else’s story, they might have gone on like “never, in my life, have I given much thought as to how I would die,” but this wasn’t someone else’s story, and Gem had given it much thought. In fact, death was often on her mind. She frequently let her mind wander, imagining a variety of situations surrounding her final moments. Would she go out peacefully? With pain? Would she die naturally or would something take her out? What would dying feel like? What would the gods say when she arrived at Oasis? Or, maybe, she’ll never arrive at Oasis at all. Perhaps the gods would give her a second chance; perhaps the gods will reincarnate her and let her live a happier life.

Gem liked to think that, if she were reincarnated, her life would be much different than now. The possibilities were truly endless. When indulging in that fantasy, she daydreamed of a life beyond this one, of a place where she wouldn’t feel so plagued with demons others didn’t seem to have. In a world where young children weren’t taken advantage of by older men. In a world so unlike this one.

Ha.

Gem wasn’t stupid. She was sixteen; she was old enough to understand the concept of sexual assault. She was no longer a dumb, naive child who didn’t fully comprehend what was right in front of her face, right in front of her all along.

How long has Alia taken on pain that should be mine? Should have been mine?

Gem hated that she recognized all the signs in her memories for as long as she could remember, blaring and undeniable, yet Gem hadn’t… she had failed him. Maybe Grandmother would have listened better if Gem had spoken up, but she was too much of a coward. Pathetic. Disgraceful. Weak.

“Why are you still here?” Gem recalled asking her sibling the night of his eighteenth birthday, during one of their sleepovers. “You could leave this place. You could find a life for your own, outside of this Haven’s judgment. The gods must disapprove of their behavior, I refuse to believe otherwise.”

Alia’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, as if he were nervous. “You know I can’t do that.”

“What not, Alia?” Gem demanded sharply, before pulling back. “Or, like, Scott, or Alan, or Jasper, or– whatever you end up going with! Ugh, you know what I mean.”

“I appreciate the effort, but Alia is fine for now.” Alia shrugged, glancing off to the side. “It’s safe, and it’s not like I can change it or use it in person.”

“But you could!” Gem pressed. She didn’t want her brother to give up his desires for her. She wanted him to be happy! “You could go to the courthouse. You could change your name. You could start dressing in a way that makes you more comfortable. You’re an adult, you don’t have to be stuck here suffering, which just comes back to my original point–”

Alia pursed his lips. “Gemshine, you know why I can’t.”“Won’t,” Gem corrected, more bratty than she intended, but she didn’t take it back.

“Won’t,” Alia conceded, taking her hand in his before placing his other hand on top. “But do you blame me for my choice?”

Gem’s lip quivered, unable to control it as tears threatened to spill over. “I just… I don’t… you shouldn’t be blamed for everything I do wrong.”

Alia has always been annoyingly selfless when it came to Gem, and Gem hated it. She hated every time Alia had to cover up bruises with make-up. She hated every time she would hear Alia try to muffle their anguish as they sat in the bathroom with the shower running. She hated every time she got a whiff of Alia’s usual odor mixed with the stench of cum or blood. She hated being the cause, the reason for Alia’s suffering. 

And that was just the start.

How long has Alia taken the blame for my actions? For my dis actions?

Much too long, Gem knew that for sure.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t,” Alia nodded, and Gem was going to cut in, but he kept going, “just like how you shouldn’t blame yourself for the actions of others. None of this is your fault, and I refuse to leave you here alone. Grandmother would never let me take you with me, so I’m willing to wait.”

“I’m not eighteen for another three years, though!” Gem brought her free hand to her forehead, fighting the urge to slam the base of her palm against her skull. She didn’t want Alia to see her like that. Actions like that were reserved for when she was alone and locked inside the bathroom with the vent fan running. Instead, she diverted the action to comb her fingers through her ginger locks, careful to not pull out clumps of hair. “Grandmother will be trying to marry you off by that time, if she hadn’t already succeeded.”

“Grandmother can try all she wants, but I don’t think it will be an easy task, especially if she insists I marry within The Haven. Half of Ira Evolet won’t willingly approach me once learning who I am. It’s just one of the few perks of my reputation, but I'll take them when I can get them.” Alia gave her a weary smile. “No one wants a cursed whore as a wife.”

Water spilled over the sides of the tub, starting to flood the tiled room. Gem didn’t notice the pooling water until the fabric of her soaked overalls stuck uncomfortably to her skin. She blinked in realization, quickly reaching over the side of the tub to turn off the water to avoid actually flooding the basement.

Though, Gem considered idly, no one will use this bathroom soon enough, assuming everything goes to plan. What’s a little water damage?

Still, she retrieved some of the spare towels and tossed them by the tub to soak up the water like a sponge. Gem wanted to follow through with the plan she’d been adjusting on and off in her head for as long as she could remember, not cause her loved ones even more issues. She already felt a little guilty that someone would have to waste their time disposing of her.

Despite all the adjustments, her plan really was simple: free her brother.

Free her brother and allow her deteriorating soul to rest.

Alia was nineteen now, and he still stuck around this hellhole for her. He continued to take the abuse, and continued to postpone his life… all for her. All for no reason. Every moment she kept breathing was another moment she was taking from Alia, draining him dry like a starsdamn vampire. He deserves better than this.

