Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house was covered in snow.

Midnight was approaching with great swiftness. One light illuminated the room, the crackling flames in the fireplace. The marmalade glow of the fire made the purple rugs appear grayer. A glare reflected off the orrery, casting a dark shadow on the two souls seated beneath it.

An anthropomorphic squid with six tentacle legs and two arms idled rhythmically to the sound of the ticking clock. A red and yellow party hat sat atop his head, tied at the chin and fastened masterfully.

A similarly anthropomorphic cat donned a party hat as well, as per the request of his slippery friend. It matched his vest, which was red and green. The reflection of the fireplace’s sparks shone in his thin, circular glasses. His ginger fur stood on edge, waiting for the clock to strike twelve.

“Can you believe it, Stamps?” The squid cracked a smile, showing off his sharp teeth. “The big twenty-one’s only five some-odd minutes away! How’re we feelin’?”

“I’m feeling good, I’m- I’m excited. Like, I know I said this last year, but it’s really setting in now. I’m not a kid anymore. I have officially left the teens. It’s crazy to think about that, but it’s true.”

“D’ya think the press will be satisfied with that answer?”

“The press-!” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Squid, I think the press has more important things to report on than my opinions on my twenty-first birthday.”

“I dunno, mate. You’re a public figure.”

“Extra, extra, read all about it, Stampy Cat has aged another year. Oh yeah, and there’s been leaked ransom notes addressed to the Society, but that’s kind of whatever, y’know? Read more about that on page nine.”

“People love them feel-good stories. Mark my word, they’re gonna be here this week for an interview.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Yeh, and it’s gonna be super embarrassing when all you’ve got to say about it is, like, ‘Oh, it’s kinda like last year, y’know?’ They’re gonna pick up the paper and then put it down five seconds later ‘cause of how borin’ it is.”

“If this interview, which won’t happen by the way, that’s ridiculous, ends up being total rubbish, they’re obviously not gonna put it on the front of the paper.”

“Again, Stamps, public figure. They see you on the front, that’s what gets them to buy it.”

“And they find the mere idea of me much more engaging than, say, I dunno, an ongoing hostage situation with the Society of Wonderers-”

“You keep bringin’ that up, is- is there actually like, a hostage situation, or did you like, make that up?”

“I don’t know, I read it somewhere, I forget where exactly. Probably completely made up. I doubt they’d get ahold of this information before any other major news outlets, but then again-”

“-you never know,” they both said in unison, before gasping in excitement.

Squid waved his tentacles. “Our brainwaves, they’re linkin’ up!”

“What?” the cat snorted.

“All of them signals in our brains, they’re making us think the same things.”

“That’s not- no, I don’t think that’s quite how it works.”

“See, we’re all synced up now, I bet, like- okay. Think of a word.”

Stampy put a digit to his chin. “Um… okay, I’ve got my word.”

“Okay, count of three, we’re both gonna say our word, and it’s gonna be the same thing. You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Alright. Three, two, one- dialect!”

Silence. The cephalopod stared down his feline friend, face blank as a school whiteboard in the summer.

“You didn’t say anythin’.”

A laugh crescendoed. “I just wanted to see what you were gonna say.”

“Really, mate? You’re gonna pull this? You know, my birthday’s in less than a month, are you really gonna pull this on your best friend on his almost-birthday?”

“My birthday’s in like, two minutes! Mine’s way closer.”

“Yeh, that’s true…”

Squid looked around, then turned back to face his friend.

“No sign of him. You owe me a soda.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” he scoffed, “and we’re gonna see him. He’ll be around for his best friend’s birthday, I’m positive.” 

“Sure, yeah, he’ll come. Just like last year.”

“No, but like- this is different. I had this whole thing planned, he’s gonna want to be at the party. He’s gonna love it.”

Crossing his tentacles, his mouth creased into a frown. “Be honest with yourself, you can’t expect him to come here. He’s all preoccupied with like, world travel, vagabond stuff, those sorts of things, he doesn’t have time for us.”

“He’s got time,” insisted Stampy.

“He’s not worth our time if he won’t even show up for-”

“I know where he is.”

Squid blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

A cheeky smile formed upon his face. “I know where he is, Squid. We’re gonna see him.”

“There is no way you know where he is, you know next to nothing about the network.”

“No, I know. I had someone find him. That’s why I wanted to plan the party this year, that’s what the big birthday surprise was. He’s not coming to see us. We’re going to see him.”

Fire crackled nearby. A moment’s silence passed.

“How’d you-? Have you been studyin’ these sorts of things, or-?”

Stampy cut in. “Again, I went through a middleman. Impressive as it would have been, I didn’t, like, learn everything there is to know about vagabond-ry in less than a year’s time. But, y’know, Sqaish is gonna be with us as well, they’re pretty good with that. Stacy too, if she’s not too busy with the farm. So that’s like, three seasoned travelers total. We’ll be golden.”

“So you just went in, no research, no’n’, and you’ve got full faith in this middleman to do all the vagabondin’ for ya. Is that- that’s literally what’s happened, isn’t it.”

“No, but like- okay, look, I know this sounds like it’s a stupid idea.”

“Because it is,” clarified Squid. “You let someone take you to a second location, that’s how they get you.”

“Get me? Squid, I’m not gonna die.”

“I never said anythin’ about dyin’,” he corrected. “When a stranger asks you to get in his van, you don’t do it, and it’s the same principle here. That sort of thing happens to you, there’s a lot more to consider than just the possibility of getting killed. Like, maybe he’s trying to rip you off. All of them timeshare salesmen, they like playing the long game, y’know? And you can’t let yourself fall victim to their-”

“He’s not selling me anything.”

“Not yet he’s not.”

“Also, this is kind of unrelated, but how come, when thinking about why you shouldn’t go in a stranger’s van, are your first two thoughts ‘because they might kill me’ and ‘they might try to sell me a timeshare’? I think there might be slightly more serious things to be worried about.”

“Such as?”

A pause.

Stampy pushed up his glasses. “You know what, nevermind. My guy is nothing like those van people, he’s not going to hurt me, he’s not going to kill me, he’s definitely not a stranger by any stretch, and he’s not selling me things. Actually, he’s more like, um, giving me things for free, because it’s my birthday.”

“Business tactic. Free samples.”

“I think giving ownership of an entire world for free is a bit much for a sample.”

“He, uh, he did what now?”

“Yeah, he’s giving me ownership of a whole world, and he brought Craig there, and we’re all gonna visit and hang out and explore. It’ll just be the five of us again, and it’s gonna be everything we’ve ever wanted. Stacy gets to study the ecosystem, you and Sqaishey get to build and swim around, and I could go exploring with Craig! I brought the fun to him this time. And it’s just this huge place just for us where we could go back to whenever we want, we get to do anything we’d like, and- how are you not… why aren’t you excited about this, this is awesome!”

“I think you’re bein’ scammed.”

“I am not being scammed.”

“There is no reason anyone would want to just give away a perfectly good world.”

“I mean, you said it yourself. I’m a public figure. Maybe he’s a fan of mine and wants me to have nice things for my birthday.”

“Alright, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that this isn’t a scam. He’s still leadin’ you down a pretty dark path. You start travelin’ all the time without the proper, like, discipline and outlook ‘n’ stuff, then you lose sight of your true home and forget about what’s actually important to you.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, how do you know that’s going to happen?”

“What do you think happened to Craig?”

Biting his lip, Stampy nodded. Squid put on a cheeky smirk.

“See, I’m right about stuff sometimes.”

“No, yeah, you are. But I won’t forget about Wonderberg, and I won’t ever forget about my friends.”

Squid tilted its head. “You promise?”

“From the bottom of my heart.”

The orrery spun above them. Stampy leaned back.

“I’m still gonna go through with this though. I have a lot of faith.”

“Right, and if it goes bad, you owe me two sodas, ‘stead of just one.”

“Okay, no, I am not agreeing to that. That’s not in writing, we didn’t shake on it, it’s not happening. No deal.”

“Fine, then. I’ll just take the sodas myself.”

“No, Squid, that’s just stealing. What you’re suggesting is called ‘theft’, and it’s mean and not very nice and it’ll make me a very sad kitty. On my birthday, no less. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Technically, it’s not your birthday yet, you’ve still got, what, how many minutes?”

“It’s probably already happened at this point. I think we missed it.”

“No, the oven timer’s not went off yet. I set up a timer on the oven for midnight, ‘nd it’s not gone off.”

“Well, yeah, because the power’s gone out.”

“The what?” Squid raised an eyebrow.

“Did- did you not notice?”

“When did this happen?! How come you didn’t tell me the power’s gone out, that, like, messed up our whole thing!”

Stampy started gesturing with his hands. “Like, five minutes ago or so! We were talking about something else, I didn’t want to change the topic. Otherwise we might never get back to what we were saying.”

“Stamps, we missed your birthday!”

“We were going to anyway, probably. I wasn’t keeping track of the time properly, I was kind of counting on the oven before realizing that it wasn’t gonna work. It’s fine, there’s nothing we could’ve done.”

“See, this is part of why I don’t like the winter. All that snow. Always causin’ problems with the circuit breakers.”

“At least the cake’s fine,” he reasoned.

“Priority one,” quipped Squid.

“No, but like, if we’re off on the, like, exact timing of when midnight is, I’m not too worried about it, as long as we’re still in the ballpark somewhat. I’d say this is still in the ballpark. It’s different if the cake wasn’t ready, because, like, you’d expect to have cake on your birthday. That’d ruin the tradition.”

“Yeh, that makes sense, actually. Um, I’m gonna go check to see if the breaker needs a reset, I’ll be right back.”

Squid got up, then immediately fell back to his knees.

“Ah, hell, iron deficiency.”

“What?” Stampy chuckled.

“Stood up too fast, everythin’ feels like static. Auntie Squid says that happens when she’s not got enough iron or somethin’, I think that’s what’s happenin’ here.”

“Well, wait, what’s it mean if, like, I’m feeling that way too? I’ve just been sitting here, and everything’s been all staticky for the past few minutes.”

“That… sounds like a totally different issue.”

“I guess that makes sense. It’s actually affecting my vision, too, which is weird. It’s not just things feeling like static, everything looks like it as well.”

“You, uh, you should really get that checked out.”

“Is this just what happens when you get older?”

Nothing more was said.

Darkness enveloped the orange cat, beaming white noise directly into his ears. The room got colder, and he soon realized that he was no longer inside of a room at all. He was situated on an island of creamy golden rock, hovering over a great black void.

He turned around to see the kind wizard once again. Cloaked in blue, the horned creature with skin as dark as night extended his hand out. Stampy shook it with his paw.

“Happy birthday,” said the ramlet. “I do hope that the trip here wasn’t all too disorienting.”

Stampy snapped his fingers. “So that’s what all that was. Okay, that- that explains a lot.”

“It was probably a bit of an unconventional trip.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know, I’ve not been out traveling beyond the, uh, the confines of my world very much. You’re the first person to actually take me somewhere for an extended period of time.”

“Intriguing. Now, if you may, I’d like to ask you to stay on this platform until I get back. I won’t be long. There’s just one final thing I have to attend to.”

“And then I get to go see Craig?” Stampy’s eyes glimmered.

The ramlet cringed. “Well… we should really wait until sunrise.”

“What? How come?”

“I wouldn’t want you wandering around an unfamiliar place in total darkness, that’s a recipe for disaster. Also, it can get quite cold at night, and you… seem to not be wearing any warm clothes aside from that vest.”

“Right, right, yeah, that makes sense.”

Hissing sounds vibrated softly through the air. The big black ink seemed to flash microscopic bouts of purple in a chaotic formation, like television static during a thunderstorm.

He was there and back within five minutes. Stampy, as requested, was seated upon the island.

“I uh,” Stampy began, “I meant to say this earlier, but… where exactly are we right now?”

“I have taken you to my domain. You are currently standing in my dimension, in a world of which I am the operator of.”

It almost seemed too good to be true. No- it had to be too good to be true. He thought back to what his friend said, the other friend who… whose name was a bit fuzzy, but their words were clear.

“This is all so very delightful, but… is there, like, a catch? Like, is this just a prelude to, um, you trying to sell me something, or…?”

Something changed in the ramlet’s eyes. He paused, then let out a hefty sigh and cleared his throat. Stampy sat at attention.

“There’s something I’ve been waiting to tell you. I suppose it can’t wait any longer, now that you’re on the brink of your inheritance.”

An anticipatory glimmer shone in the cat’s emerald eyes. “Go on.”

The static seemed to dim in volume as he spoke.

“Long ago, this world was densely populated by a group of people, a group I refuse to dignify with a mention of their name. A plague befell them, wiping them out en masse. But of course, they weren’t going to go down that easy.

“These vile creatures defied the natural order of this realm, cursing the world with some… some magic spell. I've not a clue about the specifics, but they placed a curse on this world. A world that never belonged to them, mind you. Every night, when the moon glows in the abyss of space, the dead rise from their graves as zombies and skeletons. And every morning, when sunshine coats the sky in its favorite blue cloak, they burst into flames and die once more.

“When something returns from the dead, it tends to warp, in a sense. I’ve undergone loss the likes of which many cannot even begin to fathom, and to suggest that I haven’t once tried to… reverse what has been done to those I cherished most? I would be lying if I were to suggest that, to put it simply. I speak from experience here. And these things that haunt our world have been towing the line between living and dead for months on end. For what purpose?

“I’ll tell you what purpose. They want vengeance. They believe their plague to be manmade. Some may even believe you to have some sort of involvement. They speak your words. They know your tongue. They believe you to be the bringer of destruction, the one responsible for each of their deaths, and they only wish to kill you, over and over again, as reparations for a crime you did not commit.

“If I had the power to stop them, I’d have done so long ago. But I know naught of magic. I know naught of enchantments. And I know naught of curses. I give you my sincerest apologies, Stampy Cat. I’m sorry that you had to learn such a harsh lesson the hard way. I only hope you can still enjoy my gift, even knowing what you know now.”

There was no noise. A deafening silence echoed across the sky, devoid of all signs of life. Five long minutes passed before another word was uttered.

“...but you’re still giving me the world, right?”

“Well… yes,” Phorjay susurrated.

“And Craig’s coming too?”

“Yes, your little friend will be there.”

“And the world will be ours and we’ll be able to build anything we’d like?”

“That’s a promise, yes.”

Stampy smiled. “Then who cares about some silly little curse? I get to make my very own world!”

Hesitantly, Phorjay nodded. “I’m… glad you’re not too upset about this.”

“Why would I be upset? Again, you’re not considering how awesome this is. An entire world, for free, that I get to do anything I want in! Maybe I could even stop by my homeworld and invite my buddy out for lunch, my good pal… uh…?”

“Craig?”

“No, no, it’s not- what’s their name, I’m not talking about Craig…”

“...what did they look like?”

“Well, they were… they were… there was something, and I knew them for a… part… of my life? They lived… in a house, and I was there sometimes, and Craig was there sometimes, and it’s- well, like- it’s all a bit fuzzy, sorry. I’m probably not making any sense right now. Are memory issues a common thing when you go to a new world for the first time?”

“No, that’s not really a thing.”

“Ah,” replied Stampy. “I must’ve just forgotten. Well, if I forgot, I suppose it must not have been that important.”

“True, true.”

The more he chased his own memories of the past, the more vague his childhood seemed to be. Everything was there, but all the substance and specificity was just… missing. It was all generic, utterly stripped of identity. Strangely enough, however, Craig was crystal clear.

With no clear indication of his past, all that was left to talk about was the future. For the next three hours, Stampy busied himself coming up with plans for buildings and houses and shops. It was surprisingly fun. He could easily see himself imagining new ideas ten years down the road. Phorjay sat silently and listened to the orange cat’s plans, seeing the birth of a new world in his mind's eye.

Hours passed.

Eventually, it was time to bid him adieu. Phorjay held up an orange crystal, a pentagonal kite-shaped prism with a flat top and a sharp bottom. A low hum emanated from the core of this gem as he delicately inputted some sort of code on its surface. With his other hand, he held a torch that pulsed a violent red. He held it up to the block, and the hum swelled high. It swelled and swelled until a galactic mass formed at the cat’s feet.

He couldn’t feel his toes. The substance felt like a slimy sludge, he felt it devouring him from the bottom up. Its pattern did not move. It was shadowless, motionless, merely a display of the great galaxies beyond the overworld earth. And it was so deeply hypnotic, that it almost made him forget about the slimy quality it had.

It was a blanket. He was getting drowsy. His melatonin spiked. A ray of perfect sunlight hit him and instinct kicked in, he was fast asleep. Nothing mattered. Time for bed. Let the clock tick on unobserved, let the hours pass indiscriminately, let the world guide him up from his slumber in his new home. 

And Stampy woke up on a snowy beach.

Chapter Text

The horizon was an infinite expanse, and the indigo seas were as vast as they were deep. Golden rays of warmth from the Sun snugly landed on the orange cat’s fur, as the light refracted off the neverending ocean to form rainbows on the ice. 

His feet were submerged in both sand and snow. The sensation was unusual, but not wholly unpleasant. Anemoia was baked into the air. A single frog croaked out to the big blue, calling to nobody in particular. He knew what this world was. It was home.

“Whoa, here we go, here’s… here’s Stampy’s Lovely World.”

Lovely, he figured, was a fitting way to describe it. Stampy scooped up some sand with his paws and let it sift between the gaps in his fingers. A small chuckle escaped his mouth.

After a minute of frolicking and playing with sand, he snapped back to reality. Now isn’t the time for games. He heeded the warning he was given. The zombies will kill him. Exploring can be done later. He needed a house.

As he walked, more sand finangled its way into his fur. Bothersome, yes, but nothing that couldn’t wait for the evening. There were cows and trees in the distance. If he wanted to live, he’d have to work for it.

Stampy was head to head with a cow when he realized he did not have any sort of weapon. He rummaged through the pockets of his red and green vest, and found more sand.

He decided to do the most logical thing in this scenario; throw the sand at the cow.