Gem’s mental health was only getting harder to manage the older she got, and whenever she faltered or couldn’t keep up the mask, people would blame her brother for damning her for some starsforesaken reason, which only made her feel even worse. No matter how hard she prayed and worked to please the gods, they never answered her. Every night for years, she got on her knees, clasped her hands together, and begged. Begged for them to finally take her. Begged for them to let her die. Begged for them to finally find her worthy enough to bring to Oasis.

She shot back the last of the liquid melatonin she’d been sipping like a fine whiskey before letting the liquid melatonin’s now-empty container fall to the tiled floor as she used the side of the tub to get her to her feet. Her body was trembling as the reality of what she was doing– and what following through with her plan truly meant– set in, but she persisted, willing her drowsy body to move!  

Gem carefully stepped into the tub before lowering herself into the bath water, still fully clothed. She exhaled deeply once her ass touched the tub’s floor, her body completely submerged from her shoulders down. Gem leaned her head against the back rim of the tub, forcing her lungs to expand and contract in a steady pattern. 

This was it. Next time she opened her eyes, she would be in Oasis. Alia would be rid of the chains tethering him here. This is the best thing for all of us.

She allowed her eyes to flutter close as she attempted to sooth the anxiety that sparked throughout her body, the small part of her that still wished to live terrified to come face-to-face with death, but there was no going back now.

There is no reason for me to continue on, she reminded herself. Alia will be happier with me gone. He’s done so much for me, and it’s time I repay the favor.

Gem’s lips twitched up and her body relaxed, anxiety making way for peace as she took her last breath of air and sunk under the water.

.

.

.

It is with great sadness that we announce the loss of our beloved Haven Sister, Gemini “Gem” Cherry, age at death sixteen. She was a devoted, faithful servant of The Haven, and she had such a beautiful soul and a bright future ahead of her, making her death especially hard on her family and community. Prayers for her safe travel to Oasis are appreciated.

Gem was found dead in the bathtub by her sister, Alia Cherry, at her place of residence in Ira Evolet. Her death was unwitnessed, but suspected to be caused by drowning. Gem’s grandmother, Henrietta Cherry, has refused an autopsy, preferring to, and I quote, “save myself the heartache.” No further details of her passing have been disclosed to the general public at this time. 

Henrietta has granted permission for anyone who wanted to give Gem their last farewells to visit The Haven of Ira Evolet’s main building from open to an hour after typical closing time for a week after the estimated time of death. Donations for both the family and The Haven will be collected at this time. The funeral itself is by invitation only.

Note: Scott is a trans man in the closet at this point in time, so characters refer to him as Alia and she/her for a portion of this AU.

Gem sat at the top of the stairs, back to the basement door as she curled herself onto the top platform stair. To help keep herself on only the first step, Gem hugged her knees to her chest, smushing the ginger-pelted plush cat she’s had since she was four years old between her legs and torso. She swallowed back her sobbing in an attempt to not make noise and draw attention to herself as she eavesdropped on the… conversation happening not too far from the basement entrance.

Okay, conversation wasn’t the exact word she would use, but it sounded more polite than the truth.

Though, the truth was known to be ugly, wasn't it? Lies were comforts told to shield oneself or others from reality, because reality was truly ugly.

At least, her’s was.

…

Truth be told, they were fighting again.

Grandmother and her sister, Alia.

They rarely got along, and Gem knew of Alia’s distaste for their legal guardian. Gem loved them both dearly, and tried not to pick sides, but it was hard to hear them when they got like this. Her teary gaze dropped to her stuffed cat, Ginger– her child self wasn’t that creative– before she pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“You are a bad influence on your sister!” Grandmother’s harsh yet firm irritation echoed off the walls. “Arguing with the pastors? Jutting your knee into Mister Wallace’s private parts? Honestly, Alia, what were you thinking?” 

“I’m only trying to protect her!” Alia defended herself, tone upset and almost begging. “That’s all I’ve ever been trying to do! The Haven leaders, they–” 

“Oh, don’t go on lying to me again, girl!” Grandmother scoffed, dismissive. “The Haven is a place of sanctuary and purity, and it is a place to uphold our values in this earthly realm. Those in power would never throw those values away to rape a twelve year old, especially not one as devoted as Gemini is. They wouldn’t want to harm their or her chances at reaching Oasis, nor ruin her for her future husband.” 

“But they have! Please, listen to me! Why would I lie about something like this? Grandmother, they–” Alia pleaded. Grandmother tried to cut her off, but Alia continued, “They’ve been touching me for years, and then started rumors of me sleeping around with boys outside the church– once people noticed the markings they left– to cover their tracks, but I never did! I never ‘opened my legs’ under my own choice, I– Please listen, I–” 

“Gods help me turn this slut into a respectable wife,” Grandmother prayed aloud, repeating the words like a mantra. “Guide me, and show me where I went wrong.” “Grandmother, please! I beg of you to– I–” Alia interrupted, choking on her words. “I allowed this to be ignored when it was just me, but as Gem’s body matures, they’ve been looking at her the same way, saying such vile things–” 

“That’s enough, Alia!” Grandmother snapped, accompanied with a loud SLAP! followed by a cry of pain. “Your sister is a faithful woman, and I won’t let you drag her down to the Pits of Pandemonium with you.” 

Gem bit the inside of her cheek sharply, a faint coppery taste leaking onto her tongue. She waited to hear if they would say more, but nothing else was said. Nothing that she heard, anyway.

Faithful woman. Gem coached herself, stroking Ginger’s fur. I’m a faithful woman. I follow the gods, and, when I die, I will venture from The Haven to Oasis. I’ll be happier there. The gods smile favorably on me. 