This solved absolutely nothing, so he went to gather other resources from the animals that didn’t require lethal action. Using his claws, he sheared a sheep to get wool. He also picked up some stray feathers dropped by chickens, and crossed the ocean to find wood.

Right then, he heard a rustling in the grass. Immediately, he reached into his inventory to grab a pawful of sand.

“Who goes there?” Stampy shouted. “Reveal yourself, googlie, or face the wrath of my… sand. Yeah, I’ll throw sand in your eyes and it’ll probably hurt really bad.”

“...Stampy?”

He knew that voice.

“Craig?!”

The speaker revealed himself. Standing before Stampy was a man with a rosy pale complexion and shaggy ginger hair. He donned a gray satchel and sported a blue and red sweater with deep blue jeans to match.

Stampy was overjoyed. “I can hardly believe it, is that really you? Here already, in my lovely little world?”

Craig spoke in his distinct Scottish accent. “Been a little while, hasn’t it?”

“Where have you been these past couple months? Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“It’s actually a pretty funny story, um… d’you wanna hear it, or—”

“Tell me, tell me!”

“Alright,” he started. “So I was out exploring, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I found this world that was like, one island and nothing else, and there was a guy there. Kyle, he said his name was. He’s a glow squid.”

“A glow squid, I— wow, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen one of those.”

“Hybrid, by the way, not like, a literal…”

“No, yeah, I kind of figured that’s what you meant.”

“Good,” he concurred. “Right, and he was building this house. Some vacation home, I assume. My buddy Nutrat and I— hold on, why are you…”

Stampy turned his way. “Why’m I what?”

“What was that you were doing, just a moment ago. What are you trying to accomplish?”

“Oh, you know,” he mused, accenting his words with little hand motions. “Gathering bark. It’s a valuable resource.”

“What would you need bark for?”

“Bark’s got loads of uses,” insisted Stampy.

“It’d probably be better to get the wood itself.”

“Yeah but like, I don’t have an ax or anything.”

“Then make one.”

“Wow, how brilliant,” twitted Stampy. “Just bloody make one, fantastic advice.”

Craig retrieved an ax from his inventory. “Or you could just use mine.”

Stampy flinched. “You’ve been out and about carrying an ax around?”

“Yeah. For murder. Case I ever feel like killing someone.”

“Pfft— okay. Note to self, never cross you.”

Snickering, he leaned up against a tree. “You know how to swing one of these?”

“Can’t be that hard. Here, let me have a go at it, you continue with your uh— your story.”

“…alright, um, where was I…”

Birds chirped in the distance. Shadows of swaying leaves fell upon them, with beams of golden sun peeking through their cracks. The ocean seemed grayer. Dust particles danced as the slow and steady winds carried them through the air. The trees had a scent. Lumber particles filled the air as Stampy swung his ax at a nearby tree, struggling to heave its weight toward the logs. Craig couldn’t help but smile. There was something so endearing about the whole ordeal.

He cracked his knuckles before going on with his tale.

“Right, so Kyle on the island, he was making a house. Nutrat and I went up to him and we waved, he waved back, we actually weren’t sure if we spoke the same language as him because he wasn’t saying anything.”

A tree fell to the floor. The story continued as if nothing had happened at all.

“We got closer, yeah? We went a bit closer, and he started looking at Nutrat. I could tell the gears were just… turning in this guy’s mind. And then he looked at me and he stopped. He just paused completely, started squinting at me. I thought for sure I was being clocked. He like, he turns to Nutrat and walks up to him, yeah?”

“Mmhmm?”

“He then points at me and asks him, ‘so, what kind of elf is he?’”

A flurry of laughs reverberated through the lonely forest. Stampy nearly dropped his ax out of excitement.

“In his defense,” Stampy began, “there’s— ha! There’s not really a taxonomical definition that like, defines what an elf is. They’re like fish.”

Craig nodded. “In that they’re tasty.”

“No,” replied Stampy, not missing a beat.

“Matter of personal preference, I guess.”

“Don’t eat people, they taste awful, and also that kills them.”

With a gasp, Craig put his hands to his cheeks. “Are you serious? I had no idea! More people should know about this.”

“Wise words with Stampy, cannibalism is bad.”

Not having much to add, the lad in blue gave his friend a thumbs up. Stampy gathered up a few logs and placed them in his inventory.

“First you start going on about ax murder, now I have to talk you out of cannibalism. What’s gotten into you lately?”

“All I ask is you don’t look too closely at the birthday cake I made you.”

The cat’s ears perked up. “You remembered!”

Craig’s face dropped. “Stamps, I wasn’t serious about the cake, I didn’t get you a cake.”

“No, not the cake, my birthday! You remembered my birthday!”

“Well… well, yeah, I remembered your birthday, that’s… you’re my friend.”

The birds continued to chirp.

“Did you think I wouldn’t…?”

Stampy paused. “…I mean…”

“Why would I—”

A daunting silence.

“Right, yeah, uh… last year,” muttered Craig.

“I just—”

“No, I know how much you like your traditions. I should’ve been there.”

“Hey, at least you showed up for Christmas.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be the guy who doesn’t show up for your birthday, that’s outright inconsiderate.”

Noisy tones swept across the air. Leaves rustled in place. Somewhere off in the distance, the low growls of a wolf pack could be heard. 

Stampy’s eyes darted to his friend. “So, uh, this year, where exactly…?”

“Queuestuck.”

“Wow, I can only guess as to what that means,” remarked Stampy, with a distinct air of sarcasm.

“Honestly, I didn’t even realize Wonderberg had a queue. Apparently, there was a thing with maintenance. They stuck me in that queue for four hours.”

“Four hours? That’s ridiculous!”

“I thought there was like, an outage on the network or something, but no, it was- it was just Wonderberg. Whoever was in charge of fixing that needs to find someone else for the— where are you going?”

“We, uh, we need to make a shelter, yeah? Before nightfall.”

“I mean, we could just camp, right?”

“Uh, I don’t… think that’s a good idea.”

Craig stared him down. “Why would it not…”

Stampy stared back, tensing his shoulders.

His friend stepped closer. “Does something happen at night?”

“Um… well, per… perhaps? But that’s not important, that’s the least of our worries-”

“No, I think—” Craig couldn’t contain his laughter. “I think it’s actually very important. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Okay, look, when you get a world for free, you can’t expect it to be perfect. I literally got this as a birthday gift, no additional cost.”

“It doesn’t cost anything to generate a world, Stamps.”

“…what?”

“It’s already free.”

“…”

“And they don’t usually— why did you think you had to pay to generate a world?”

“I don’t— I dunno! It just makes sense!” he stammered.

“Who would you even pay— with what? What would you pay with? Where would it go, who would it even go to?”

“I don’t know! Watchers, I guess?”

“Watchers,” dittoed the ginger. A little laugh made its way in there.

“So you’re saying I could have generated a whole world, all by myself, completely for free?”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever happens at night, either.”

“Oh my god, I’ve been stupid.”

“Happens to the best of us,” he shrugged. “Anyway, like I was saying, what happens at night?”

“It’s like— basically, um… the dead rise as like, zombies and skeletons, that’s about it. Not a big deal, uh, I’m not even sure if they’re like, hostile or whatever.”

“…That’s just normal.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing with generative worlds. There’s ways to stop it, that’s why Wonderberg never had any zom— did nobody tell you this?!”

“No, I just— no, this is all new to me.”

He put two fingers to his temple. “You’d think, if he was so worried about you ending up like Netty, he’d put more focus on preventative ed. He’s in the Society and everything, why is that not the first thing he’d think to do?”

Pretending to understand, Stampy nodded along. “Yeah, you’d think he’d tell me about this. I think you’re going to have to give me a crash course on, um, vagabond-ry, at this point.”

Craig adjusted his ponytail. “I take it you need some help getting out, yeah?”

“Getting… what? What do you mean, getting out, like… leaving?”

He furrowed his brows. “Yeah? What else would I mean by that? You’re effectively stuck here, aren’t you?”

“Well, wait, wait a second. Think about it, there’s— there’s an entire world here, uncharted territory, ripe for exploration. I… I thought you liked exploring. And sure, it’s probably not how you imagined you’d be spending today, but can’t we just, you know, make the most of it? Just two best friends, running around, doing anything we want in a world that’s entirely our own?”

“I think you’re just upset you got scammed, I think that’s what this is.”

“Okay, wiseguy, where do you suggest we go then?”

“Ehm… how about…”

“Seeing as you’re so smart and not-susceptible-to-scams or whatever.”

Craig raised his pointer finger. “We go back to Wonderberg and celebrate your birthday. Like usual.”

“Yeah, and spend four more hours waiting in the queue, doesn’t that just sound fantastic?”

“You say that like you were the one in there.”

“Knowing you, you probably brought a GameBoy in there after realizing it was going to take longer than five minutes to get in.”

He pulled out a GameBoy Advance from his inventory. “It’s a good handheld, what can I say?”

“I— yeah, I guess it is pretty good, but to my point, this… this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. We are venturing through uncharted territory, or maybe it’s been charted, but not to us at least. It’s not clear what lies ahead of us. The two of us are in a land of mystery and exploration, and it’s up to us to, y’know, do what we’d like! We can do anything here.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be at home, though? You’re something of a cat of routine.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather be out and about?”

Craig paused. “Today’s supposed to be about you, though.”

“Mmhmm! And I want to spend today hanging out with you, as well as all my other friends! Who will be arriving soon. Not sure when exactly, but that’s besides the point.”

The winds were silent. Craig glanced at his feline friend, before mustering up a warm smile.

“I mean, if that’s the case, um…”

Stampy leaned forward in anticipation, to which his friend replied with a hand gesture and a quick suggestion.

“Why don’t we go and get settled, then?”

The sky turned a muddy orange, and the duo of gingers carved their way into a cave. Stampy lit a torch while Craig mined out the interior. They boarded the entrance off with wood.

“Homely,” the cat declared.

Craig concurred with the same air of sarcasm. “Indeed, indeed. Perfect place to raise the kids.”

“I can see it now, we could put a painting up on that wall, over there we could put a nice scratching post, and you could hang your tennis gear up on that wall back there.”

“Pretty cool, but a house isn’t a home without at least one tacky suburban mom decoration. I ought to get to work on that right now, do you have a table on you?”

“Why would I be carrying a table?” intoned Stampy.

“I guess I have to do everything around here,” Craig huffed, pulling a log of oak wood out of his inventory and setting it on the cold stone floor.

Bearing his ax, he swung a horizontal incision into a section near the top. Stampy mined some extra space near the back so as to not get wood chips in his fur. The sand was already irritating enough. He used the time Craig was spending hacking away at the lumber to organize his own inventory, finishing right as his friend completed his own task.

Craig carved a short message into the small slice of wood.

Live ; Laugh ; Log

“This is it,” Craig announced. “I’ve done it. I have reached peak craftsmanship.”

“I have never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“The kids are going to love this. You did remember to pick them up from their first day of daycare seven years ago, right?”

“Ah, snap, must have slipped my mind.”

“Oh well, I didn’t like them that much anyway.”

Stampy fought a snicker, which made Craig laugh, which made Stampy laugh even harder. It seemed to catch the attention of a skeleton, who shot an arrow through a crack in the boards. Hissing at the fiend, the green eyed cat bared his claws.

“We’ve got to figure out how to deal with that,” Craig muttered.

“How do you s’pose we do that?”

“I dunno. You have any bright ideas?”

Stampy paused for a moment.

“Dogs.”

“Elaborate.”

Stampy laughed. “What more needs to be said? We get dogs. They’ll fight all the googlies for us, and after a long day of sending the undead back where they belong, we give them head pats for being such good doggies!”

Craig just stared at him, the golden torchlight between them illuminating his blank expression.

“Do you not like my plan?”

“That wasn’t a plan,” Craig corrected. “I think you need to be more specific. How are we going to go about getting dogs in the first place?”

“Hah! Easy. Domesticate wolves.”

“...domesticate wolves, mmhmm. Yeah, like any of us are qualified to domesticate wolves. Neither of us have the experience or the know-how about wolf domestication.”

“Easy fix. Step one, hmm, I wonder how to domesticate wolves? And then you think long and hard about what wolves like. Now, I, an expert in the field of wondering, thought up the answer long ago, but it doesn’t take an expert to come up with it. You could probably do it too if you put in the effort. Wolves, my friend, love bones. Take a moment to think about this, Craig. Here’s the million dollar question. I wonder where we could find a large quantity of bones! Do you have any idea?”

“I could use yours.”

Stampy rolled his eyes. “Wow, Craig, nearly cut myself on that edge!”

“Thanks, I try my best.”

In the silence that followed, Stampy noticed that the torch had nearly burnt out. He lit another one in its absence. 

“Tell you what, if I let you name one—”

“Deal.”

Stampy set down his torch and shook on it. 

Craig idled in place. “So, what’s the plan? Do we just dive in and steal their kneecaps, or-”

“We sleep, wake up at dawn, and all the googlies will be burning in the morning.”

“Forgot they did that.”

“Any chance you brought an extra bed, by the way? I’m short one.”

The man in the blue hoodie stared at his feline friend with a petulant look of disappointment.

“I assume that’s a no.”

“You better have at least brought some wool,” Craig cautioned, “or you’re sleeping on the floor, where you will die of hypothermia. Because I’m not going to share a bed with you.”

Stampy gave his friend a few handfuls of wool. “I’m not that stupid. Figured I’d need somewhere to rest my head, so I got these.”

Craig lit a lantern, put the log from earlier back in its place to use as a workbench, then began knitting and sewing. He suggested Stampy go out and mine a bit further into the cave, a request which Stampy obliged with due to having literally nothing better to do.

What a way to spend a birthday. Mining coal. It didn’t set in until he was strip mining by himself that he was spending his twenty-first birthday in the coal mines. Though, if he were to guess, he’d have assumed that midnight had already passed, due to how dark it was outside.

He only stopped mining when his pickaxe snapped in half. To quell the risk of being surprised by a googlie, he left a lit lantern at the other end of his mine as something of a hall light before heading back to check on Craig’s progress on his bed.

A bed which looked awfully similar to a miniature couch.

“Craig.”

He didn’t look up from his project. “Hey, Stamps.”

“Are you making me a cat bed? As in, a bed for cats?”

“I mean, you are a cat, aren’t you?”

Stampy groaned. “Why did you—? All this? You spent this whole time sewing a cat bed to make one joke?”

Craig turned his head up to Stampy in a slow and dramatic fashion, revealing one of the cheekiest grins he’d ever seen the guy wear on his face.

“Who said it was a joke?”

Reality set in, and Stampy realized the situation he was dealing with. In a sense, it was comedic. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even as he objected to the situation. 

“You’re not— you aren’t actually going to— are you? Are you going to do this? On my birthday, no less? My twenty-first birthday?”

“I’m doing this,” Craig insisted. “It’s being done. You’re getting the cat bed, birthday boy.”

“You ought to be—” Stampy paused midway through the sentence because he was laughing too hard. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Crimson Azoth. Putting the birthday boy in the cat bed like this. Why even—?!”

“If you wanted it done right, you should have just done it yourself.”

“I’ll have you know— I will have you know, Craig, that you did not give me a birthday present this year. It is owed, at this point, you at least owe me a bed frame for your… careless neglect of this essential part of birthday culture.”

“I am the gift. Fool.” Craig couldn’t fully stifle his own laughter either.

“If I may, I would like to speak to- to whoever gave me this gift and I— and ask if I can refund this gift for store credit.”

Neither of the two could contain their laughter. It just kept going. Just as they thought it was over, the silence had this hilarity to it that sent them back. By the end of it, their sides hurt, and they had to lie down. Stampy was lying on the cat bed.

“You see, Craig, the joke is actually on you.”

“How so?”

“This bed is actually very comfortable.”

Chapter Text

Sun beams shone through the crevices in the oak leaves as Stampy placed chopped wood in his inventory. The sonorous waves of a nearby pond floated into his tall pointed ears, drawing him to the sparkling deposit.

“This is quite interesting,” Stampy cooed. “Maybe I could work this into a build.”

He climbed into the hole and dipped his paws in. The water was warm and calm. A cod swam toward Stampy, floating beside his legs.

Stampy lunged forward and caught the fish with his claws.

“Craig, look, I caught a fish!” shouted Stampy. It wiggled about with a pierced stomach until it inevitably perished.

“Fishing for food, I see.”

“Would you like any?” Stampy asked.

“Nah, I’m not too fond of cod. You can have it.”

Stampy’s eyes lit up. He bit right into its chest, chewing very loud in his usual Stampy fashion.

“What the–!” Craig gasped. “At least cook it first, you psycho! You’ll get sick.”

Stampy laughed, and Craig started laughing with him.

“You’re such a weirdo, Stamps.” Craig teased.

“You know– Craig, you know, like, the reason you’re not supposed to eat raw fish, right?”

“It kills you and you die,” he asserted.

“No, it’s ‘cause you’ll get salmon-ella.”

Two fingers to his temple, Craig audibly sighed at the attempt at a joke. Stampy snickered a little.

“Right, funny man, you’ve got a job to do. We’re presently homeless. I need you to fix that, pronto. Got it?”

Stampy focused his gaze on the pond. “Are you gonna be helping out?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out taming wolves.”

“I don’t really see how that’s helpful.” His cadence remained unchanged.

“Well, you said it yourself. We need dogs to fight the googlies.”

“…I did say that, yes.”

“So I’m getting dogs. We’ll have shelter and a living security system, we’ll be like, the safest individuals on the whole network.”

“Okay, but why do I have to do the boring stuff?” He put his hands on his hips.

“Think about it this way. You’re the one tending to the housework, yeah? And I’m the one going out to do manly job stuff. Which makes me the one wearing the pants in the friendship.”

The cat nodded. “Mmhmm, I’m following, I’m following.”

“And I can see now that you aren’t wearing any pants. So if you don’t want to do housework, you’re gonna have to start wearing pants.”

Hands cupped to his mouth, the feline let out a comical gasp. He took a step backward through the pond, nearly tripping over a twig.

Craig smirked. “Pick your poison.”

“I’d rather not have to wear pants, they’re a sensory nightmare.”

“Then it’s settled. No pants for Mr. Stampy Cat. You’re building the house.”

“Fine by me,” he chuckled. “I’ve already got loads of logs anyhow, I could– I could make us a fancy little wooden shack.”

“And since I’m gonna be out and about anyway, I’ll get some, uh…”

A pause.

“I’ll get some stuff, so I’ll probably be gone for a few hours. Don’t go looking for me, I’ll be able to find my way back.”

His tail froze in place. “Wait, how long’s a few hours, is it like, three or four at most, or like, seven something?”

“…I–” Craig fought a snicker. “Mate, I’ve got no idea. All of that depends on how nice the dogs are and how long it takes to gather materials.”

“Could you give me an estimate?

“Like I said, man, I don’t know. Whatever happens will happen, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Right, got it.” He nodded pensively as his feet left the water.

“Why, ‘s something wrong?”

“No, it’s– no, it’s fine, really, it’s not a huge deal.”

Craig stopped his pacing. “I’m not bailing on you, man.”

“I know,” he insisted. It was as if he had to force the words out of his own mouth.

“Besides, breaks are good. Good for your health, it’s backed by, like, a lot of science.”

A strained laugh escaped his feline friend. Stampy turned to face Craig, who threw a peace sign in the air with an innocuous grin to match.

“I’ll be around.”

And he was off.

Your friend Crimson_Azoth has joined the lobby!

For a fleeting moment, Longbow raised his mask, almost uncertain of whether or not he had actually seen the message that befell him. He held his right hand out to the rest of his party, fingers spread in a typical “pause” orientation, before lowering the covering once again.

Ank raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Nah,” clarified Longbow. “It’s just– what’s he doing back so soon?”

“Who, Longshot?”

“No, it’s Craig.”

Nearly choking on the air, Nutrat did a double take. “Craig’s here? Whatever happened to that week-long holiday deal of his?”

Longbow simply shrugged.

Crimson_Azoth has requested to join your party. Open the Party Menu to manage invites.

“For what it’s worth,” started Cal, “we could use an extra set of hands on deck. Just saying.”

“Should we even let him in, or…?” Nutrat muttered.

Longbow scoffed. “Of course we let him in, why wouldn’t we–”

“I’m just saying, the guy has a life outside of us that he should be attending to, I don’t want to be an enabler or whatever.”

Ank chimed in. “He’s probably just checking in to say hi, knowing him, he probably saw some sort of weird plant and figured you’d want to see it.”

Following a significant reluctance, Nutrat conceded. “I suppose he still has the rest of the week ahead of him.”

Crimson_Azoth has joined your party!

Not even twenty seconds later, their party chat began receiving notifications.

<Crimson_Azoth> hey guys
<Crimson_Azoth> theres a situation
<Crimson_Azoth> r u in the lobby or imgame

The party exchanged looks. Longbow’s face, of course, was obscured behind his mask, but that didn’t stop him.

<Ank55> Wsup
<nutrat> in lobby
<Ank55> Is everything ok wtih you
<Crimson_Azoth> omw
<nutrat> usual spot
<LONGbowX99> How Far Away?
<Crimson_Azoth> i assumed itwas usual spot
<Crimson_Azoth> i see u,lol
<agentcal117> same here
<Ank55> Dont miss the jump

It didn’t take long for Craig to meet up with his friends. Common courtesies such as waves and hellos were swiftly exchanged, with none such actions lingering too long. There was a more important issue at hand.

“It’s about Stamps,” started Craig. “I think he, like… tried doing network-y things by himself, and–”

“Oh goodness,” Nutrat snorted.

“Yeah– ha! Yeah, he’s, um… he must’ve gone into this completely blind or something, because apparently he doesn’t even know how generative worlds work. He didn’t even generate wherever it is he ended up at, he doesn’t know about the undead mechanic because Wonderberg didn’t have that, he’s– he’s a total noob. No shade, but he’s completely– he doesn’t know what’s going on. And it, um…”

His breath trembled as he let a bit enter his system.

“It scares the everloving shit out of me, is what I’m saying. He could very well be in actual danger. Whoever taught him the basics did not do a very good job. And it’s not like I can just bring him home either, it’s– he’s very insistent on both of us staying, and even if I wanted to go home, I was stuck in a queue.”

Longbow flinched. “Queue? Since when was there a– no, I’ve been there, Wonderberg doesn’t have a queue, does it? Did they add one?”

“I was thinking the same thing! Double checked the address and everything, it was the right address, but there was a queue tacked on. Weird.”

Cal chimed in. “Definitely weird. It’s a bit suspicious that, right when he wants to bring you elsewhere, a queue just happens to show up in your guyses homeworld.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on Cal. Several seconds passed without a single word spoken, only blinking eyes and silent winds.

Retreating into himself slightly, Craig raised a pointer finger. “…I don’t want to assume malice.”

“I– maybe not on purpose, I don’t mean to suggest that he’s doing this to hurt you. I’m just saying, ignorance is a dangerous thing.”

“And I’ve dwelled on that idea,” he replied. “I know him, he’s never liked being in the dark about anything. He’s like, the poster child of, um, being curious about stuff. Wondering and all that, core values of the town, but like–”

A sigh left the ginger’s mouth.

“…it’s just… antithetical, I guess, to the spirit of the village, to use abstinence as a learning policy. To anything. Leave a Wonderberger in the dark, they bust out the fuckin’ scientific method, that’s just what it’s like back home. Of course he’d jump the gun like this the moment he had the chance! I figured, maybe he’ll learn it eventually from someone he trusts. Maybe Stace or Sqaish would slip a tip his way, but evidently, that’s not happened, that’s not been happening. Which means it’s up to me, I think. To fix this.”

Ank nodded. “You’ve been traveling around since you were a baby, if anyone could guide him, it’s probably you.”

“But that’s the thing. I don’t know what it’s like not knowing this stuff, it’s been my life for as long as I can remember. I need help teaching him.”

“I can help,” suggested Nutrat.

The silence from the others was deafening. Nutrat made some sort of motion with their hands, but the lads didn’t budge.

“We’re a busy bunch,” reasoned Longbow.

Nutrat sighed. “You can make time to help a buddy out.”

Shaking his head, Craig butted in. “No, I get it. Holiday season’s in full swing, there’s limiteds to be had. I’d do the same thing in your situation if I’m being real here.”

“…well, I’m still going to help. If not for Craig, it’s ‘cause bad travel etiquette stirs up something fierce in my soul. Anything I can do to better it is a noble cause to me.”

Cal gave him a thumbs up. “Sounds nice. See you later, then?”

“Sure,” conceded Nutrat. “I saw colonelsquirrel online earlier, I bet they’d be willing to grind out tokens in my place.”

Ank was quick to reopen his direct messages. As the others surrounded Ank, Nutrat turned to Craig.

“D’you have any ideas on where we should meet–?”

“Crimcity,” Craig interjected. “There’s already a LAN door hooked up, it’ll save a lot of trouble if I build one down at this new place he’s gotten so attached to.” 

“Brilliant. Gives me more than enough time to cook up somethin’ nice for him.”

“Right, I almost forgot who it was I’m talking to.”

“This sort of thing works up an appetite, don’t blame me for thinking ahead!”

Craig snickered. His laugh was contagious.

The other continued, a smile seeping into the very words he spoke. “You’re not– you’re not allowed to get on my case about this, if not for me, you’d be going at this by yourself. You should be thanking me, actually.”

“Why, so I can awaken your fae ancestry or something?”

An overtly exaggerated gasp left his lips. “Controversial. I could have you blacklisted from the seed finding community in minutes if I tell them you said that.”

“Go ahead and try. I get plenty of seed as is, I don’t need help.”

“Gay.”

“Can’t argue with you on that one. Elves are incapable of lying, did you know that?”

“No, I don’t think I have. You autists and your trivia, I swear, it never ends. Where do you even find these sorts of things out, I simply must know.”

“Every autistic person ever meets at an undisclosed location once every forty days, and we all gather ‘round the scale model of a t-rex and list off trivia. Obviously.”

“Fascinating,” intoned Nutrat. “Your guy have any allergies, by the way? Like, seafood?”

“He’s a cat. He’s not allergic to seafood, he had this whole thing, fishy Friday, back when he was younger. The guy likes himself a fish here and there.”

“Alright, seafood’s fine, anything else?”

“No allergies. But he does have a bit of a sweet tooth, so if you want to have leftovers, you ought to keep it sugar free.”

“When have I ever wanted to have leftovers?”

“Good point.”

A beat.

Nutrat fixed the part in their hair. “So, I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

Your friend nutrat has left the lobby.

Chapter Text

Faint white noise grated through waves of sound like sand in a sieve. The sky flickered glittery speckles of violet and ebony at a nearly imperceptible speed. Pits spangled the ground with imprecision and varied depth. Obsidian towers stood at sky-scraping heights.

A single day had passed since their arrival in this mysterious place, and they still had far more questions than answers. Their incessant pressing had amounted to very little, with the trio of anthropomorphic animals remaining completely in the dark about just about everything.

Sqaishey Quack, yellow duckie and philosopher extraordinaire.

Stacy Fox, orange fox and renowned wonderer.

Squid, slippery fellow and eccentric thinker.

Each of them, Wonderbergers at heart, possessed an aptitude for curiosity. Working with such a drought of information was surreal at best.

“We’ve got to get this situation sorted out,” remarked Squid.  

Stacy dusted off her striped shirt. “Alright. Let’s approach this like good wonderers do. We’ve practiced this.”

Sqaishey interjected. “We are philosophers.”

“We’re philosophers,” dittoed Stacy. “And what do philosophers do when they don’t know something?”

Squid raised a finger. “They put their thinkin’ caps on and start wondering.”

“Exactly!” nodded Stacy.

Sqaishey placed a spare bandana flat on their head like a napkin. With a blank expression, the fox stared at them, completely lost.

“Wearing a ridiculous hat is a key part of being a philosopher,” insisted Sqaishey.

Stacy raised an eyebrow. “Could you even call that a hat?”

“Philosophically speaking, what defines ‘hat’?”

Squid giggled. “We’re really getting into it now. I can feel your thought waves bouncin’ off the walls, they’re reflectin’ onto my brains.”

“Is that why you hang out with us?” asked the duck. “To get a cut of our brain waves?”

“Secret’s out.”

The pack giggled about it for a few moments.

Stacy rubbed their hands together. “Now, we don’t have much to work with. Before we do anything else, we need to make sure we’re all on the same page. Synthesis of knowledge, we all work together to figure out what we know.”

“Mmhmm,” nodded Sqaishey. “I’m following.”

“The best next step is evaluation and discussion. But not just any discussion. Like Sqaishey said, we’re philosophers. We do philosophy.”

Squid smiled. “We philosph.”

The fox and the duck dittoed in unison. “We philosph.”

“So what do you s’pose the best way to philosph is in a discussion?”

She cracked her knuckles. “There was a great wonderer known as Socrates in times of yore, and he was the first to propose-”

“A Socratic seminar!” gasped Sqaishey.

“We’re doing a Socratic seminar,” Stacy smirked.

Squid crossed its legs. “Love those.”

Stacy pulled a notebook out of her inventory and unsheathed the mechanical pencil from its bindings.

“You go first, Sqaish. What do you remember doing on the twelfth of December?”

Sqaishey blinked. “I… I’m not sure why you want to put me on the spot first, considering the fact that I probably know the least about this out of everyone, but, sure. Basically, it was the twelfth, as we’ve already all established, and… I really wasn’t doing that much! Today’s obviously a big day, but I had everything set up and ready, I wrapped my own gifts, I had a designated party hat, and I just, yeah. I swam in the lake by my house all day and made myself some dinner, then I went to sleep and woke up here. And I tried to go back, but there were a bunch of connectivity issues, and the ram guy said the place was shut down for maintenance. Honestly, that’s all I know about the situation.”

Jotting down notes, Stacy geckered to herself.

Squid leaned forward. “How about you, Stace?”

“Hang on, I still have a few lines to write.”

A few moments passed, and Stacy took a deep breath.

“Right, my day. I was on the farm with my dogs, warding off all the rabbits like usual. Once I was sure they were gone, I went down to the Society to get some updates on the situation with Keen.”

Sqaishey raised an eyebrow. “Situation with Keen?”

“Did I not tell you?”

Silence.

Squid piped up. “Does this have anything to do with the hostage situation?”

Sqaishey jolted to Stacy. “I’m sorry, the what situation?”

“I heard Stamps mention it,” he clarified. “Not fully sure whether it’s true or not.”

“There’s no way. There is no way. They’d tell us if something like this happened.”

“No, um… yeah, it was a hostage situation. We tried to keep it on the D-L so the media wouldn’t get wrapped up in all of it.”

“What?!” Sqaishey guffawed.

“Yeah. Someone was holding members of the Society of Wonderers hostage, and they kept sending letters about a rendezvous for the terms of their release.”

“…I- that’s just- that is awful.”

“I’m just glad they didn’t get me,” laughed Stacy, half-nervously.

“This was a very weird thing to leave out of your description of events!”

“I guess I just assumed you already knew? But- but then again, why would you know this. Anyway, um, they kept pestering Keen with the letters. It went on for days until he gave in, and put Priscilla in charge of guarding the gem while he went to investigate.”

Squid leaned forward. “What happened next?”

“The letters stopped, but Keen didn’t come back. Priscilla gave me some very clear instructions, if I didn’t hear from Keen in the next three days, I had to go to the Society of Wonderers and figure out where he was. Three days pass, and now the twelfth happens. I go over there to get updates on the situation, and nobody knows where he is. Rama and I took it upon ourselves to find him, and I put Priscilla in charge of watching my dogs while we were out. We went out, and everything was fine for the first couple minutes.”

Sqaishey nodded. “Nice, nice.”

“Then Rama started acting a bit weird. She started wandering off, and I found her again on the trail, holding a piece of paper with a realm code on it. So I took her with me between worlds, and I- I just blacked out completely and ended up here. I don’t know where Rama is, and I’m starting to think that the person I took with me wasn’t her. And when I went up to Phorjay like, hey, what the fuck is going on, he just told me I was ‘saved’ by him from some unknown ‘threat’ who was looking to kidnap the whole Society. Which doesn’t answer my questions at all. So like… yay, how fun, the whole Society is apparently in danger and I can’t do anything about it.”

Sqaishey blinked.

“That is… considerably less nice.”

“Yeh,” remarked Squid.

Stacy sighed. “One way of putting it, I guess. Now, Squid, you said you were with Stampy all day on the twelfth, right?”

“Mmhmm. It’s one of our birthday traditions, you know how much he likes his traditions. We stayed up all night. Set a timer on the oven. Played some video games. Had some of them meatball sub sandwiches. Spent a while just sittin’ in boxes for some reason. Good stuff, good stuff. And we kept doin’ this until around midnight, we had, what, twenty something minutes left? So we went to the living room and started talking stuff.”

Squid paused for dramatic effect.

“Then it got a bit weird.”

Sqaishey leaned forward as Stacy began to write faster. Squid rocked back and forth slightly as he spoke.

“Stamps was all like, you know why I didn’t want you to plan this party, you know why I did all the plannin’ this year? Even though you’re the party expert? It’s because I went up and got in contact with this middleman who’s given me a world and stuff. And I’m all like, that’s weird and frankly a bit suspicious. And while we’re talkin’ about this, the power goes out, but neither of us even realize it, ‘cause he’s too busy goin’ on about how cool it’s gonna be to see Craig again or whatever. Then I try and get up, but there’s this weird feelin’, I thought it was like, iron deficiency, but it turned out to be someone literally comin’ and takin’ me out of Wonderberg, down to… wherever this was. Weird day. Very weird day all ‘round.”

Beak slightly agape, Sqaishey looked directly at Squid, unblinking. Stacy continued jotting.

“I am so confused right now,” remarked Sqaishey. “Somehow, I feel more confused than I was when I got here. Like, I have so many questions right now.”

Stacy smiled. “That’s good. We could get a start on the seminar. Why don’t you lead us in, Sqaishey?”

“Okay, question one,” they began.

The others leaned in, rife with anticipation.

“What the hell is going on?”

Chapter Text

The size of his town caught him a bit off guard.

They’d built greenhouses and farms and portals to the Nether, they even cleared out an entire mountain to make room for their community house. And two of them were waving to him from the other side of the waterless moat surrounding that aforementioned house.

Stampy was in awe. The scale was much bigger than that of his first shelter, and it was next to these huge extravagant buildings that had to have taken days to construct. Least he could do was admire it, so that’s what he did. He took a moment to just take in the world around him. The skies were a beautiful azure, and the air smelled of fresh sap and honey.

The cat gawked. “This is amazing, how did you…”

“My friends helped,” Craig began. “I started gathering a bunch of resources, Dan and the others started building a community house, and once all that was done we just started working on more ambitious projects, like the greenhouse.”

“And you said this world is designated to you? You own all this?”

Craig laughed. “I consider it more of a community-owned place, but it is technically in my name.”

Stampy’s stomach growled.

“Oh yeah,” Craig remarked. “I forgot you’ve just been running off of one raw cod for the past two days. My guys could cook us something up fast, and- see, they’re waving, they’re dying to meet you!”

Stampy smiled. “It would be pretty rude of me to decline.”

The duo of friends leapt to the ladders on the empty moat and were immediately welcomed into the community home.

One of the residents piped up. “So you’re Stampy, right? I’ve heard nice things about you.”

“I’ve heard exclusively terrible things about you,” another resident joked. “Craig said you’re a weird shade of orange.”

The cat replied with a strong air of nonchalance. “That’s not very nice of you, Craig. If you don’t apologize for that within the next three to five business days, I’ll take all the wood in your chests and craft it into hundreds of wooden buttons.”

Craig returned the energy. “Rather bold promise coming from someone who can be led anywhere with a laser pointer.”

The orange cat sniffed the air.