She struggled to believe such a statement, but there had to be truth to it, right? Gem was constantly praised for how wonderful and holy she was by Grandmother and other members of The Haven of Ira Evolet. Grandmother always seemed so grateful to her for not being “just another problem child”, gushing about just how perfect and happy Gem was.

Gem didn’t feel very perfect, and she certainly wasn’t happy, no matter the act she put on for others.

She hated her life, her body, her mind… When she looked in the mirror, her reflection didn’t shine back at her. The person in the mirror was distorted and unfamiliar. Her skin itched like poison bubbling under the surface. Her brain whispered in her ear those ugly, ugly truths she didn’t want to face or let others see. 

Gem was ashamed of herself, of the unwanted thoughts in her head, and the scars carefully carved into the flesh of her hips. Scars that came from a blade, being used as an outlet for the turmoil that raged within her that she didn’t understand nor know how to conceptualize. Scars easy to hide with the fabric of her underwear, shorts, skirts, and any other article of clothing.

And yet, she continued on, continued dedicating herself to The Haven, continued doing whatever she had to do to be worthy of Oasis and avoid Pandemonium. Suffering in this life is a trial each of us must go through, one of The Haven’s pastors told her. This is our chance to please the gods, and worship them without faltering devotion despite it all, to prove that we are worthy of the endless celebration and pleasure to be found in Oasis. 

Gem allowed herself to be comforted by the idea of reaching Oasis– by eventually being good enough to leave this painful mortal plane of existence– for that hope was all she had. Hopefully, in Oasis, she wouldn’t have to hide all these negative feelings she didn’t know how to cope well with behind a smile. Surely, in Oasis, she could properly meet her late parents… she was too young to remember them well before they passed. And maybe, just maybe, in Oasis, Grandmother and Alia would get along.

With prayers murmuring from her lips, Gem staggered to her feet. One hand was used to help balance herself and dry her tears, but her other arm clung close to the eight-year-old stuffed animal. She placed her hand on the door’s handle, took several deep breaths, and then pushed the door open.

Grandmother was nowhere to be found, but Alia had curled up against the nearby wall. Her cheek was a furious red, much more red than Gem’s ginger hair or Alia’s strawberry blonde. Speaking of Alia’s hair, strands stuck to her face, using her tears like a temporary glue. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, though she tried to look put together when she noticed Gem.

“Hi Gemshine,” Alia greeted as warmly as she could, though her throat was clearly scratchy and dry from pleading. “How– How much did you hear?” “Everything,” Gem admitted, plopping herself down next to Alia. She leaned against her sister, who wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “I wish Grandmother was kinder to you.”  Alia didn’t answer at first, though Gem didn’t expect it nor pressed the topic further. “I wish she would believe me.”  Gem chewed on her other cheek, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to repress a shudder. She hadn’t been sure if she believed Alia fully the past several years, with the conflicting information she received from everyone else, but she could still hear that old man’s comments ringing in her skull.

"You've matured so much, young Gemini,” Wallace practically purred– and not in a cute cat way– as his eyes trailed down her developing curves. “You've grown into your body well; you’re stunning.” 

Gem lowered her gaze, uncomfortable but accepting the… compliment anyway. “Thank you.” Wallace didn’t stop the comments, though. “Your future husband will be very pleased. I have to say, he's a lucky man; you’ll make such a good wife.” 

I hope the gods take me to Oasis before I’m of marrying age. Gem had no desire to engage in relations with men, unlike many of the other girls in her cohort. She hoped this just meant she was better at resisting the temptation, and that it would further guarantee her entrance to Oasis. 

“Your sister is pretty, sure, and has a good mouth to her–” He chuckled, as if he just made a joke Gem didn’t really understand. She froze as Wallace caressed her cheek and pulled at her bottom lip with his thumb. “–but the gods had to have sculpted you with extra attention."  

“Gemshine!” Alia bounded over to them, beaming as she grew closer. “There you are! I was wondering where you went.” 

Gem had been confused at the unusual cheer, but she went along with it as Alia put her arm around Gem. It was then that she realized the smile was fake, the fear and anger behind her blue eyes very real. Alia was covering her true emotions to protect Gem from whatever she thought was happening. 

Her heart weighed heavily in her chest, a wave of pseudo-nausea washing over her. She didn’t want to think about the reality she lived in anymore. Instead, Gem grumbled through clenched teeth, “He’ll go to the Pits of Pandemonium. He’s not worthy.”

Alia’s lips parted as if she was going to say something, perhaps protest or make some sort of quip in Wallace’s defense (unlikely), but she clamped her jaw shut. Slowly, she uncurled herself from Gem and used the wall like a crutch to aid her as she rose to her feet. Alia offered her hand to Gem, a weak smile on her lips. “Do you want to have a sleepover tonight?”

“Yes!” Gem exclaimed, eyes lighting up excitedly as she took Alia’s hand with the arm not holding onto Ginger. Once up to her full height, Alia pulled Gem in the direction of the stairs down to their room in the basement’s “spare living room”.

The basement wasn’t a very typical spot to place children, especially because it was only an open room, a storage nook underneath the stairs, and a bathroom. Grandmother had put them down there when they first arrived, claiming it was safer because there were no exits for them to slip out of, not knowing better.

There were a few small rectangular windows by the ceiling, showing into the garden, but it was far too small for them to fit through. The only way in or out was through the door at the top of the stairs, which Gem didn’t usually mind because Grandmother never came down here, but she hated when Grandmother got so furious at their misbehavior that she would lock the door.