“...that’s pecan, right? Is someone making pecan pie?”

A third resident responded in a rather campy sounding voice. “Right on! Pecan pie, fresh carrots, and even sunbutter and jam sandwiches. Whipped up a bit of everything!”

“I could really go for a sandwich right now.” Stampy noted.

Right as he said that, the chef scurried out of the kitchen and made themself known.

Their skin was a dainty pale tone, and their ears were long and pointed. With eyes of emerald green and a tunic to match, they stood tall and proud.

Stampy walked closer to them. “So you’re the master chef who’s been cooking all that up?”

The elf nodded excitedly. “I had to bring pecans from a whole nother world.”

“Oh! Are you one of those travelers, like Craig?”

“Correctamundo! My culinary influence spans wider than you could imagine!”

“Impressive! What’s your name?”

The elf cleared their throat. “My true name is Chestnut Ratsbane, but everyone just started calling me Nutrat at one point, so I guess that’s my name now.”

Stampy reached his paw out. “It’s nice to meet you, Nutrat.”

Nutrat returned the gesture. “Good to meet you too! I suggest you get acquainted with the others. Most of them just sort of come and go between worlds, so Kyle and Dan are just hanging here today for now.”

“Alright, where exactly are they?”

“They’re behind you.”

Stampy turned back and chuckled, with a hint of embarrassment. Purple particles emanated from both Dan and Kyle as they laughed in return.

“So… which one of you is Dan?” Stampy asked.

Dan rose, levitating above the floor. His grin was bedazzled with fangs. His skin was a scaly solid black, his hair was blown out into a steel gray afro with silver horns protruding out the top, and there were distinctive claws on his hands and feet. Though, none of those were as integral to his figure as his voluminous wings and sizable tail, dark as night and lined with gray segmenting stripes. Although much of his presentation was monochromatic, his coloration wasn’t without a few splotches of orchid. It matched his eyes, which glowed the very same hue.

“...I assume it would be you, right?”

Dan flapped his wings joyously. “Spot on.”

“Very nice to meet you, Dan. I hope my ‘weird shade of orange’ doesn’t bother you.”

The dragon started snickering a bit. Stampy cracked a smile and turned to the other guest. The fellow was a teal bioluminescent squidling with a luminous aura of shining particles. Their eyes and mouth shone faintly, and they had a faux-hairdo made of floating water that sloshed quietly as it idled. On their tentacles, their suckers seemed to emit a faint glow as well. The squidling donned a loose fitting dark orange t-shirt and dark green swim trunks, as well as a hat that looked like a freshly baked cake.

“...so by process of elimination,” Stampy uttered, “I suppose that would make you Kyle?”

“Yup! You win! Which means you get a prize!” Kyle beamed.

Stampy gasped. “Really? What’s the prize?”

Kyle teleported somewhere, and was back within seconds, holding a cylindrical object in his hand.

“The prize is this stick!”

“How wonderful!” Stampy accepted the oak stick. “This is going to be the Stampy Stick now, the Stampy Style Stick. It’s been made official.”

Right then, he heard a ding.

“Food’s ready!” Nutrat called. There was no table for everyone to gather around, so they just built a makeshift one near the minecart that went down to their mine. Stampy was impressed with the quick improv and sat next to Craig.

Nutrat set the table with Craig’s placemats and the wooden plates that Kyle carved. There were five plates set out; one for Dan, one for Kyle, one for Craig, one for Stampy, and one for himself.

It was a delightful looking feast with a wide selection of food. A small bowl of fruit lay in the center, and everyone was given a glass of water. Kyle and Nutrat both had carrots, Dan and Craig both had pecan pie, and Stampy had a sunbutter jam sandwich.

Being something of a loud eater, Stampy felt a bit nervous at first about gathering around like this, but everyone else was too focused on the food to even notice how loud he was chewing. That, or he was doing a really good job at hiding it. Which he doubted.

“This sandwich is incredible!” Stampy exclaimed.

“Glad you liked it,” replied Nutrat.

Once the meal was done, Craig offered Stampy a tour of the house, to which Stampy responded with an enthusiastic “yes”. The tour began immediately, with Craig stepping in as his tour guide.

“Our first exhibit,” began Craig, in a slightly more exaggerated version of his Scottish accent, “is this very room. This little fenced area is to prevent unwilling bystanders from falling into our mine.”

“Ooh, and it has a cart too! How professional.” Stampy grinned.

Craig nodded. “It is pretty cool. Might show you it later.

They continued to the next room over.

“And here’s the storeroom. Lots of chests.”

Stampy peeked inside and retrieved a sunflower. He put it in the pocket of his vest. The tour went on, they backtracked to the first room of the house.

“We have a reading room as well. It’s got everything a reading room needs; bookshelves, a chair, and some nice decorative paintings.”

Stampy examined the books on the shelves. “None of these books have titles.”

“The books are decorative as well. Dan’s room’s upstairs if you’d like to check it out.”

“Sounds fun,” mewed Stampy.

Out the door and up the stairs, the first room over on the left was Dan’s room. He had a very large bed, but his interior was quite lacking. The only decoration he had was a light fixture that was shaped like the letter D.

“Pretty boring room,” Stampy remarked.

Further over was Kyle’s room. It was quite big, with many utilities, a bed, and a large painting of a skeleton.

Stampy whistled a little. “Did he paint that?”

“Sure did. Having six tentacles must come in handy when you’re a painter. He really is an artsy craftsman.”

“Thanks,” a voice in the distance replied.

Craig and Stampy turned in unison and saw Kyle just behind them, with a cheeky little grin. In spite of their surprise, the smile was contagious.

Kyle pointed to the large pillar in the middle of his room. “Do you like my secret treehouse?”

Craig shrugged. “Not much of a secret if you tell it to everyone who goes in your room.”

Meanwhile, the gears were turning in Stampy’s head. A treehouse. Brilliant! He ascended the ladder and took a peek inside. Sure, it was small, but at a larger scale, perhaps such a place could be livable.

“You need help getting down from there?” Craig called from below.

Stampy scoffed. “Just because I’m a cat who happens to be in a tree doesn’t mean I’m stuck up here. There’s a ladder and everything, I’ll be fine.”

The cat began descending the ladder, then jumped the rest of the way down, landing perfectly on his feet. His ears perked up in pride.

“What do you think?” Kyle asked.

“You have given me a new creative vision for my own house. Very inspiring!”

A burst of glowing sparkles emitted from him. “Aw, thanks!”

Nutrat’s room was next, and it was even more extravagant than the last. Many recreations of classical paintings such as the Mona Lisa had been placed around his walls, he had special patterned rugs gifted to him by Craig, and he even had a jacuzzi.

Stampy dipped his toes in and started to purr. Craig simply admired the artwork until he was done. Eventually, the cat stepped out and started heading towards the door.

“Oh, uh, Stamps, watch out for the-”

An arrow shot out from a dispenser and narrowly missed him. Caught him completely off guard.

“Did the skeletons follow us inside?” Stampy gasped.

“No,” corrected Craig. “It’s just basic redstone. Dan knows all about the subject.”

“...so Nutrat hooked it up to a machine that shoots arrows?”

Craig nodded. “Yeah, he likes messing around with that kind of stuff. He’s something of an archer himself.”

“I’ve never been good at archery,” Stampy chuckled. “I’m a terrible shot.”

“Good thing you have me then!” Craig equipped his bow. Stampy’s ears perked up a second time.

Craig led him to the final destination of the tour, his own room. Every inch of wall was decorated with some sort of painting or light, but the floors were empty apart from Craig’s comically long line of neighboring beds.

“It’s very spacious,” Stampy commented.
Craig turned to Stampy. “I’ve got an idea on how to snazz this place up.”

He went to his bed line and relocated one of his beds to a corner. He then placed down a chest that he was holding on to and wrote a little sign denoting the area’s purpose.

Stampy’s Corner

“Now you have somewhere to stay while you build your house!” Craig asserted.

Stampy hopped onto the bed to try it out, and immediately began purring due to the warmth and softness of it.

“Tired already?” Craig quipped.

No response. Stampy was fast asleep.

Craig looked up at the sky through his glass roof. The sun was already setting. He watched as the sky above him turned orange.

It was a sight he could never tire of, which is why he was glad that days in this world were 80 minutes each.

Chapter Text

“You know, that Kyle guy reminds me of someone.”

Craig turned to Stampy. “Who’s he remind you of?”

“I dunno.”

“Kind of thought you were going to say Squid, to be honest.”

Stampy raised an eyebrow. “I mean, of course he reminds me of a squid. He is a squid, isn’t he?”

“No, no, not a squid, I’m talking about Squid. You know, Squid Nugget. Your pal Squiddy.”

A deeply uncomfortable silence followed. Stampy fidgeted anxiously before breaking said silence.

“Okay, I was hoping I wouldn’t ever have to bring this up, but I- and I’m being completely serious right now, I promise you- I’ve been having some pretty bad memory problems as of late.”

Craig stared at him. “What?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, is what I’m saying. I remember that I had other friends back home, and I have no issue believing that this ‘Squid’ person might have been one of them, but I may need a bit more context to, you know, understand the reference you’re making.”

The orange haired man tensed up. “That is… mildly concerning.”

“Yeah,” Stampy sighed.

“And also, I think that’s something you should have mentioned a lot sooner. As in, like, immediately when you saw me, that should have been brought up.”

“Looking back, yeah, maybe that would have been a good idea. At the time, I didn’t think it was that pressing of an issue though, because all my memories with you were fine from the start, it’s everything else that’s gone all wonky.”

“Okay, but that’s still really bad. Do you- wait, no, that’s a stupid question. You obviously wouldn’t know how long you’ve known Squid, you can’t even recognize him by name.”

Stampy’s ears perked up. “How long have I known him?”

“At the very least, fourteen years.”

This threw Stampy completely off his groove.

“Oh!” Stampy tittered. “Yeah, that’s… a while!”

“Yeah, that’s a very long time, Stamps!” replied Craig through a gritted smile.

“Maybe it’s like- I might remember him if I see him? You have any photos of him lying around?”

“I have a couple back home. I’ll see if I can grab any, you go head back to your lovely world. I’ll meet you there.”

Stampy gave an affirmative nod and headed to the LAN door, being sure to wave to everyone on his way out. He also gave a formal invitation to Dan to come over whenever he pleased, which Dan was quite happy about.

The moment he popped out the other side, he busied himself with constructing his house. He was compressing sand into sandstone when he noticed Craig walking toward him.

“Have you found any pictures?”

“Alright, so, here’s the thing,” Craig began. “There’s some weird connection issues going on. I think there’s some sort of communication error between the worlds, because I can’t get into Wonderberg.”

Stampy’s left ear twitched. “That’s not good.”

“Eh, stuff like this happens all the time, I’m sure it’ll resolve itself in a couple hours.”

“So… nothing to worry about?”

“I mean, it’s a bit weird,” remarked Craig.

“I’m not going to get worked up about it, but it’s not exactly a good idea to ignore it either. Like, these two things happening this close to one another, your amnesia and Wonderberg having connection issues, doesn’t it seem at least a little odd?”

Stampy tilted his head. “Does it?”

“I dunno. Maybe. We’ll see.”

Stampy heard a bark in the distance.

“Craig, did you catch that?”

“Hm?”

“I think there’s a dog out here.”

The cat dug into his inventory and pulled out a bone he’d found on the ground, and the two followed the noise to its source. The source in question was a small white and brown dog with spiral patterns on its fur, playing in the middle of Stampy’s man-made forest.

Stampy offered it a bone. “Here you go little guy, do you want the bone?”

The dog tilted its head.

“You want the bone, don’t you? Come on, come on. Can you grab it?”

It clamped the bone in its mouth.

“Good boy! Very good boy! Follow me, I have pork chops!”

Stampy began walking out, then turned around to find the dog had not moved. He gestured for it to follow.

“Come on boy. Do you want pork chops? There’s pork chops at my house!”

Bone still in mouth, the puppy followed their lead.

Stampy turned to Craig. “I am a cat of my word, Craig. I promised that I’d let you name one of the dogs, so… what’s your pick?”

“I appreciate your offer,” Craig began, “but I think you should be the one to name your first dog. I’ll just call dibs on naming the second one.”

“Really?” Stampy beamed.

“Mmhmm! What’s your pick?”

Stampy took a moment to consider, then perfection hit him.

“I’m going to call him Gregory.”

As Stampy continued building the house, he began to realize that wild wolves had a tendency to go absolutely mental against any perceived threat. Be it volatile endermen or harmless sheep, Gregory absolutely mauled them on command.

It almost got out of hand at one point, when Gregory started trying to bite Craig’s ankles out of nowhere. At that point, Stampy realized he had to train his dog to be able to sit. This later came in handy when he constructed a mine and found diamonds.

No other dog could say they were there for Stampy’s first diamonds. Gregory: 1. Everyone else: 0.

Unfortunately, Stampy wasn’t the best at remembering to stand him back up. Gregory ended up sitting in those mines for hours before Stampy realized something was wrong.

They played in the water a lot. Stampy found it hilarious when he shook the water off. Gregory was a good swimmer, always doing the doggy paddle.

As he was building the storage room, Gregory pushed him into the water. Stampy pushed him back in as a comeback. And it was fun . It took the monotony out of this new life he lived. Sure, it was still just digging and mining and building every day, but it was with a dog now! He even helped Stampy dig up sand to compress into sandstone to use in his house. Truly, this is man’s best friend. 

He found himself rambling to Craig about his little puppy dog. He sort of assumed Craig wasn’t actually listening and was instead far too preoccupied with stripping logs into planks, but even if that was the case, it still felt nice to talk about him.

“...and while I was building the floor of the storage room, he kept getting into the little gaps. I trapped him in there twice! Well, not trapped. He was fully capable of leaving, I just say trapped because it’s funny. Do you have any more wood, by the way? I need to make more chests.”

“Yeah, I just finished another batch.”

Life was good, but it didn’t last. At least, not for Gregory.

It was the night of December 16th. The sun was setting on the lovely world. Winds began to swell. In the unlit shadows of night, the dead rose once more.

Stampy ran inside his house, when the growl of a little brown and white dog echoed over the ravines.

“Gregory,” Stampy called. “Come inside, quick! There’s googlies out there.”

Gregory didn’t listen. 

His barks became louder as he started mauling a skeleton. But his first mistake was bringing his canine maw to a bowfight.

And that was the end of Gregory.

The wound was unsalvageable. He had been shot right in the face. Craig heard the panic that ensued from halfway down the hall and ran to the scene of the accident.

“MY DOG!” cried Stampy. “GREGORY’S BEEN SHOT!”

Craig and Stampy went outside to see if the situation could be remedied, only to be met with the unfortunate reality that it couldn’t. They just stood there in horrified disbelief.

Stampy’s voice trembled. “We had him for less than a week and he’s already dead… we’re going to have to put a grave here in the lovely world.”

“A grave? For the dog?”

“Well, yeah,” scoffed Stampy. “What, did you think I’d just leave him for the zombies?”

“I dunno, I’ve- I’ve never had a dog before, I never really… put thought into what you have to do when your dog dies.”

Stampy paused. “That’s strange, I thought I remember you having a dog. One of those big gray dogs, and they had a red collar.”

Craig looked at Stampy, completely deadpan. “Stamps, that was your dog.”

“I had a dog back then?”

Craig was not amused.

Chapter Text

The funeral was held the morning after. On the ground where he died, a sign was erected.

R.I.P
Gregory
(the dog)

At the bottom of a six meter hole, a wooden casket sat, lid closed. The corpse of Gregory laid inside. Surrounding this hole were poppies, red as cherries, just like the collar Stampy made just for him. Many tears were shed by all who stood around it that day.

Stampy delivered the eulogy, as Craig listened in complete silence.

“Just yesterday, I was running around with my pet dog Gregory… that’s not going to happen anymore, because unfortunately… the worst has happened. My dog Gregory was shot in the face by a skeleton.

“I’m trying to keep composure, but I’m just here, remembering all of the happy times we’ve had together, when we’ve been chasing and drowning and murdering sheep together, and when he pushed me down the ravine, and then I pushed him down the ravine, and us… journeying through the mines together, and eating pork chops, and his happy little face looking up at me.”

Craig covered the grave back up with dirt as Stampy began sniffling.

“And I know that can’t happen anymore, because he’s down there, in a small box, six meters under the ground… so I’m gonna pay my respects and throw down his favorite bone. How ironic it was, the fact that the bone that he loved to play with so much, his favorite bone… was the same bone that killed him, as it belonged to the skeleton… 

“I’m also gonna plant a tree here in his memory, and hope that this tree grows strong. It will be a constant reminder of the love that Gregory gave us all. Even people that never saw Gregory, I hope they can look at this and honor the memory of a good boy, gone too soon.”

As Stampy knelt down to plant an oak tree, Craig put down a small light source, in hopes that it would help the tree grow, even on cloudy days and dark nights.

Stampy grinned. “Oh, good touch, thanks Craig.”

Once the tree was planted, the two went back inside and continued casual conversation.

“I don’t know if it was just me,” Craig began, “but it almost felt like there were more monsters out there than usual.”

Stampy nodded. “Yeah, they kept waking me up. Made for a pretty shitty night. Ended up spending the whole time finishing the storage room, because why even bother trying to sleep at that point.”

“Wait, you finished it already?”

“Yeah! C’mon, check it out.”

Entering the door, Craig was amazed at the amount of progress. The floor and walls were complete, the windows were installed, and Stampy was already planning what was going to be done next.

“I actually chose sandstone because it sort of looks like white chocolate. All the chocolate flavors, I remember liking all of them back then. We ended up eating a lot of it together.”

“Oh yeah,” recalled Craig. “I know you really liked white chocolate. Dark chocolate was my favorite, personally. It just has that taste, I can never really get enough of it.”

“I hope you like that touch, because it was a pain in the arse to get all this sandstone. So much sand. So much compressing. All that for one block of compressed sand.”

A laugh was shared between them, and then they got to work labeling the chests. Sand, sandstone, glass, wool…

Craig was very enthusiastic about the wool chest. “Finally. I’m tired of always having to ask you where all the wool is when I’m trying to knit stuff.”

“...did I even spell this right? Have I been stupid, this looks weird. Is there an ‘h’ in wool?”

“No, there’s no h.”

“Ah, I’ll go and fix that then. You’ve always been the best speller, between us.” Stampy laughed.

“Bar’s pretty low,” Craig joked.

Stampy then began construction on the roof. More sandstone. The original plan was to do sand, but he quickly realized that sand did not make for a sturdy roofing material.

“Hey Stamps, can I label some of these crates?” Craig asked.

“Sure, go nuts.”

The ginger haired man snickered to himself as he gathered up a couple signs to label the empty chests. He managed to come up with four before Stampy ran out of sand and went back to the storage room. Craig watched from the far corner to catch a glimpse of Stampy’s reaction. He could barely contain his laughter when Stampy got to the first chest.

“...Stampy’s talent… what. Stampy’s talent? I don’t-”

Then it clicked.

“Ohhh. I get it. It’s Craig taking the piss, an empty crate because it’s full of all my talent.”

Craig was absolutely losing it on the other side of the room. The laughter was a bit contagious. Stampy continued reading the labels.

“My will to live, oh this is brilliant, what else has he put… souls of my enemies, empty.”

“Actually,” Craig corrected, “that one’s full. Full of the souls. It even says so on the sign.”

“Ah, did I release them all then? By opening the crate?”

“Yeah, you did. Good job, Stampy, now I have to reap another batch of souls, all because of you.”

“I guess that means I’m next on the reaping list… ponies. Empty. You’re a little joker, aren’t you Craig? You are a little joker.”

Craig donned a cheeky smile and ran out to the next planned room. He started constructing something out of dirt.

“Oh, what are you doing now? You’re probably building a penis or something, not even listening. I’ll just leave you to it.”

Stampy scavenged the house looking for sand, but found none. Deciding to make the most out of his building energy, he grabbed a few stacks of cobblestone to line the walls of the crafting room. He wasted no time dashing back, and spoke as he built.

“This whole room’s going to be made out of cobblestone. We always get so much of it while mining, so here’s a place where it can get put to good use. Lining the walls of the crafting room, and it makes sense too! It makes sense that it wouldn’t get this fancy wood tiling, because we’re just going to be crafting things, and a bunch of stuff’s going to fall everywhere. All that shaved wood and whatnot. Hot stuff coming out of the furnace, and-”

Stampy stopped everything once he noticed what Craig had built. It was a huge heart, around twice his height, made entirely out of dirt and mud. He stood tall and proud next to his creation, pointing to a sign he’d written to label this work. Stampy scampered over to read it.

“...Stampy’s Love Garden?”

“Mmhmm!” Craig replied. “I overheard you talking about building a garden last night, and we’ve sort of discussed the idea of… some sort of memorialization thing where we could write down the names of kind tourists and friends and people who help. And as I was building this cool heart, I thought… Hey, two birds, one stone. Love Garden. Just an idea I thought up.”
Stampy purred. “Aren’t you a darling? That’s a wonderful idea, maybe we could use a material that isn’t just dirt, but the concept? I’m very fond of it.”

Craig started jumping for joy, which made Stampy smile.

“We’re almost like a gay couple,” Stampy joked. “Living out in our country club, you in your tennis gear, sculpting huge hearts out of dirt.”

“And our beds are separate because of the Hays Code.”

The two of them laughed as the sun set behind the mountains. They raced to their beds, exchanged goodnights, and slept soundly.

Chapter Text

The sunrise was a beautiful sight. Stampy had built a balcony on the roof just so he could gaze upon its glory.

It was like a warm orange blanket being lifted off the mountains, with its alpenglow as vibrant as ever. Rays peeking through the top of the hill ahead. The clouds were like cotton candy, “fairy floss” as it was often called back at his home. It shone over all the world, setting googlies alight with its heat and power.

“My first sunrise spent on top of Stampy’s Lovely Home.”

He took it all in, alone, at the peak of his roof.

“...yeah, that’s enough, I’m bored. Back to the fountain it is.”

He’d built a little basin of water. Very lopsided, and entirely constructed out of oak wood, but he liked how it sort of brought every section together. Sadly, this did mean that he didn’t have much room for that garden he’d planned, but he figured he would just put the garden in front of the house or something.

Stampy overheard the pitter-patter of footsteps downstairs and went down to check on Craig. Coincidentally, Craig seemed to be heading right his way.

“Stamps, look outside, by Gregory’s gravestone!”

They ran outside and found another dog, sitting right next to the light of the grave.

“Oh, he looks just like Gregory!” Stampy gasped.

The dog looked at Stampy, then diverted its gaze back to Craig. He snuggled up right next to him.

There was a sparkle in Craig’s ocean blue eyes. “I think he likes me.”

Stampy dug into his inventory. “Here boy, c’mere, do you want the bone?”

Without a moment of hesitation, the dog snatched the bone out of Stampy’s paw with his mouth. He ran circles around the both of them, to their mutual amazement.

Stampy looked at Craig. “So, I promised that you’d get to name-”

“Cedric,” Craig asserted. With the truest conviction in his eyes, it was non-negotiable.

“...well, Cedric it is then!” Stampy concurred.

Cedric stopped and barked at Craig, before sitting right at his side.

“...I guess this does warrant a change of plans. I’ll work on the rest of the crafting room on my own, you should spend some time with Cedric. Maybe teach him a few tricks!”

Craig gave him a thumbs up. “Will do!”

The two went their separate ways. Craig cooked a couple pork chops in preparation, while Stampy went down to mine a few more pieces of cobblestone in case of emergency. Soon enough, Craig was outside with his new dog.

“Alright, Cedric, the first thing we’re going to do is teach you how to sit.”

Cedric wagged his tail excitedly.

“When I say ‘sit’, you sit down, just like this.” Craig sat on the grass. Cedric tilted his head to the side.

The ginger lad got back up. “If you do well, you get a pork chop! Everyone loves pork chops, so do your very best!”

The dog panted a bit, then replied with a single woof.

“Okay boy… sit!”

First time was rarely ever the charm, contrary to how the saying goes. Second time wasn’t much good either. Nor third, nor fourth, nor fifth. It was only the sixth time that Cedric caught on and sat down, to which he was awarded a slice of pork chop.

“Good boy, Cedric! Very very good! We’ll try that some more in a moment, I’m going to teach you something new! Isn’t that exciting? You’re excited, aren’t you?”

Cedric ran around in circles, barking with joy. Excited was almost an understatement.

“When I tell you ‘come here’, you go over to me. I’m going to go over to another part of the field, and I’m gonna tell you to ‘come here’, and if you go to me, you’ll get another pork chop! Okay? Are you ready?”

An affirmative woof, and Craig was off. He kept a close eye on Cedric, who seemed to be staring right at him.

“Okay boy, come here!”

To his bewilderment, Cedric seemed to teleport from one location to the next without even moving. Though Craig was very much fazed by this display, he gave a porkchop anyway because Cedric did listen to the command.

Figuring it was just his imagination, he tried again, only to be met with the same response. At this point, he was certain that this was actually happening.

“Holy shit, I have a magic dog.”

They continued practicing “sit” and “come here” for the rest of the afternoon. Eventually, they booked it and went home, because it started to rain.

Craig sewed Cedric a little sweater and crafted him a teal collar. Cedric seemed to be very appreciative of the gesture, which made Craig happy, which made Cedric even happier.

In the distance, Craig heard a hiss, which made him freak out a little, before realizing that it was just Stampy and not a creeper.

The cat ran inside and slammed the door behind him.

“I got shot.”

Craig turned to Stampy. “Hm?”

“Those pesky skeletons, I didn’t even realize it was night because it was raining so hard.”

“There’s a skeleton out there? Perfect timing, I figured it was time to teach my dog how to kill. Alright boy, when I shout ‘get his ass’, sort of like a Pokémon trainer, you maul that creature to death. Understand?”

Cedric barked. Stampy just stared at Craig, unamused.

Once Craig made it to the crafting room, he heard a muffled command and the sound of dying skeletons. Stampy ran over there, just to be absolutely certain that Cedric wouldn’t go out the same way Gregory did. To his relief, Cedric was alive and well.

“Love what you did with this area,” Craig noted.

“Thanks, it’s-”

Stampy was unable to finish his sentence, because he was suddenly shot and killed by another one of those pesky skeletons.

He awoke in his bed, inventory empty, vest nowhere to be found, and filled with this indescribable feeling of… something. Craig, carrying a pile of his items, returned to the makeshift bedroom, where Stampy laid atop his bed.

“You’ve got to be more careful, Stamps.”

“What the hell was that?!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, you’ve never died before.”

“Is the arrow still there? I still feel it. Do I take it out?”

“There’s no arrow,” sighed Craig. “Phantom pains, they’ll go away in a few minutes.”

Stampy muttered something under his breath.

“I have your vest right here.”

“No, I said, those pesky skeletons. I hate them. First they take Gregory, now they try to take me. Well guess what? You can’t kill Stampy Cat! I have over eight lives under my belt!”

“Alright, Stamps, let's get you to bed.”

Chapter Text

Stampy did not get to bed that night. Deciding to make the most of these hours, he busied himself with the task of installing a doorbell.

It took the better half of the night. He didn’t even get to hooking it up until the sun started rising. Unfortunately, his calculations were off, and he had to install the mechanism a bit low. He tested the doorbell, and to his surprise, it worked perfectly. He gave it a few celebratory rings before heading inside, when suddenly, it started ringing again, seemingly on its own.

“Ah, there must be a wiring error,” he thought, opening the door.

Stampy peeked downward and realized that this had nothing to do with wiring. A cheeky little gray and white dog was ringing his doorbell.

“You look awfully familiar,” the cat noted, grabbing a bone from his inventory. “I had a dog when I was younger, and he looked almost exactly like you.”

Stampy gave the dog his bone. Hesitantly, the dog bit onto it.

“Same coat and everything, except he was a bit older. We spent a good few years together, he… he was probably closer to his last days than I was ready to accept. But you’re like he was, when he was a puppy, always so cheeky, so very cute.”

The puppy woofed.

“...I know that this probably isn’t the case, and you two just look and sound really similar, but… I imagine that you and him are connected somehow, in some way or another. So I’m going to call you Barnaby, just like him.”

Barnaby barked excitedly, which woke up Craig.

“I got another dog!” Stampy exclaimed.
Still groggy, Craig blathered. “Cool. That’s nice, Stamps. What… what time is it?”
Stampy peered through the door. “It’s… well, the sun’s just started rising, so we’re right on time.”

While Craig was doing his morning stretches, Stampy grabbed his diamond pickaxe.

“You’re going to want to put your tennis gear on again, we’re going somewhere pretty warm today.”
Curiosity piqued, Craig immediately pressed Stampy for more info. Stampy asked Craig to follow him into the mine.

“…back at Crimcity, I noticed this interesting portal, so I asked Dan about it before I left. He said it was a Nether portal, and that it was made out of obsidian.”
“We’re going to the Nether?”
Stampy nodded. “I found a nice batch in a cave. It’s a tough block to break, that’s why I’m bringing a diamond pickaxe.”

Seeing as he’d neglected to bring his own diamond pickaxe, Craig just sat back as Stampy mined the last two pieces of obsidian.

“It’s a very pretty material,” Craig admitted. “I think I’m going to build my room out of it, once we get to that point in construction.”
“Thinking ahead, are we?”
“It’s never been a bad idea to plan.”

The first piece of obsidian was successfully mined. Craig gave his friend a little butterfly clap for moral support.

“Last night, before I started making that doorbell, I actually played around a little bit with redstone. I made a door that opens with a lever. It’s probably horribly inefficient, but… hey, first redstone build in the Lovely World, that has to be worth something! And it leads right to the portal room, so you can get a nice look at it too.”
“Excited to see what you came up with.”

The second piece broke shortly after, and with that, Stampy and Craig were off to finish the portal.

“My goal today is to grab as many Nether materials as I can, the sorts of things you can’t get in the overworld. No idea what’s down there, but I’m very excited to find out. You excited?”
“I’m fairly excited,” replied Craig.
“Back in… that place I used to live, someone must have taught me a bunch of methods I could use to make fires if I was ever stranded in the wild or something. One of them came in handy, I found some flint in some gravel, and I took a piece of steel. Tested it out, and it does a great job of making fire. All you have to do is sort of scrape it, like this, and it sparks-”
“Shouldn’t we wait until we’re inside the actual portal room before we try that?”
Stampy paused. “Mmm, yea, that’s probably a good- Craig, do you smell that?”
“Look behind you.”

The wooden hallway was on fire. Stampy freaked out for a moment, before smothering the flame with dirt. 

“I’m so stupid- okay, don’t walk around in a wooden hallway with flint and steel. Learning experience.”

He put away his flint and steel and held the door for Craig. The walls were lined with redstone torches, and a cobblestone staircase led down through his dramatic little tunnel.

Stampy grinned. “Here’s the lever, why don’t you do the honors?”

Craig flipped the lever, and the doors swung open.

“Ta-da! I have working doors, I know how to use redstone now.”
“That’s neat,” replied Craig, “but how come one of them isn’t hinged to a wall?”
Stampy sighed. “I couldn’t get the door to cooperate, so that’s just how it is I guess. Lopsided doors.”

A couple paces ahead, and they were already at their destination.

“Dun dun dun dun! Here’s the portal room!”
“Wow,” whispered Craig.

Moss grew from the cobblestone platform, and a lava moat lined the floor around them. Stampy placed down the two remaining portal pieces, and the structure was complete. The centerpiece, the very purpose of the room, stood tall and proud above them.

Flint and steel out, Stampy dashed to the portal. “If my memory serves me right, all I have to do is light it. This is it, Craig. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. Drumroll please!”
“Drumroll sounds,” replied Craig, in a completely monotone voice.

Stampy set the obsidian ablaze. A flurry of orchid particles constellated, and a faint image of a new world appeared on the other side. A pulsing violet mass obscured its view, glowing like lanterns on a cold evening. Its glow matched the ravenous orange gleam of the bubbling lava. There was something deeply unnatural about it. Ethereal, in a sense. The swirling mass emitted distorted sounds, and the distinctive scent of burnt wood and chlorine wafted through the air.

“It worked! Bloody hell, it worked!” Stampy exclaimed.

Craig donned his sword in preparation. Stampy turned to him, and was met with a gesture to lead the way. An amiable smirk stretched across the cat’s face.

“Right, here we go, let’s blindly charge in!”

Stampy leapt into the maw of the portal, and immediately began to feel dizzy. It was as if it was eating him alive, absorbing him into the collective like the particles in the air. The experience was so disorienting, that he leapt out as quickly as he came.

“I’ve changed my mind, I’ve changed my mind,” Stampy rasped. “Craig, you go first, I’ll follow you.”

With a smug visage of his own, Craig stepped into the portal and appeared out the other side. As promised, Stampy trailed behind him.

A shrill clamor echoed as the orange cat was transported to the Netherworld. The slimy mass swirled and swirled in a nauseous cycle, and the muffled sibilance swelled louder. In this tonous slew, something familiar could be made out.

“Step out of the portal, Stamps. You made it!”
“Am I… you want me to step out now?” Stampy queried.
“Yes,” insisted Craig. “Out of the portal, or you’ll get all woozy.”
“I can’t see where I’m going, do I just-”

Stampy stumbled onto the netherrack beneath him, and looked onward at the horizon.

“Oh my god…”

Chapter Text

A blood red sky draped over the infernal realm encircling them. Lurching over all was a murky crimson haze, seemingly spanning unto infinity. Refulgent streams of rutilant lava gushed at the speed of overworld water. Flames crackled, visually and audibly. Bleeding fuschia clod stretched for miles. The horizon was cloudless. Everything was barren.
“Oh my god,” Stampy gasped. “There’s so much stuff!”
Craig gazed off into the empty distance. “I know, right? So many enemies!”
“Really fearing for my life here. Shaking in my Stampy style boots as we speak.”

Stampy immediately began terraforming the land, gathering netherrack for later use.

“Actually,” said Stampy, “I don’t know why I’m grabbing all of this stuff this early on. Look at this place. It’s not like we’re going to run out of this… rock thing, what’s it called?”
“Netherrack,” Craig interjected. “It’s called netherrack.”
“Right, thank you Craig. I think I’m going to get some glowstone now.”
“And I think I’ll be seeing myself out.”
Stampy stopped mining. “Pardon?”
“Yeah, we sort of ended up in the most boring part of the Nether. All the good stuff’s miles away, but it’s near impossible to get far from the portal this early on. So, uh… I’m gonna dip.”
“Ah, I see. Bye, Craig.”

Craig waved as he went through the portal. Stampy waved back, but wasn’t certain that his friend saw.

“Right, netherrack,” Stampy muttered to himself. “That’s the stuff that stays on fire for a really long time after you light it. What a peculiar characteristic.”

A pathetic wail reverberated through the nether wastes. Mystified, the cat investigated the noise.

He scaled the hill with his claws, continuing to talk to no one in particular. “...all this mining is starting to make me wonder if it’ll catch on fire from the lava pools. It probably will, actually. Probably going to end up being a pretty rubbish block to use as- what the hell is that ?!”

Floating through the skies was a humongous cuboid creature, almost reminiscent of a helium balloon. It was pale white, and it had nine tentacles on its lowest half. The creature appeared to cry endlessly, dropping gray tears onto the lakes below.

“What is that thing? It doesn’t look menacing, it looks sleepy.”

Stampy eyed the glowstone across from him. “Ah, there’s that glowstone I wanted.”

He turned his back and searched his inventory for cobblestone. “Hopefully I can collect a good haul of that stuff before-”

The sound of an explosion diverted his attention back to the creature. He looked at the creature. The creature stared back, without ever opening its eyes.

“…hello?”

One moment, the creature seemed to be retching, next, a fireball was coming straight his way.