Gem hated feeling trapped, but there was nothing she could do about it. No matter how she looked at her life, she felt trapped. Trapped in others’ expectations, trapped in her body, trapped in her spiraling mind…

“You go get ready for bed and then grab the big blanket when you’re done.” Alia’s instructions pulled Gem from burrowing deeper in her mind’s depths. “I’ll push the beds together and then get ready after you.”

“On it!” Gem let go of Alia’s hand, running over her armoire to retrieve her pajamas and then the bathroom. She stripped herself of her day clothes to switch to her night clothes before brushing her teeth.

Because the two of them shared a room, one could argue that every night was a “sleepover night”, but that wasn’t the case for the Cherry Sisters– sorry, Cherry Siblings, by Alia’s insistence. During one of their previous sleepovers, Alia had mentioned that she didn’t really like feminine terms like that used for herself, and when Gem asked why, Alia ruffled her hair and said something like “I’ll tell you when you’re a bit older.” Gem had been trying to remember, but it was difficult when Grandmother would correct her in some sort of demand to not diminish her feminine strength.  

Yeah, Gem didn’t fully understand what that was about either.

Anyway, Gem loved their sleepover nights! They were special, sacred times between the two of them where they vowed to uphold the Cherry Sibling Oath of Sleepovers. The oath ensured that anything they shared would be kept only between them, no matter what it was. It gave them a safe space to discuss their thoughts and share secrets that have been weighing them down without either one of them going to snitch. 

After she spit the toothpaste into the sink and washed the bowl out, she exited the bathroom, allowing Alia to enter after her. While Alia got into her pajamas, Gem made her way to the storage closet to fetch the heavily-patched king-sized blanket that they saved for occasions like this. By the time Gem had hauled the blanket across the room and then on top of the two combined twin beds, Alia had finished with the bathroom.

“Do you have secrets to tell me?” Gem blurted out, unable to contain herself. Maybe Alia would tell her why she always got so weird around some of the higher ups in their church? Perhaps something to do with Wallace?

“Woah, slow down!” Alia laughed a pitch higher than usual as she flicked off the lights. “We haven’t even sworn in yet.” “I swear to abide by the Cherry Sibling Oath of Sleepovers,” Gem rushed through the sentence so quickly that she wasn’t even sure if she had properly enunciated all the sounds herself, “and you do too! Now will you tell me?”  Alia rolled her eyes affectionately as she ruffled Gem’s hair, which elicited a fit of giggles from Gem. She hated feeling trapped, but one-on-one time with Alia never felt that way. Alia was a safe person, someone she could let her guard down around, someone who didn’t mind that she wasn’t always a steadfast, wise-beyond-her-years devotee of Ira Evolet’s branch of Havenism.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Alia agreed, the words barely above a whisper. She climbed into their bed and pulled the blanket over both of them, but she didn’t make eye contact. “But, first, you have to tell me if something like today has happened to you before.” Gem frowned, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”  “I mean–” Alia clenched her hands into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. She cleared her throat, raising her gaze to meet Gem’s. “Has anyone ever gone beyond– has anyone ever gone further than that man had today?”

“Further?” Gem inquired, wanting to know exactly what she meant. This felt important, but not in a good way.

“Yeah,” Alia choked out, breaking the fists’ hold to rub her tear-stained face. “Anything involving them removing your clothes, or removing their own clothes?”

Gem didn’t answer at first, focusing on her hands as she picked the grime out from underneath her fingernails. People have made me uncomfortable before, touching me in places I didn’t like, but did that count? Clothes were never removed, but…  

The area under the blanket was so quiet that Gem swore she could hear their heartbeats. Eventually, she shook her head, voice coming out more raspy and broken as the sentence went on. “No. You usually see us and stop it, or I manage to get away whenever they get handsy or kiss me.”

Before Gem could fully register the movement, Alia’s arms were around her, pulling her against her chest in a tight hug. Tears began to wet the shoulder of her pajama’s top, but Gem didn’t complain as she curled her arms around Alia’s torso.

“I love you, Gem,” Alia murmured. “I love you so much, okay, Gemshine? If anything makes you uncomfortable like that, uncomfortable in any way, run. Run as fast and as far away as you can. Find me or Grandmother, and stick with us. Never go someplace alone with anyone, especially them, okay? I… I’ll continue to distract them, so– so hopefully…” 

Alia never finished what she was saying, but she didn’t need to. Gem rubbed her hand against Alia’s back in an attempt to comfort her, something Alia has done for Gem many times. “I love you too.” No secrets were shared that night, but they didn’t need to. So much emotion and intention was conveyed in something as simple as a hug that learning a new secret was the last thing on her mind. Instead, the exhaustion that had built up during the day overtook them, leaving them cuddled close as they drifted into sleep.

“Oh, what a fantastic session!” Gem exclaimed, almost giddy as she threw her arms up into the air. She spun on her heel, the motion seamlessly transitioning into her flopping down on the cherry wood seats by the fire. “This is so much fun, honestly, I- I’m so happy Grian let me join officially this season.”

Scott had used some of their extra wool to create cushions for them to sit on, so that helped break her fall. If it hurt, she didn’t show it, so Scott chose to believe he simply did an efficient enough job. Good. That means he was useful, making his teammates more comfortable. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. For now, anyway. He would figure out more ways to improve their base, and to help ensure Gem and Impulse get far.