Meanwhile, in the overworld, Craig had encountered a duo of travelers.

One of these travelers was a tall tan man with a defined square jaw. His eyes were almond with cerulean irises. His hair was thick, black, and wavy, parted down the middle leaving most of his forehead exposed. His eyebrows and stubble had those same characteristics, though the hairs on his arms were not nearly as thick. He donned a faded aquamarine tee with a white trim, and jeans that couldn’t seem to decide whether they were blue or purple. He also sported a pair of brown hiking boots, to top it all off.

The other traveler was a very dapper tan man, who met Craig’s height almost exactly. Dressed to the nines, he sported a full black tuxedo complete with a rose and all. His dark, wavy, side swept bangs were combed to perfection, and his eyes were a deep brown. His brows were trimmed, his shoes were classy, and he smelled of expensive cologne.

Naturally, Craig was very enthused about the prospect of new visitors, so he tried his very best to make a good impression.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he smiled. “Welcome to Stampy’s Lovely World! Who might you be?”
The dapper lad in the suit was the first to speak up. “Call me Cal. Agent Cal.”
“And I’m Ank,” the tall guy added. “No honorifics, just Ank.”
Jubilant, the ginger continued. “And what brings you two here?”
“Homeless,” Ank stated bluntly. “We left our world to become seed hunters, and now we’ve retired. Cal and I are looking for a world to settle down in.”
“Oh,” Craig simpered. “I wasn’t expecting that, but we can work with it. We’ve got land, we’ll let you stay here if you’d like.”
“Awesome!” Cal blurted, tidying up his suit.

The trio spent the afternoon touring the world, working on the farm Stampy had started, and getting a makeshift bedroom set up near the entrance. Right as the sky turned orange, Stampy arose from the basement covered in glowstone dust and blaze powder.

“Hi Stamps!” Craig waved.
“Craig, you will not believe the day I’ve had down- oh, do we have visitors?”
Cal gave Stampy a thumbs up. “I’m Cal. Agent Cal. My friend over there is Ank, and we’ve been looking for a place to settle down.”
“Well,” Stampy mewed, “you’re always welcome in my Lovely World!”

Ank smiled.

“Oh!” Stampy exclaimed. “I just realized, Craig, we have visitors now! We can finally add some names to the Love Garden!”
Craig gasped. “That’s right! Guys, over here, check this out.”

The merry band of men headed straight for the backyard. Stampy grabbed two oak signs and erected them on the grass patches between wooden paths.

“Before anything else,” Stampy clarified, “there’s someone very important that I’d like to add. I’m going to write down the name of someone who’s been there for me for as long as I can remember, and is well deserving of being the first member of this garden.”

The cat scribbled a name onto the sign.

Crimson Azoth

“Congratulations, Craig! You are officially part of the Love Garden.”

Ank and Cal clapped for him. Craig couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“It’s an honor,” he replied. Short and simple.
Stampy knelt back down to eye level with the sign. “You in the blue, what did you say your name was again?”
“You talking about me?” Ank inquired. “It’s Ank.”
“How’s that spelled?”
“A-N-K. Like ‘sank’ but without the S.”

Stampy scribbled the name down, only to realize he accidentally made the “n” disproportionately large.

“I think I fuck ed up the sign, N’s too big.”

Ank walked over and examined the writing. He took the writing utensil and turned the lowercase N to an uppercase one.

“Problem solved,” Ank asserted. Stampy grinned and turned to Cal.
The dapper lad made himself look taller. “Put me down as Agent Cal,” he said.

Stampy got to work, writing the name out below Ank’s. Luckily, this time it came out completely normal. The cat stood up and showed off the sign.

“First sign of the Love Garden! What do we think?”

A unanimous cheer echoed through the hills, as the sky deepened into its signature dark blue. No time was wasted, and the house was silent within minutes.

Chapter Text

Stampy woke up to find himself the subject of an intervention, hosted by none other than Craig. His friend looked sternly into his eyes. Sitting beside him were Cal and Ank.

“This is an odd way of saying ‘good morning’,” Stampy joked.
Craig’s expression did not falter. “I had a bit of a rude awakening last night.”
“How so?”
The ginger sighed. “I was having this wonderful dream where I joined a professional tennis league, when out of nowhere, I just heard this flurry of barks coming from under the floor. Woke the others up too. So I check the mines, and I find out that you went and tamed TEN OTHER DOGS.”
Stampy stammered. “Okay- look. I know this looks bad. I understand that you’re… quite upset about this.”
“I’m not even mad,” Craig corrected. “It’s just- when did you do this?! How did you do this? No, wait, scratch all of that. Why did you do this???”
“...you know how people like to say ‘the more the merrier’? Well, while you were out training Cedric, I thought, why have two dogs when you could have three? And three turned to six, six turned to twelve, you know how it is.”
Craig took a deep breath in, then exhaled out his nose. “Alright. I can be cool with this, but you have to keep at least nine of them somewhere else at night. None of us appreciated getting woken up, and… as you can see, they’ve both nodded off already.”
Stampy swayed his tail. “I’ll see what I can do. We’ll hold off our room-off until tomorrow, how’s that sound?”
“Works for me,” replied Craig.

Stampy moseyed over to the storage room and collected a few stacks of planks, as well as some wool and redstone dust. He caught a glimpse of Craig going into the mine, presumably to get more obsidian for his room. The cat adjusted his red and green vest, and ventured off to the nearest hill to excavate.

Hollowing out a hill was exhausting work, but he had a plan. He was going to transform the insides of this mound into the best doggone doghouse the world had ever seen.

The walls were a homely oak, carefully sanitized to ensure a lack of infection. The floor’s foundation was of cobblestone, with a layer of smooth quartz crystal placed on top. On the roof, Stampy had fitted a quilt sewn by Craig, one that he wasn’t as proud of, that just so happened to fit the dimensions of the room. He even installed a vending machine, a pool, a couple fans for cooling, and a mini obstacle course just to be absolutely certain that these puppies were enriched.

After everything else was complete, it was time to build the exterior. Stampy proceeded to construct the dinkiest looking doghouse in front of the tunnel that led to the actual place that housed the dogs. It was nothing short of hilarious, to him at least.

The final touch the doghouse needed? Some signs. He needed somewhere to write everyone’s names.

He hung them from the ceiling with chains, adjacent to the wall to the left of the entrance. Holding them to the wall, he scribbled down two names:

Cedric

Barnaby

Figuring he could leave the other names to everyone else, he officially deemed the doghouse to be complete. It was the perfect place to put all twelve of his dogs. The question was, what would they think of their new sleeping quarters?

Only one way to find out.

Stampy ventured to the mines to pick up all the puppies, when he noticed Craig running up the stairs. He gestured for his friend to follow, and Craig obliged. Together, they stood up all the dogs and took them to the doghouse.

“Ta-da!” Stampy exclaimed.

Craig looked to the doghouse, then back at Stampy.

“It’s a little dinky,” noted Stampy, “and it’s a rather tight fit, but I’m proud of what I built. And if you hop inside… oh, what’s this ?”

The ginger man took a step closer and squinted, trying to make out what Stampy was referring to.

Stampy hammed up his reaction to a comical degree. “What an interesting find! A secret door in the doghouse… leading to a second, bigger doghouse! Pretty nifty, isn’t it?”

Craig stepped inside and checked out the interior. He looked to the roof.

“Is… is that one of my quilts? On the ceiling?”
Stampy nodded. “It was s’posed to be a carpet, but the roof was totally barren so I put it there instead.”
“...to be honest, I like how it looks up there. It retains its general feel, but the errors are harder to see.”
“What errors?” Stampy raised an eyebrow.
“If you haven’t noticed them, I won’t bother pointing them out.”

A growl was heard in proximity.

“Calm down, Cedric,” Craig sighed.
“That wasn’t Cedric,” Stampy corrected. “I’m just really hungry.”

There was a gleam in Craig’s eyes for a split second, followed by his brazen smile shining like a diamond.

“Tell all your dogs to sit down. I’ll get you something to eat, you can just head inside and relax.”

Once he entered the house, Stampy cloud-gazed through the window with Ank and Cal, who were still tired from the night before.

Cal pointed to a fluffy formation. “Ank, look at that one!”
“That’s the most triangular looking cloud I’ve ever seen,” Ank replied. “I didn’t think that was even naturally possible. What do you think it looks like?”
“I think it looks like a cloud,” asserted Cal.

This went on for half an hour.

Craig entered the room, covered in flour, holding a miniature cake. It smelled like home. The unfortunate lack of nearby cocoa beans meant he had to settle for vanilla topped with strawberries, but Stampy didn’t mind. Cake is cake!

The treat was divvied up into four. Cal retrieved a small foldable table from their inventory and set it down in front of them. Ank and him sat across from each other on the short end, Craig and Stampy sat at the heads.

That night, Ank and Cal became acutely aware of how loud of an eater Stampy was.

Chapter Text

There was a liminal quality to the makeshift bedroom.

Craig had already moved his bed to the room he was building for himself. Cal and Ank spent the evening exploring the Nether, and they hadn’t yet returned. The room he’d spent the night in was eerily quiet, eerily empty, eerily devoid of life.

Feeling squeamish, the cat adorned his vest and scampered over to Craig’s room. The ginger, sporting his tennis gear, was knitting some carpet.

“Are you trying to one-up me with those obsidian walls of yours?”
Craig set his needle down. “I told you I would do it. You’re not the only man of his word in this house, you know.”
Stampy huffed. “You probably got up at four in the morning just to get a head start on your room, you cheeky little joker.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny those claims.”
“On a related note, can you confirm or deny… uh… where you put the paint?”
Pointing to the storage room, Craig responded diligently. “Check the ‘ponies’ chest.”

One wave later, Stampy was at the appropriate chest. Using flower dyes and hints of snow found in the world, Craig had made him a bucket of all natural white paint. It had a cool quality to it, almost bluish. Stampy figured it would fare quite well with the deep blue carpet he was planning on installing.

Painting was a relaxing act. It made being alone with his thoughts a lot more bearable. The rhythmic flow of the brush was soothing, yet ultimately rewarding.

Stampy hadn’t thought of Crimcity in a long while. Dan said he’d come, and he hadn’t come. Perhaps he got lost, or just forgot about the offer. Actually, Christmas, now that he thought of it, wasn’t too far off. He made a mental note to himself to invite Dan over. And Cal, Kyle, and Nutrat. He’d already extended an invitation to Ank, so that wasn’t a problem. 

His train of thought was interrupted by a tapping on his window. He turned to the source of the sound and saw a man in a white mask waving to him on his balcony.

Stampy squinted his eyes. “Aren’t you… one of Craig’s friends?”
The masked man nodded. “Yeah, he said he wanted some help with his room.”
“Aw, no fair, he gets to phone a friend and I don’t? He’s cheating.”
“You’re Stampy, right?”
“The one and only. And you are…?”
“Longbow, DJ Longbow.” He fluffed his tan wavy bangs, letting them fall over his mask.
It all came back. “Oh yeah! Longbow, you’re the guy with all those albums! How have you been?”
“I’ve been well. Cool house.”
“Thank you! It’s a bit small at the moment, but I have some very big plans.”

Longbow sat down on the hollowed out floor.

“Do tell.”

Stampy raised his pointer finger. “Once my room’s finished, I am going to build this huge tower at the top of my house, where you can look out on the whole world from a balcony. Might add some other rooms beneath it as well.”
“Like a clubhouse?”
“You know what, that’s a proper good idea, maybe I could get to that while the paint’s drying.”
Longbow laughed. “I’ll get you started.”
“But aren’t you supposed to be helping Craig with his room?”
“Don’t worry. I built a decoy out of a potted plant and a spare mask. He’ll never notice.”

The door to Stampy’s bedroom opened, and Craig stood on the other side.

“You built that decoy in front of me. While I was watching.”
“Shh!” Longbow shushed Stampy. “Don’t tell him I’m here!”
Craig snickered. “He hasn’t been helping you out, has he?”
“No,” Stampy assured. “He’s been utterly useless all day. But he did say he was willing to help with the clubhouse.”
“The what? Since when were you planning on adding a clubhouse?”
“Since a couple seconds ago. Longbow brought it up. Said he’d be willing to build it.”
Craig turned toward the ceiling. “It’d be a nice place to host Christmas parties. Actually, wait, that’s in a week, right? Christmas Eve?”
“Three days, actually.” Stampy went back to painting while he spoke.
“What?! Already?”
“We should invite all your friends from Crimcity, that’d be nice. It’d be like… Crimsmas. Crimcity Christmas.”

Craig did not respond, but the silence spoke for itself.

“You’re usually more amused by my terrible puns,” noted Stampy.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t even laughably bad. Do better.”

While the two continued going back and forth, Longbow (who had been standing completely still the entire time up to this point) set a CD player on the middle of the unfinished floor. He reached into the pockets of his brown suit, pulled out a CD, powered the miniature redstone clock inside of the CD player, and put a disc in.

Stampy stopped talking the moment he heard the music. “This is relaxing.”
“It’s called Dog,” Longbow replied.
“Very nice.”

The paint job was finished within minutes. Stampy looked outside and noticed that the sun was still shining bright.

“We should get a start on that clubhouse.”
Craig returned back to reality after having been spaced out for at least 10 minutes straight. “But first, Stamps, check my room out. It’s already finished.”

The trio went across the hall to Craig’s room, and Stampy was in awe of the spectacle.

Iridescent obsidian covered two of the four walls. The wall farthest from the door was entirely glass, creating a lovely view of the snowy expanse. His bed, the same bed he slept in on his first night, was placed on the rightmost wall. A wonderful piece of familiar modern art was hung above it:

Live

Laugh

Log

The floor was white carpet, and covered in numerous rugs. Blankets were hung from the ceiling, which was white as the floor. Garland with Christmas lights lined the walls, and there were numerous paintings and storage compartments on the wall opposite his bed. One of these paintings was an imitation of The Great Wave off Kanagawa, and the other was an original work by Kyle. Near the paintings, a sensory swing hung from the ceiling. The wall containing the doors was unpainted, and a short wide bookshelf functioned as both a place to store books, and a desk upon which a small light sat. Numerous paintings and posters were hung above it, and tennis rackets were hung equidistant from the center of the shelf.

A small basket held all of his outfits, including his tennis gear and his favorite blue sweater. Today, he’d taken a liking to his white shirt, faded red jacket, and dark green camo pants.

Stampy laughed. “Well, I think we can all see who’s won the room off. We’ve got my monstrosity of a room back there, and you’ve got the log on top of your bed. The winner is obvious.”

Craig smirked, then sat down on his swing. Stampy’s tail swayed as he spoke.

“I’ll leave you to it, I suppose. Longbow and I are going to get started on the clubhouse.”
Swinging back and forth slowly, Craig waved. “See ya.”

They exited the room, and Stampy gave Longbow some materials for building. Wood and sandstone, mostly. Stampy talked about the dimensions of the build, the optimal square footing, and the like. Longbow interrupted him midway through the ramble with an offer to build the walls and roof of the clubhouse entirely on his own.

“...for free?” Stampy inquired.
“No world is complete without a clubhouse. I’m doing you a service.”
Stampy gasped. “I don’t even know what to say, thank you! You know what, you’ve earned a spot in my garden, I’m going to go add your name in right now.”

The cat dashed to his backyard (which seemed to be used more as a front yard) and placed down a sign. On it, he wrote “Longbow”, then had a realization. Why not add all the kind souls down in Crimcity? He got to writing immediately.

Dan

Kyle

Nutrat

Perfect.

While glancing at the other sign, he noticed a new addition in Craig’s handwriting below Cal’s name:

Squid .

This was a bit perplexing to him. He remembered talking to Craig at one point about the subject, and he said the animal was a bit unnerving. Maybe he had a change of heart? Or maybe “Squid” was the name of a person.

He didn’t know of anyone named Squid, though. Probably another one of Craig’s friends.

All the thought of aquatic animals made him want to fish, so he went inside, grabbed his fishing rod and some worms, and went fishing. He caught at least a few dozen types of fish, as well as a few random items here and there, such as a saddle. The activity lasted a good forty-five minutes, before he went back inside to install his floor.

As he installed the deep blue carpet, he heard Longbow running back and forth at a remarkable speed. He thought nothing of it, figuring he’d get tired out by the time the carpet was installed. Yet, he didn’t seem to slow down at all by the end of the task. Concerned, Stampy went to Craig about the issue.

“It’s just potions,” Craig assured. “Nothing to worry about, just good old fashioned brewery. He’s had side gigs as a bartender before, his recipes are great.”
The cat slouched down in relief. “Phew. Oh, and speaking of recipes, I caught more fish. Maybe I could cook them for dinner tonight.”
Craig winced. “Don’t. Please don’t do that. I can take care of cooking the fish, thank you very much.”
“Really? You’d do that? I should be thanking you!”

Stampy handed him the raw fish and went to the crafting room. He had to make some new decorations. He began with a hanging flower pot, then some chests, a proper bed, two nightstands, a small wooden countertop, and a scratching post to prevent him from scratching the walls.

He spent a couple minutes decorating. Upon finishing, he was drawn to the smell of fish. Apparently, he’d come at the perfect time, as the meal was ready right as he arrived.

Eating with friends under the setting sun was a satisfying experience, despite all the bugs that seemed to be attracted to the food. The temperature was perfect, the meal was cooked to perfection, and the sunset was beautiful.

“You’re not… unnerved, are you?” asked Longbow.
“Me?” Stampy replied. “By what, the scars? No, not at all. People have scars sometimes, it’s not something to get worked up about.”
“Then what’s with all the staring?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out whether or not those are colored contacts. I have never seen eyes that look like that.”
Longbow laughed. “What, red?”
“Never seen that, at least not on a human person.”
“They were originally brown. When I got older, my eyes started turning red for some reason. I know just as much as you do about it.”
Stampy bit into a slice of fish. “Strange indeed.”
“I finished the clubhouse, by the way. We could decorate it tomorrow.”
“How did- there’s no way you built the whole thing that fast.”

Longbow gestured to the roof, where an additional layer to the house could be seen.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

There was talk of going to Crimcity when morning came. Longbow offered to stay in the lovely world to build “giraffes”- an animal that neither Stampy nor Craig had ever heard of. Still, they left him to it and went to bed.

Longbow learned of the curse firsthand that night.

Chapter Text

Stampy woke up in Crimcity to the smell of cupcakes.

Nutrat was in the kitchen, spreading frosting on each cupcake. Stampy peeked inside and noticed that each cupcake had a very distinct look. Distinct smell too. The elf caught sight of him, and gave him a little wave. Stampy waved back, then began heading in the general direction of the others.

Craig was waiting in the dining room. It technically wasn’t a dining room, but it was decorated to look the part. He was sitting at an oak table with Ank, Cal, Dan, and Kyle. The five of them were making conversation as Stampy stepped in.

No one turned his way. They hadn’t even heard him. He was about to announce his entrance, but then he came up with a much funnier plan.

He stepped as lightly as he could, putting in maximum effort to tread quietly across the wooden floor. It didn’t take long for him to reach Ank. Stampy gently moved his head closer to his target and took a silent breath.

Stampy hissed like a creeper, and Ank was scared shitless.

Shrieking like a phantom in the sun, Ank sprang from his seat and instinctively scampered to the peak of the table. It wasn’t until after he’d already equipped his sword that he realized there wasn’t a hostile mob behind him.

Stampy let out a hefty wheeze before erupting into a fit of laughter. Craig started snickering as well. Kyle, who was initially shocked by the scare, soon began giggling with the group. Dan and Cal simply grinned as they watched the debacle unfold.

Ank sneered at Stampy, completely wordlessly. This only made the cat laugh harder. Feeling miffed, Ank stepped off the table in hopes this would settle down. Though, there was a part of him that couldn’t deny the hilarity of the event.

Nutrat entered the room to inspect the chaos. “Alright, what’s going on down here?”

“Stampy scared the shit out of me.”

The elf set a platter on the table. “Perhaps some cupcakes will quell this tension.”

Cal hunched forward to grab his immediately. Nutrat dished out the rest. All who sat at the table appreciated the careful thought that went into picking each flavor.

Stampy’s was milk chocolate, topped with creamy orange frosting and white sprinkles. Ank’s was vanilla on vanilla, quite classy. Dan’s was baked using a fruit the cat had never heard of before, a magical purple food called “chorus fruit”. Nutrat’s was hazelnut, Kyle’s was fudge, Craig’s was pumpkin, and Cal’s technically wasn’t a type of cake at all. It was plain cheesecake.

The smell of warm sugar was hypnotic to some. Everyone else was talking, while Kyle was in a total daze. His hair swayed left to right in an arrhythmic motion, slow as oak leaves on a peaceful afternoon. Faint windchimes painted the silence with their melodious soundscape. All was well in Crimcity.

Cal turned to Stampy. “I think I’ve found my new home here.”

With his fluffy paws, Stampy gave him a little clap. “Oh, congratulations!”

“I’ll be sure to visit your place though,” Cal assured. “It’s a neat world, I’m excited to see what becomes of it.”

A strange, ethereal sound was heard nearby. Stampy scouted the room for a moment until he found Dan, standing in a corner, holding a half eaten cupcake.

“How’d you get back there?” Stampy asked.

“Chorus fruit has interesting properties. Sometimes it warps you to somewhere else.”

“Like teleportation?” mewed Stampy.

Dan nodded. “Same principle. Kyle eats them all the time.”

Kyle snapped back to reality at the sound of his name, making a squid sound.

Craig finished his cupcake and put his hands on his lap. “So, Stamps, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they built this huge pirate ship recently.”

“Really?” replied Stampy.

“Yeah, it’s a great place for sword duels.”

Stampy immediately caught on to his proposal. “1v1, unarmored, first to surrender loses.”

An exchange of devious smiles was shared between the two. Wordlessly, it was settled. Him, Craig. Pirate ship. Sword duel.

The people of Crimcity refused to wait 15 minutes after eating to begin swimming to the pirate ship. Dan flew, but he let his tail dip in as he flew. As he did, he started prattling on about how he and Nutrat built the entire thing between Craig’s visits. It didn’t seem like an impressive feat to Stampy until he was able to grasp the sheer scale of this build.

The ship was humongous, even bigger than the house. The mast towered over them, with a skull and crossbone flag in the center, waving gallantly in the wind. Except it wasn’t actually waving gallantly in the wind, the skies were totally clear and sunny.

A faint ding was heard in the background as Dan rambled about the complexities of the ship.

“What was that?” asked Stampy.

Cal laughed. “Sorry, that was my toaster.”

“Your what?”

Cal proceeded to pull an entire solar powered bread toasting mechanism out of his inventory. Ank was the only one out of the group who was not utterly baffled at this.

“It’s a good use of space,” Cal insisted.

Sadly for him, nobody was willing to hear him out.

Nutrat continued where Dan left off. “It’s got a huge functional steering wheel right at the front, so if the winds are strong, you could actually drive this thing. Over here, I’ll show ya.”

Ank, Cal, Craig, Nutrat and Stampy all climbed the ladder up. Dan flew. Kyle was already there, on account of his great swimming speed.

“So, what do you think?” Dan smiled.
Craig bent down and pointed ahead. “Are those all your guyses dogs?”

Dan floated down to the floor. “Yeah man. The purple and black fellow back there? That’s my dog Gatsby. He devoured a spider whole once.”

Nutrat nodded. “And behind Gatsby is my dog, Nutcase! She’s a delight.”

Kyle looked in the general direction of his friends. “The other two are mine. Up front we have Microwave Oven, an absolute menace.”

Microwave Oven immediately let out the most demonic sounding noise a dog could possibly make.

“...and who’s that?” Stampy pointed to the suspiciously hamster shaped creature.

“His name is Dog,” replied Kyle.

Dog squeaked and rolled over to Kyle in his enrichment sphere. The squidling held him up like a professional chess player would a trophy.

“He’s a bit small, but by goodness can this creature run.” Kyle set Dog down and teleported to the top of the sail.

Craig, Stampy, and Ank all went down to the Captain's Cabin.

“Did Kyle paint all these?” Stampy asked.

Craig shrugged. “Probably. Though, it seems like someone else got to this one over here.”

Stampy turned to where Craig was pointing, and was met with a beautiful portrait of a girl holding a canvas with a crudely drawn swine face on it. Ank found a great deal of humor in this. Craig sat down in the captain’s seat.

“So you’re trying to be the captain now, eh?” Stampy remarked to Craig.

“And what if I am?” Craig retorted.

Stampy smirked. “Sounds like grounds for a proper pirate duel. Someone fetch me my sword!”

“Fetch your own sword!”

Stampy hissed. Ank mumbled something about how he wasn’t going to fall for that again, but it went unheard by everyone else. The cat marched over to the pillars holding the masts upright. He carved a small message in with his claws.

Ye Gold Or Ye Life

Ank let out a laugh. “Funny stuff, man.”

“This is my contribution to the site,” asserted Stampy.

He went to fetch his own blade when he noticed Ank had made his way up to Dan’s spot atop the sail.

“Don’t do it, Ank,” he intoned at speaking volume. “Ank, don’t do it, you have so much to live for.”

After having a quick laugh, he decided to postpone the duel to join Ank at the crows nest.

The cat let out a whistle. “Such a lovely view up here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ank nodded. “The lack of guardrails really gives you a clear view of your surroundings.”

“The depth of the open ocean is… it’s really a sight to see at this height-”

“Is it true that when a cat falls, they always land on their feet?”

Stampy paused. “Why do you ask?”

Craig watched the scene play out from the floor of the ship. It was a bit jarring to see Stampy’s body disappear immediately upon impact with the ground.

He pocketed Stampy’s sword, with plans to give it back during the quarrel they’d planned. It was more of a stick than an actual sword, seeing as the tip was just a bunch of branches held together with vines. Still, it had been a good six years since they last had a fake duel with stick swords. The memories one makes at a bus stop never seem to leave.

On his return, Stampy’s fur was all frizzy. He immediately demanded Craig give him his glasses back, followed by his mighty blade.

Opening with a quip, Stampy grinned. “Ye money or ye gold?”

“You mean your life?” Craig parried.

“Your life, actually.”

“I can taste your gall from here, matey.”

“I’m here to finish what you started,” Stampy simpered, with his sword blocking his chest.

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Stampy nodded. “Oh, I am, am I?”

“Are you?”

“Am I?”

Ank took a dive from the crows nest to the sea, which diverted Stampy’s attention. Craig used this time to make his first move, but Stampy saw him out of the corner of his eye and blocked his attack.

“Back, you fiend!” Stampy laughed.

Craig refused to back down, continuing to swing with no regard for where he was aiming. He took a full offense stand, while Stampy had to walk backward just to block. As they fought, they made fake sword sounds with their mouths and shouted hi-ya! at one another as if they were real pirates.

Stampy climbed to the crows nest, making various quips about how this was the greatest battle the world had ever seen. Unfortunately, his first mistake proved to be climbing up the ladder, as his pursuit for the high ground left him with nowhere to run.

“What now?” Craig cackled.

Stampy leapt down to the ship’s yard, where the tip of the spangled sail was attached. Seeing no other option, he yielded, surrendering to Craig.

“The win is yours,” Stampy conceded.

“gg ez” Craig chirped.

Stampy gazed down to the sea. “So, what now?”

“You have to walk the plank now, it’s pirate law. If you don’t comply, I’ll have to take you to pirate jail and you’ll have to spend the rest of your pirate days playing your sea shanties on a pirate harmonica.”

“A fate worse than death,” Stampy laughed, before taking a bow and leaping into the great blue sea. He noticed Craig do a little victory dance before following suit, diving right next to him.

They heard Cal and Nutrat clapping for the performance. Stampy eyed Ank out the corner of his eye.

“Got you back,” Ank smirked.

“If you looked really closely, you’d know I really did land on my feet.”

“One of life’s greatest mysteries, answered.”

Nutrat jumped into the ocean, holding a beach ball. Cal swiftly followed. Dan floated into the water, folding his wings when his feet made contact.

“How about some pool games?” Nutrat suggested, clasping the ball between his hands.

“Ooh, I’d be up for that,” replied Craig.

“Alright, let’s name colors! Name a color, pass the ball, if you can’t name a color you’re out.”

Craig’s dimples showed. “Love this game.”

“I’ll go first. Green!”

Nutrat passed the ball to Craig.

“Crimson!”

Craig passed the ball to Stampy.

“Azoth! Wait- wait no, that’s not a color-”

“OUT!” Dan roared.

Stampy passed the ball over to Ank and sat the rest of the round out. They played pool games till they were certain morning was near back in the Lovely World. At the brink of dawn, Stampy, Craig, and Ank returned home, being sure to catch a glimpse of sunrise once they did.

Chapter Text

There was a skeleton in Stampy’s Lovely Home.

Under normal circumstances, Stampy would have taken his blade and sliced the creature into bits, but he found this fellow to be something of an oddity.

For one, he donned a stone sword rather than any sort of bow. He’d never seen a melee skeleton in all his time in his lovely world. He also seemed to take a liking to the suits Cal left behind, one of which he was wearing. He didn’t seem to be immediately hostile, acknowledging Stampy with an air of neutrality. From the looks of it, he just seemed to be hanging out in Stampy’s house.

“Craig, you’ve gotta see this,” Stampy remarked. “I found this skeleton in my house and he’s holding a sword.”

The ginger stepped inside and examined the guest. “Huh. Interesting.”

“What are you doing without your bow, Mr. Skeleton?”

The skeleton paced closer. “Swords are easier to aim.”

Stampy jumped up, fur standing on edge. “You can talk?!”

“All of us talk. We just don’t talk to you because most of us don’t like you very much.”

Stampy scoffed. “What’s not to like about little old me? I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the thing,” the skeleton began, “it’s not even personal. Which is why I think their little grudge is really fucking stupid.”

Stampy turned to Craig, who gave his friend a confused shrug. He turned back to the skeleton and pulled up some chairs for the two of them to sit in.

“What’s your name, Mr. Skeleton?”

“Target,” the skeleton replied. “Hit The Target. Pretty ironic, because I’m a horrible shot.”

Stampy laughed. “Same here.”

“I’ve heard your name already. You’re the ‘evil Stampy Cat’ or something, but I’m guessing they just tacked the ‘evil’ bit on at the last minute.”

“Mmhmm, it’s just Stampy Cat. You can call me Stampy, though. Everyone does.”

Target’s bones rattled as he stood up from his chair.

“My friends are pretty set in their ways, and there’s not much I can do to change their minds. They’ll do what they do, and if that warrants self-defense, I get that. But I find their reasoning hard to believe. They think you were involved in causing the plague. You’re literally just some guy.”

“Causing the… plague?”

“Yeah, there was a plague, it sucked, and I’m not going to get into it right now. You clearly don’t know what I’m going on about anyway, so there’s no way you were involved.”

Stampy adjusted his posture and continued listening.

“Some people want vengeance. Some people want blood. I just want to go back to the way I was living before. Your way of life isn’t much different from mine, we could coexist. Maybe I could help you build stuff from time to time, and you could lend me spare cobblestone from your mining trips. I’m willing to help out if you’re willing to let me.”

“…so you want to be a… helper of sorts? A googlie like you, helping me cultivate my world?”

“I mean, you tend to avoid building when it’s dark out,” Target reasoned. “I’m something of a night owl. It could work out for us both, I think.”

The cat rose from his chair and began to ponder about the deal’s benefits. An extra pair of hands would be nice, but at the same time, Phorjay had to have warned him about these creatures for a reason.

After some careful thought, the best option became abundantly clear.

“You can be a new helper, but I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Target grinned. “I promise you won’t regret this.

Stampy was about to give Target a nice handshake, when a peculiar sight graced his eyes. Craig was standing completely still in the corner of the room, face to the wall, not saying a word. He ditched the handshake idea and went straight to his friend.

“Craig, you doing okay back there?”

His friend turned around immediately, revealing the lollipop he’d been holding the whole time.

“Oh,” laughed Stampy, “you’re just having a lolly. For a moment there, I was worried you were entering the astral plane or something.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” Craig joked.

“Well, if you are, make sure to pick up a lollipop for me on the way back. And one for Hit The Target as well.”

Target waved from a distance.

“That’s him,” Stampy specified. “I’ve no idea when you tapped out of the conversation, so I’m telling you now in case you missed it.”

“Should I go over and say hi?”

“Yeah!” The cat nodded.

Craig walked up next to the skeleton in the suit, who took immediate notice and invited him to sit down. The two sat and spoke for a while. Stampy worked with Ank to add that tower to the house, and occasionally, he found himself needing more materials. Every time he went to his chest room, he peeked inside the entrance hall to see if they were still talking. Sometimes he even listened in on their conversations.

“...so I made a parasol to keep the Sun from scorching me alive.”

The ginger nodded. “I know this is off topic, but I’ve been wanting to mention this for a bit. Is the hair real or is it a wig?”

Target ran his bony fingers through his hair. “This? It’s all real.”

Craig’s mouth formed a little o shape for a moment. “All of it? As in, no extensions?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s actually super impressive.”

“When I was alive,” Target continued, “having long hair was a way of showing resilience and dedication. Maintaining a head of hair that goes past your shoulders is hell and a half. Brushing it, washing it, avoiding the risk of dead or damaged hair, they’re all very difficult things to deal with. Not everyone is up to the task.”

Figuring now was a good time to interject, Stampy walked in on them, making sure to open the door extra loud so as to not frighten them.

“Been meaning to ask this, but Mr. Target, would you like us to invite you over for Christmas? I know we only just now met, but everyone deserves to have a home to celebrate the holidays in, and I happen to be the only person with a house.”

Target’s bones shifted slightly. “You’d do that?”

“Of course! That is inline with the holiday spirit. Googlie or not, Christmas is for everyone.”

“That would be… nice. Thank you, I’ll be there. I will bring gifts for everyone, how many people are planning to show up?”

Stampy stopped to think. “I’d say… at least five? Six, counting you.”

Target nodded. “Sounds manageable. I’ll try not to forget anyone.”

“Well then, be sure to stop by the clubhouse! Christmas Eve is in two days, we’ll all be there.”

“I won’t forget. Thanks for not killing me, by the way.”

Stampy laughed. “Least I could do.”

“I think I’ll be seeing myself out now, have fun building your tower!”

“You too,” Stampy waved. “I hope you have fun doing… uh… skeleton things!”

Out the door he went.

Chapter Text

With his bony fingers, he grasped his mahogany parasol and traveled to the depths of a forest, where the shade of the trees shielded him from sunlight. In the night, it was packed with hordes of zombies and fellow skeletons, but at such an hour, very few of the undead roamed.

Self-preservation was not a point of concern for the grand majority of his kin. When the sun graced the land, many stepped out to be put back to rest. It’s not like they’re fully capable of dying. The nature of the curse recalls them from their graves each and every evening.

In this section of the forest on this particular day, only one other skeleton was within his sight; a friend who sat atop a taxidermied horse and carried a similar parasol to his own.

“How’s she been, Jacques?” Target asked, gesturing toward the horse.
“Still dead,” Jacques replied, “as per usual.”
“How surprising,” Target flatly intoned.

Two dogs scurried up to Hit The Target, barking enthusiastically at his return. Target knelt down to pet them, smiling softly.

“Hello Toby. Hello Callie. I’m sure you both missed me a lot while I was gone.”

They barked in approval, with Toby jumping circles around him. Jacques looked at the scene and sighed happily.

“I’m gonna take my little buddies for a stroll,” said Target. Jacques gave him a peace sign, and the two skeletons separated. Target grabbed two leashes from the pockets of his suit and attached them to his dogs’ collars. In spite of the shade of the trees, he still held up his parasol, just in case.

Callie woofed excitedly, scurrying her little feet along the grass.

“Oh, you would not believe the day I had, Callie. I was invited to celebrate Christmas. Not sure what the guy’s policy is on dogs, though. He seems like more of a… cat person.”