“Me too,” Impulse agreed with a nod, grin wide. “It was about time Geminislay entered the race.”

Gem flashed him a smile that only had the slightest glint of bloodlust within it. “Glad to know someone agrees.”

Secret Life, as they’ve been calling it, was Gem’s first official game. She had taken over for a session in Limited Life while Cleo recovered from a bug in their code, but she has never experienced a game start to finish like the rest of them have. She wasn’t used to– let alone prepared for– the outright chaos and bloodshed of everyone being Red, of everyone who was left fighting desperately to be the last one standing.  

Gem would be able to hold her own; she was a skilled fighter. She’s proven that so far, even with the curveball of regeneration being turned off this time around. She’s gotten hurt and lost hearts, sure, all of them have, but she was doing really well considerably. Scott was impressed, but not surprised. He always knew she would thrive if she were to ever join these games.

That didn’t mean the big brother in him was happy.

The big brother in him despised that she was there. The big brother in him wanted to hide her away and let no one come near. The big brother in him wanted to hold her back, keep the situation in his control, and protect Gem from the parts that weren’t as fantastic.

As much as Scott wanted to comply, he loved Gem too much to let his protective instincts take control like that. She wasn’t a little kid anymore– hadn’t been for awhile now– and she didn’t deserve to have him hovering and preventing her from playing the game just like everyone else. Void knows that Scott wouldn’t have appreciated someone doing that to him his first game, back in Third Life. She didn’t need to be babied like that, and he knew it would feel patronizing. 

But she’s never experienced the bloodlust that comes with going Red. Scott chewed on his lower lip, keeping his head low. What if it’s too much for her?

Scott managed his bloodlust with grace, the urge more of an annoying yet distant jittery feeling in the back of his mind. Many others didn’t have the same level of control as he did when it came to being Red. What if she’s more like Joel? What if she gets too reckless? What if-?

Scott physically shook the thoughts out of his mind, dismissing the obsessive worry and ordering his body to relax. It would be okay. Gem was strong and more than capable in her own right. Scott would simply do all he could to aid in her success, like he did for all his teammates, and not go into the overbearingly excessive territory. Easy, right?

“Hey, Scott,” Gem pulled him out of his thoughts, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Scott stopped fiddling with the sleeve of the translucent blue jacket he tied around his waist, flashing her what was meant to be a reassuring smile, a silent promise that she didn’t have to worry. Hypocrite. “Just tired.”

“Mm, okay,” Gem accepted without argument, though she didn’t seem fully convinced. Impulse shot him a concerned glance as well, but Gem pulled his attention back by continuing whatever conversation they were in before.

Scott didn’t pay attention to what they were discussing, hoping it wasn’t things he needed to know. If it was important, hopefully they’ll mention it later. Instead, he inwardly scolded himself for drawing attention to himself in the first place. His anxiety was getting the better of him, and he hated it. I’m a better actor than this! 

He’s dealt with anxiety for as long as he could remember, but he knew how to cope. He did! He actually knew how to cope quite well, if he did say so himself. Scott doubted that most of the other Players even knew he had an anxiety disorder literally ingrained in his code! It wasn’t like it was something they could see, most of the symptoms being something he’s learned to mask over the years. It was fine.

Scott was generally confident, charismatic, and self-assured. He transferred his anxious tendencies into preparation and identifying where things could improve. He had made his anxiety into a tool rather than a hindrance, though it would occasionally become too much and overtake his every thought.

Like right now.

Like when Gem was involved.

He would never voice such a thing, of course. Gem deserved to shine in her own right, not be forced into his shadow or controlled like she was his puppet. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Scott was a past winner, and he knew that had weight to it. He won Last Life, and there was a trend of his past allies making it to victory. People noticed that. People called it out. It was… a lot of pressure. He never intended to become– or, at least, viewed as– somewhat of a good luck charm.

Perhaps they noticed the trend because Scott was extremely loyal to those who managed to get on his good side, perhaps to a fault. Perhaps it was simply because he was useful, a team player, and wanted things to ultimately be fair. He didn’t play dirty, and people respected that. But that was all it was, right? What if none of his allies win. Would people turn their backs to him? Would he suddenly not be enough?

Scott did– and does– all he can to help his team. He worked diligently to aid them in any way he could to give them more time, to prolong how long their lives lasted, to get them all as far in the game as he could manage. I’m enough, I’m enough, I’m good enough, I–

So, yes, he was a good ally to have, but Scott never wanted his efforts to outshine the ones that won. The winners didn’t win because Scott looked their way, no, of course not! They won because they earned it. Scott’s contributions were equivalent to what any other good teammate would do. He didn’t win their games for them, dictating their every move. Gem deserved a chance to do the same. She had every right to fight hard and strive to win, no matter how dangerous or deadly it became.

That didn’t mean it was easy to accept, however.

Scott’s stomach seemed to somehow tighten, do flips, and turn into a gaping ravine all at the same time. It was nauseating, leaving him achy and just wanting to cry. He squeezed his eyes closed, attempting to push the tears that threatened to spill away.

Try as he might, it was useless. A singular tear ran down his cheek, slipping past the defenses he’d worked so hard to maintain. Scott wiped the tear away as soon as it appeared before promptly pushing himself up to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed.” He may have said more– or perhaps not be so blunt– if it were a regular night, but he didn’t have it in him at the moment. Scott was seconds away from breaking down, the stress becoming just too much. He made long strides from the little campfire to his private cottage. As soon as he closed the door behind him, sobs rippled through his body. Stupid, worthless, inadequate–

Scott allowed the tears to fall this time, and, as soon as he started, he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. The dam had broken and it was going to spill out of him until there was nothing left to give. Scott had plenty of experience giving until he had nothing left, not even his own life…

He suppressed his verbal cries, whimpers, and wails the best he could, his body shuddering with the effort. Scott blindly stumbled forward, his vision blinded by the sheer amount of tears welling in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s cried this hard while in the games.

Lies. Scott couldn’t help but correct himself, though he hated that he did. That lie was meant to be passive, a way for his brain to try and protect itself from spiraling even more, but Scott’s stream of consciousness pushed its way past the fragile barrier.

Jimmy. Scott harshly grabbed at his chest, pinching not only the crop top he wore to match the band vibes with Impulse, but the flesh underneath as well. It hurt, but the sensation was only a fraction of his pain. He barely registered the input as he grieved. I’m a widow.

And a widow he was. Scott lost, mourned, and buried his husband, back in Third Life. There was no getting what they had back. Maybe they could have continued growing their relationship, once upon a time, but Jimmy hadn’t been interested, and that was okay. It had to be okay. Even if they couldn’t be romantic– or be that close– anymore, Jimmy would still be a friend. Right? Right?

Scott had gone through heartbreak before, but that didn’t make it easier. He was a widow, and he carried that with him, even if Jimmy was still technically alive. The Jimmy on the server now wasn’t his Jimmy. His Jimmy was dead, buried on the server they played Third Life on. Jimmy himself made that clear in Limited Life.

“Scott, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to run, and go someplace else.”

Jimmy had wanted to kill him, to take his time. Scott refused, not wanting to give more of himself up, not yet. He hadn’t liked that.

“Okay…” It hurt, but Scott knew hurt. He could persist through it. “Love you!”

“Alright, have fun–”Scott frowned. He knew Jimmy didn’t consider them husbands anymore, but that didn’t mean they were nothing to each other. “Say I love you back.”“Thirty seconds.”

Jimmy never said it back. Even when Scott reminded them of what they had. He had given him a Pufferish of Peace, a reminder of good times. Jimmy lost it, didn’t know where it was, and didn’t seem to care. Scott pretended not to care as well. He tried to, at least.

Scott’s knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor. He tensed his muscles, biting down harshly on his tongue. He stayed still for a moment before shuffling to press his back against the wall beside his bed. Scott curled his hands into fists, his pink polished nails digging into his palm. He, Gem, and Impulse had painted their nails during the game’s downtime as a team bonding activity. It was Impulse’s idea, actually, and it had been… really nice.

Last Life, Scott tried to move on. He built a bigger cottagecore sort of house than he had in his and his husband’s– ex-husband’s? dead husband’s flower valley. He teamed with Pearl, and later Cleo, two of his best friends. It has been good and beautiful, and not just because he won that game.

“Yet,” Scott choked on his words, voice strained, “I fucked it up.”

I fucked it up. I fucked it up. I fucked it– his brain spiraled, regret rising like bile in his throat. When Double Life had come around, Scott had self-destructed. Foolishly self-destructed, and he hurt his friends in the process. Scott knew why he did it, but that didn’t mean he approved of his past actions. 

The why was quite simple: he had learned they were going to have soulmates this time around. Soulmates. Someone who he shared a deep connection with, something he desired so badly. Scott logically knew that the soulmates were going to be randomized and arbitrary– just another game mechanic with the deep connection being shared health– but Scott had always been a bit of a romantic. 

Okay, fine, a lot of a romantic.

It was stupid, he knew it was, but Scott had been hoping that his soulmate would have been just that: a soulmate. A romantic soulmate. Someone who he would be attached to and could love, even after death. Someone who wouldn’t leave. I don’t want to be a widow again.

When he came to the conclusion that his soulmate didn’t care like he did, by finding him, he became bitter, and maybe a bit angry. Scott cursed his rotten luck and put up walls in an attempt to guard his heart from further damage. And so, not wanting to spend the game alone, he decided to stick to what he knew. He stuck to Cleo, one of the few people Scott could count on to always be there for him if he needed it.

“I think, Pearl, you deserve this more.”

And she did deserve it. 

They were antagonistic to each other all season, hurting themselves to hurt each other, the cozy and warm embrace of Last Life locked away… but they had made it to the end. Scott gave it his all, he always did, but Pearl was the reason they were the final two. Blowing himself up to guarantee people recognized her win was the only sort of apology he knew how to give that would actually mean something. Scott would do it again in a heartbeat. His life was hers, after all, even when standing on opposing sides.

In a way, Pearl was his soulmate, but she wasn’t the romantic connection he had been searching for. Their love was strong, but it was strictly platonic. Scott simply didn’t feel that sort of attraction toward her, and Pearl was more interested in girls anyway. It wasn’t her fault that the game linked their lives together, much to Scott’s dismay. His fantasy of being swept off his feet by a handsome Player that season had been squashed.

Scott banged his fists against his skull, leaving throbbing in their wake. That didn’t encourage him to stop, nor slow down. His brain was already working overtime as he sifted through his traumas, anxieties, and regrets having to do with these games. His sinuses were stuffy and his nose was full of runny gunk. He sniffed, not wanting it to get in his mouth, but all it did was increase the pressure in his sinuses. His mouth and throat grew dry, yearning for water but only getting tears. He did little to try and rectify the discomfort.

Little regret came with Limited Life– at least, compared to the game that came before. 

When Scott first started building the Coral Isles, he had expected to be alone. He assumed Martyn had abandoned him to join another team, and he was going to be okay with that. He was! The extrovert within him hated it, but he tried to convince himself that it was a good thing. He could socialize with the other teams and then have time to himself… alone, on glorified floating dirt.

Scott tried to convince himself that, maybe, being alone would give him the space he needed to work himself out, and to not fall back into unhealthy tendencies. He didn’t want to be without teammates, but he would make due. It would be fine! It could have been fine. Maybe.

Luckily though, Martyn returned, and he was a good teammate and fun to talk to. Scott knew what to expect with him, for the most part, and it worked out! Very well, actually! They made it to the final three, and Scott wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There were times Scott fantasized about Martyn, as one does when sharing “paradise” with someone who looked like that. He wondered if Martyn would be the one he could fall asleep in the arms of and kiss until they ran out of breath… it all came to a stop when Martyn had mentioned Ren, his husband who was waiting for him once they were released from the games. Scott felt embarrassed, having forgotten about Ren. Safe to say, all fantasies died right then and there. Scott was many things, but he refused to be a homewrecker.

Now though, his eye had been wandering to Impulse, now that they’ve been spending so much time together. He knew for a fact that Impulse was single– he subtly checked– but Scott tried to deny himself. He didn’t want to do the same song and dance, fairly sure how it would end. He would only get hurt, trying to chase that daydream, just like it had repeatedly before. Scott couldn’t continue to put his heart in the hands of another yet again just to watch as they discarded it like his heart was a piece of rotten flesh in an otherwise full inventory.

The headbanging turned into scratching, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more, promptly changing tactics. Scott bit down on the flesh of his forearm, biting hard. The indents of his teeth littered his arms as an outlet to turn his emotional suffering into something physical– something easier to conceptualize and process– and to get himself to quiet the fuck down.

The last thing he needed was Gem or Impulse coming to check on him. He was fine. He was! He didn’t need them to worry. Everything is fine.

Scott was supposed to be confident and dependable, so that’s the role he had to continue to play, even if he didn’t always feel like it. It is fine. It had to be okay! Because… What would they say if they found out he struggled against his own mind on a regular basis? Who would want a teammate who frequently lost battles against themself?

Pathetic. The word was spat like venom, shooting down his spine and jerking his head back. A cry escaped his lips, despite his efforts to keep any noises to a minimum. Scott pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tight, curling himself as small as he could. Maybe if he held himself together tight enough, he would stop shattering. Stop, stop, stop!

Scott didn’t know how long it had been since he left the campfire, but it felt like eternity. His body didn’t even feel real anymore. It was numb– almost null, like the embrace of the void– except for the places that homed his self-inflicted pain. The scratches, the impact bruises, the bitemarks… they were Scott’s only real tether to the world he existed in. They were necessary, and I deserve them. I deserve worse.

Did he truly think that little of himself? That he was so bad of a person that he deserved even worse pain than the anguish he felt? Scott squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, sucking in his lips and trying to steady himself. No, he didn’t. He didn’t think that low of himself… most of the time. Scott could usually hold himself together, so well that even he would forget these moments. 

Ha. Scott huffed to himself bitterly, the unspoken words rancid on his tongue. Of course I dip this low during such an inconvenient time. Just– fuck me, I guess.

“Scott?” The unexpected input of another Player startled Scott, causing him to flinch. His grasp of his legs weakened, causing the ball he rolled himself in to uncurl. His head hit the wall again, he cursed under his breath, and reached back to press a hand against the definite bruise under his blue locks.

“Oh, jeez, Scott!” The same voice as before fretted, growing closer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but you didn’t answer, and I heard… I decided to check on you, but I–”

Scott blinked a few times to readjust his vision before squinting at the Player that crouched down in front of him. “Impulse?” Impulse gave him a weak but friendly smile. “That’s me. How ya feeling, bud?”

“Like shit,” Scott murmured, letting his eyes close again. He was exhausted. It had been a long day, and his body had ensured to use as much physical and mental energy as it could. What a punishment.

“Yeah, I bet.” The comment came out with an awkward sort of chuckle to it, something Scott found sort of charming. He would probably find it more charming if he heard it under different circumstances, though. “How about I help you to your bed, huh? Do you think you can stand?”

Impulse simply talking to him acted like an anchor, something Scott could latch onto to bring him away from the disordered thinking of his brain, the flaws in his code. He stared down at his body, at the red and purple decorating his arms, and all he felt was shame. Scott hung his head, averting his eyes. “I don’t… maybe. I could try. You could just leave me here, though, I’m fine.”

“Sorry, Scott, but you definitely are not fine, and I’m not going to leave you on the floor when you have a perfectly good bed right here.” Impulse shook his head, like in disbelief, but he kept his tone gentle and unthreatening, like he was trying not to set Scott off. “I could pick you up, if that’s easier.”

Scott looked up at Impulse through his eyelashes, taking him in the best he could. Impulse was broad shouldered with subtle muscles, worked out for strength not aesthetics. Little imp horns peaked through his brown hair and Scott noticed his fangs every time he opened his mouth to speak or smile. The outfit he wore was similar enough to his default to be recognizable, but it was just different enough to be interesting. It looked good on him. Impulse just looked good in general.

Scott could feel his heartbeat pick up in his chest as he averted his eyes, this time to his hands. He examined the pink nail polish, a part of him giggling like a stereotypical teenage girl over her first boy band member crush. They were matching. “If you want.”

As soon as permission was granted, Impulse adjusted his body to position himself to properly lift Scott off the ground. One arm snaked under his knees while the other went on his back, preparing to hold him bridal style.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Impulse instructed, and Scott was quick to obey. Now with a good hold on him, Impulse used his knees to help him both hold Scott and rise to his full height. 

Scott relaxed into Impulse’s hold, burrowing his body the best he could against Impulse’s chest. He took a deep breath, partly to steady his breathing more, but also to take in Impulse’s scent. He smelled vaguely like cherry blossoms, smoke, and musk, which must be partly due to their mutual environment. Still, he tried to commit the scent to memory so he could try to soothe himself with it when he felt particularly lonely…

Considering that they were right by Scott's bed, Impulse didn’t need to hold him long. He stepped forward and started to lower Scott onto the mattress, but panic surged within him. No! He didn’t want Impulse to put him down yet! Not when Impulse carrying him felt so safe. Impulse was a haven, providing shelter from the raging hurricane of torment waiting for him outside. Scott tightened his relatively weak grip, pressing himself against the imp like he was trying to merge their bodies together. 

“Please don’t!” Scott begged, voice cracking with desperation. He smushed his face against Impulse’s chest, not ready to be on his own again. He craved the touch and affection of another so badly. Scott hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten until he was given a taste. “Please, Impulse, just… hold me. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Scott could almost feel Impulse’s pity, but Scott didn’t take back his words. Begging– especially for something so basic– felt overly embarrassing, but the need was too great to deny himself any longer. He would do just about anything Impulse wanted from him as long as he promised to stay just a little bit longer. Please don’t leave me too.

“Do you want me to stay the rest of the night?” Impulse asked, as if to confirm, breaking the silence. He shifted his hold on Scott and, for a moment, Scott feared he would put him down, despite his begging, but he didn’t. Impulse used his own body as leverage until he could free a hand, presumingly using it to move the blanket aside on Scott’s neatly made bed.

“Please.” Scott hated how small and vulnerable he felt. Anyone could take advantage of him in this state, and he would let them, but Impulse is a good guy. He will take care of me. “I want you to stay. If you would. I… I need you.”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Impulse promised, returning the removed hand and pressing a gentle kiss against Scott’s hairline. Scott whimpered an attempted Thank you, relief flooding his senses as his face grew hotter. 

The imp turned them around so he could half-climb backward into Scott’s bed, never letting go of the elf at any point. Impulse adjusted the pillows before setting Scott down on his lap, one arm still around him. He leaned forward, reaching for the blanket to pull over them before returning his arms around Scott. 

Impulse pulled Scott close, cuddling him against his chest. One hand rested on Scott’s hip while the other tangled within his wavy blue hair, gently scraping his claws against Scott’s scalp. Scott melted into Impulse, the dark fog that surrounded him starting to dissipate. His muscles relaxed and the pain started to subside, though still noticeable. It was never that easy, was it?

Scott was just about to give into his exhaustion when Impulse spoke again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” Scott knew there was much that could be said, considering the state at which he was found, but he didn’t want to think about it anymore. All it brought was more suffering, and Scott wasn’t wanting– wasn’t ready to unpack it all in any sort of constructive way. At least, not right now. “I’m fine.” “If I didn’t know better, I may have believed that.” The words themselves felt dismissive and scolding, but Impulse’s tone never strayed there. Scott could tell he was putting in the effort to tend to him, which almost made Scott start crying all over again. Impulse’s big heart was going to be the death of him, wasn’t it? How was he just so… perfect? “Do you want to try that again?” Scott groaned– partly in mild protest and partly in pain– as he turned his head, pointed ear now against Impulse’s chest. In the quiet of Scott’s cottage, Scott could hear Impulse’s heartbeat. It was steady and dependable, a comfort in comparison to the frantic and frenzied beating Scott’s heart had been not too long ago. Scott drew closer to tranquility with every rise and fall of Impulse’s chest, drumming along like a fixed tempo.

“I would share,” Scott admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “but I don’t think I could without crying again. It’s all just… a lot. We can… maybe we can talk about it later, after the games, if you still care– if you want– but, for now… for now, can we just be like this?”

Impulse didn’t respond right away, likely in consideration as he outlined figure eights against Scott’s sensitive skin. “Of course I care, Scott. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here as long as you need.” “Thank you,” Scott breathed out, the words barely audible. Impulse hummed his response, but didn’t say more, and that was enough. Scott allowed his exhaustion to take him, guiding him to unconsciousness as Impulse provided him the physical content Scott often had to go without.

Scott was almost to dreamland when it dawned on him, funnily enough. I love Impulse. 

The realization jolted him from the sleepy daze, heart squeezing in his chest as he tried to determine what he felt about it. Scott had told himself, going into Secret Life, to abandon the ridiculous notion of finding lasting love here. These were death games, not a speed dating event at a cafe, or a fun and quirky way to meet new people. Putting himself out there only left him damaged and vulnerable, and he wanted to spare himself from further destruction.

Looking up at Impulse now, Scott knew it was too late for him. He had fallen for the other man, his affections shifting from platonic to romantic the more time they spent together. The ends of Scott’s lips twitched up into a bittersweet smile. Hopefully they wouldn’t end as tragic as he and Jimmy. Scott wasn’t sure if he could survive his heart shattering again.