Callie started panting.

“Joke’s lost on you, I suppose. You haven’t seen the guy. He’s an actual cat-ling. Cat-lin? Cat-let? Catlet sounds right. All seriousness, I don’t think I can take either of you two there. He didn’t give me any allergy information, so who knows, maybe he’s allergic.”

Toby whined.

“See, I’m not- and I’m sure you’ve heard me say this a hundred times- but I’m not so sure the others have the right idea. There’s no point trying to kill him. He’s not going to die, he’s from a different world. We descended from vagabonds, how is this not common sense?!”

The dogs kept walking.

“Look, I don’t care. I have no reason to care. Like, oh no, this cat is the second coming of that ram guy, who the fuck cares?! Has he done anything that supports that notion? Hell, has he done anything at all except build a house??? Even if he is that guy’s agent or something, why does it matter to anyone? This is stupid. All of this is stupid. I just want to make swords, I don’t care about any of this.”

Toby and Callie both started barking.

“Indeed, little buddies, I really am the best blacksmith south of Cacao Beach. You two have been so good today, I’m going to give you both some treats.”

He gave each dog a bite-sized portion of steak. They devoured their respective pieces immediately, much to the satisfaction of Target.

By technicality, he was homeless, but he wasn’t without a place to live. There was a sign nailed to the turf near a large weeping tree, accompanied by a nearby campfire pit and a lantern.

Target’s Tree

His writing wasn’t the most legible. This was a fact he was well aware of; sometimes he found himself unable to read his own handwriting. He stepped inside the leaves and found his many, many chests, filled to the brim with hundreds of stone swords. His desk was present, his sleeping tent was present, and his doggy beds were present as well. What else could a man of his type need?

He took five swords and five disposable leather sacks out from his chest. Target put a sword in each, then placed each bag in his inventory. Only one Christmas preparation left: a wish list.

Toby snuggled up next to him as he spent the morning writing a letter. 

Dear Santa

Please giue me a  hat .for cristmas , I Know that isn't how yow spell it but writing is uery hard for nme. Maybe  a typuewuriter too, but i Know those are expensiue so ifyou camot do that I whderstand.

I hope you get this.

- Hit The Target

He hoped Santa would be able to read his handwriting.

Chapter Text

“This place is huge!”

Stampy’s voice echoed through the room, bouncing from wall to wall and reverberating everywhere.

Longbow giggled a little. “I was thinking we could put a stage there in the back, and I could put a DJ booth. Great place to play a variety of songs. EDM, techno, jungle, electronic… and I think Christmas songs would sound great through the speakers.”

“And we can’t have a proper party without a miniature pub,” Stampy added. “It’s an essential part of a party room, we’ll need a miniature tap and some shelves. Oh, and a mini-fridge! Do we have any iron blocks?”

“Do we?” asked Longbow.

“No idea, I’ll go check.”

“Gotta be a new record,” Craig joked. “One minute into planning, and he’s already distracted.”

Longbow continued building the stage. Before he even started on the project, he’d already disassembled a DJ set with the intention of reassembling it in the clubhouse. He brought a jukebox too, just in case there was ever a party in the lovely world where he wasn’t there. Which was, of course, impossible, but he thought it would be nice to prepare for.

Stampy started making shelves and a countertop, even brewing up some nice drinks. Since Longbow already offered to be the DJ, Stampy decided he’d be the one in charge of drinks. Craig was unfortunately tasked with the least interesting part; making a table.

“We could call this the Golden Cat,” Stampy joked. “Craig, you remember Dishonored, right? With the Golden Cat?”

Craig nodded. “Pretty fitting. You are a golden cat.”

“Then again, this place is more of a gentleman’s club. Hopefully nobody’s going to be doing that here.”

“You just walk up here while it’s empty and you see two zombies doing the deed underneath your countertop.”

Stampy wheezed. “There better not be! I’m not going to clean that up! Who’s going to be the one to clean that up? Because it’s most certainly not going to be me.”

“You’ve heard about the birds and the bees, now get ready for the birds and the zom-bees.”

“I just walk over to the jukebox to play my favorite song, and I look inside and it’s just full of CD copies of Careless Whisper and Smooth and that one Korn song, you know exactly which one I’m referring to.”

“And then you look down at the floor and you think, wow, looks like they were eating a bit more than just brains down here.”

Stampy laughed. “That’s asinine. I will be having none of this in my clubhouse.”

“Hey,” called Longbow. “I set up the DJ booth. Going to test it out real quick.”

Stampy and Craig turned to him.

“This one’s called ‘Chirp’, it’s by this underground electronic artist, just goes by C418. I’ve been collecting his stuff, he makes some nice tunes.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Craig. “Put it on!”

The moment it entered Stampy’s ears, he loved it. There was this quality to it that he simply adored. He asked Longbow if he had any extra copies of that disc, and Longbow simply told him to “wait until Christmas and find out”.

Suddenly, Kyle appeared out of nowhere, holding an entire foosball table.

“Special delivery!” Kyle sang.

Stampy gasped. “You brought us a foosball table? How thoughtful! Thank you!”

Kyle set it down and ran off.

Craig smiled. “Nice lad. Wonder where he got that from.”

“Aw, and they’ve got little Santa hats too!” cooed Stampy.

“We should have a go at this. First to three.”

“I thought it was first to ten.”

“Yeah, but I’d feel less bad for you if you lost three-nothing compared to ten-nothing.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

Craig lost three-nothing.

Stampy began making some lemonade, and Craig started cooking a quick meal. Longbow seemed to be making something as well.

“What are you up to, Longbow?”

“Well, I looked around, and I noticed that there’s an outrageous lack of… support poles.”

“Support poles?”

Longbow placed a pole on a platform and scooted some chairs around to face it.

“Ah, I see! We forgot the support beams! Here in Stampy’s clubhouse, the most important thing is safety. We can’t have the ceiling crashing down on us while we perform family friendly shows on our stage.”

“Fetch me a shot of lemonade, Mr. Cat. I am about to put on some of the smoothest jazz imaginable.”

Stampy poured some lemonade into a shot glass, and Longbow downed it. Longbow put on some jazz and Stampy started doing a very family friendly dance around the family friendly support beam.

“Slick moves, Mr. Cat, I think this is well deserving of some financial support. Here, I shall set some gold nuggets down next to you to pick up later.”

In a very PG fashion, Longbow tossed a few gold nuggets his way, as Stampy continued doing his age-appropriate dance around the non-suggestive support pole, having a good wholesome laugh while he did so. 

Craig walked in with some sandwiches and started laughing at the absurdity of what he had just bore witness to. Never in his life did he think this would happen. He set the plates down and started going along with it, tossing gold nuggets from one of the surrounding seats until everyone started getting hungry and went to the dinner table.

“I leave for five minutes,” Craig jested, “and you start doing this. Of course.”

Stampy snickered. “Longbow and I planned this out last night, before you took me over to Crimcity. We went up to each other and were like, okay, when Craig leaves to make dinner, we have to make a support beam to do nice, wholesome activities around.”

“At least put your vest back on, Stamps, we’re at the dinner table.”

“Didn’t want to get too hot while doing my- my family-friendly dance. I’ll start sweating buckets if I put it back on now, the moves are very intensive.”

“There’s definitely people willing to pay extra for that.”

“Anyway, we’re going to put the tree where the beam is. You’ve got some of the ornaments, right?”

Craig pulled one out of his inventory. “Indeed.”

“Wonderful! Right, once we finish up, we can hang our stockings and put down a tree for us to decorate.”

As promised, they did just that. The tree was bedazzled with rainbow lights, powered by a redstone torch. Ornaments of all shapes and sizes were placed on the branches, and a couple gifts were placed underneath as well.

“Did anyone get anything for that skeleton guy? Hitting Targets, was it? No, Hit The Target, that’s right.”

“I did,” chimed Craig. “Said he liked haircare, so I got him some nice conditioner.”

“Very thoughtful!”

“Ank’s been busy getting his gifts ready. From the looks of it, they seem to be pretty big.”

“He’s trying to outdo all of us,” Stampy joked.

“He’ll never outdo me. Just wait until you see what I got for you, Stampers.”

Night fell upon the lovely world, and all its residents had a peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

By the following afternoon, Stampy had completed his library.

He’d done a pretty good job at hiding the fact that he was building it from the others. He wanted it to be a surprise, and he wanted to do a dramatic presentation of it in a blue robe once it was finished. Of course, now that it was finished, all that was left to do was to show the others.

“Here it is,” announced Stampy. “My completed library!”

Craig blinked. “Where are the books?”

“Oh, I haven’t written any yet. Maybe Santa’s going to give me a book this year, and I could put it in here. I bet he’s going to come down through this very chimney into this very fireplace!”

Longbow whistled. “Cool place.”

“And you know what’s even cooler?”

Stampy ran over near his fireplace and pulled a lever, revealing a secret entrance behind it.

“Ta-da! Secret fireplace entrance. Eventually I’m going to hook this all up to a bookshelf or something, so when you take out a book it’ll open it, but like you mentioned, I don’t have any books yet.”

Craig and Longbow oohed and aahed, and a particularly chubby dog barked.

“Oh, by the way, I named this dog today. His name is Porky, because he loves pork chops.”

“What kind of dog doesn’t love pork chops?” Longbow shrugged.

Stampy laughed. “Well, Porky really loves them. Here boy, here’s a little slice for you!”

Porky devoured the pork chop. The others walked through the newly-opened secret entrance. There was a long corridor with walls of stone, and a single right turn.

“The tunnel doesn’t actually lead anywhere,” Stampy noted. “Not yet, anyway.”

Longbow nodded. “This is where you’re gonna put your mancave, isn’t it?”

His remark stirred up a bit of a laugh.

They walked out the same way they came in. The cat talked about how Ank helped rig up the redstone to make the door function properly as he walked over to the lever.

“…and the contraption actually closes really fast. He must have oiled it up real well, because watch this. You’re not going to believe it.”

Right after the switch flipped, there was a quick mechanical whir, followed by a muffled howl and the sound of crushed meat. There was a look of abject horror on Craig’s face, which was made all the more unnerving with the presence of animal blood on it. Longbow just stood completely still, face unreadable as he was wearing a mask.

Stampy was terrified. He almost hesitated to run to the front of the fireplace, but he felt he had to, just to be sure that what he thought happened didn’t actually happen. To his displeasure, it did happen. Porky was no more.

Christmas Eve was tomorrow, and here the three of them were, burying a dog who died a painful, horrible, and avoidable death. They buried him in the slime farm downstairs, so as to not poison the memory of the library.

“Before he died,” Longbow began, “Porky was zipping around the whole room. I saw him, he was just teleporting all over, having loads of fun. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, and… I’m gonna miss him.”

Stampy sniffled. “I’m going to miss him as well. He loved pork chops. Which is why I’ve filled this chest with pork chops, it’s… to honor his memory.”

Craig was completely silent, still trying to process what he just witnessed.

“It’s going to be hard for me to break the news to the other dogs, but… I’m going to do what must be done.”

Stampy climbed up the ladder while the other two continued mourning. He stepped into the doghouse and looked at all of his dogs. Most of them jumped up and crowded him, but curiously enough, there were two who seemed to be occupied with something else.

He walked over to Duncan and Oreo, then gasped when he saw what they were so concerned with. Suddenly filled with a great deal of joy, Stampy ran down to the slime farm to get Longbow and Craig.

“GUYS!” Stampy shouted. “GUYS COME UP! Come to the doghouse, you’ve got to see this!”

The look on Stampy’s face seemed to snap Craig back to reality, and he and Longbow followed the cat up the ladder. They all sprinted to the doghouse to find Duncan and Oreo, standing around their newborn puppy.

Longbow gasped. “Oreo was pregnant?!”

Craig gasped even harder. “Oreo was a girl?!”

“Yes and yes!” Stampy beamed. “And look! They’ve brought a new baby puppy into the world! As… as sad of a day it was for Porky, it’s a happy day for Oreo and Duncan because their baby has just been born! Look at it, so cute. I’m going to call him Chicken. Hello Chicken! Welcome to Stampy’s Lovely World!”

The three of them surrounded the tiny little black-and-white puppy. It seemed like a Christmas miracle had come early for them.

Stampy spent the rest of the night cleaning the library, while Longbow and Craig cleaned themselves up. Afterward, they slept soundly, knowing that Christmas Eve would be upon them in the morning.

Chapter Text

When Stampy went outside that morning to visit his Love Garden, someone else was standing there, parasol in hand. They waved at one another in acknowledgement.

“Hello, Mr. Target! Lovely suit you’ve got on today.”

“Thanks,” Target replied. “It’s the only one I have.”

Stampy placed a new sign on the ground and wrote a new name on it:

Stanta

The cat held his chin up high. “I’m certain this will get me some nice presents.”

“Speaking of presents,” Target mentioned, “I was just wondering, where might I be able to drop off a few presents?”

“Presents? For us?”

“I brought five, one for each guest.”

“Here, come in, follow me. I’ll show you!”

Stampy walked up to the clubhouse, where a marvelous tree stood by a DJ booth. Beneath it were a few small gifts.

“One of these is for you, be sure to thank my buddy Craig for thinking of you this year.”

Target gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll be sure to.”

The skeleton delicately placed all five bags underneath the tree. Stampy gave him an approving smile.

“Do you need any help preparing for the party?” Target inquired.

Stampy shook his head. “Everything’s already been accounted for. I put some treats for Santa downstairs, all the decorations are up, and as you might have seen, I even put his name in the Love Garden. Oh, and Craig’s been making Christmas sweaters while he’s been waiting for the cake to rise.”

Target jumped up a little bit. “There’s cake?”

“Of course there’s cake! I love cake!” Stampy flapped his paws.

“What flavor?”

“We don’t have cocoa beans yet, so we went with strawberry and vanilla cake. Delightful combination, have you had it before?”

“I have! I have, and it’s really good. I’d go as far as to say it’s my… third favorite, yeah, behind red velvet and chocolate.”

“Oh my goodness, chocolate’s my favorite as well! We have so much in common, this Christmas party is going to be so great.”

Something warped behind them. They turned around to find Kyle in the most obnoxious Christmas sweater ever.

“Hi Kyle! Merry Christmas!” Stampy beamed.

Kyle waved. “Merry Christmas! I hope you end up liking my gift.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will. Have you seen Ank anywhere, by chance?”
“...no, I don’t think I have.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.”

“He’ll turn up,” Kyle remarked. “I’m sure he will.”

Stampy and Target went downstairs to check on Craig. He had a small pile of Christmas sweaters sitting next to him, with more being knitted as they arrived. Longbow was icing the cake. Turns out, it rose quicker than Stampy anticipated.

Craig set his needle down. “Hi Stamps. Happy holidays!”

“This cake smells delightful! You’ve really outdone yourself this year, I think it’s already safe to say this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Sweater in hand, Craig nodded, but there was something in his eyes that suggested his mind was elsewhere. Stampy caught on.

“...is something going on? Why the long face?”

“It’s Wonderberg,” sighed Craig. “I’ve still been having problems getting in. Turns out, there haven’t been any records of entry or exit since you left. I thought they’d be able to fix it by Christmas, but it’s as if it’s been… cut off from the Local Area Network, somehow.”

“Cut off?” Stampy repeated.

“I don’t understand it either. Nothing ever gets ‘cut off’ like this without explanation. Sure, there’s maintenance and traffic issues, but that ends up getting resolved after a couple days. And I know they haven’t implemented some sort of queue, because if they did, people would still be able to leave just fine. I’m starting to get a bit worried I won’t see my family for Christmas this year.”

“Oh, Craig, don’t say that. Christmas is a time of miracles, I’m sure it’ll fix itself by tomorrow! You’ll see them, I know you will.”

“I hope that’s the case,” Craig simpered. “The higher-ups are trying to diagnose the problem, they said they’d be willing to get Rana on this issue if they can’t figure it out on their own.”

“Is Rana good at this sort of thing?”

Craig smirked. “Only the best.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about!”

As thanks for consolation, Craig handed Stampy a cat-themed Christmas sweater. It was green with a cat sewn in the middle, and it read “feline the holiday spirit”. When he put it on, Stampy’s fur started to frizz a little.

“I probably look so ridiculous right now, don’t I?” Stampy chortled.

Craig started snickering, which said all that needed to be said. Stampy kept it on anyway, seeing as it was Christmas Eve.

“What did you ask Santa for?” asked Target.

“New glasses,” Stampy replied. “I’ve been a bit worried that I’ll end up losing this pair.”

Craig leaned on a table. “That’s smart. I just asked for new tennis shoes.”

“I asked for a hat.”

Stampy turned to Target. “What kind of hat?”

“Sun hat,” said Target. “Something to help block the sun. It gets tiring to hold this parasol every time I want to go out, I can’t even hold a sword properly trying to balance this.”

Craig nodded. “Sounds like it sucks.”

“At least I’m alive again, kind of.”

Stampy smiled. “Cheers to that, mate.”

They all pretended to clink wine glasses, and each took a pretend sip.

When sunset began approaching, Stampy offered to move Target’s bed into the house temporarily. Target led him to his tree, where Jacques awaited outside.

“Hey Target,” Jacques waved, sitting atop his taxidermied horse.

“Hi Jacques. Thanks for watching the dogs for me, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Dogs?!” Stampy interjected. “You didn’t tell me you have dogs! Can I see them? Please, please, please can I see them?”

“You like dogs?” Target chirped.

“Of course I like dogs! I have, like, sixteen of them. How many do you have?”

“Two, as of now. Toby and Callie. I will warn you, they can get a little protective, so… just don’t do anything to make them upset, okay?”

“Sounds manageable.”

“Alright,” Target turned to Jacques. “C’mere, little buddies! Come here, come on Toby! Come here, Callie! Right here!”

Callie and Toby ran to Target and began jumping around him, barking.

Toby was a big dog. His fur was matte black and very well smoothed. His feet and snout were dark brown, and around his neck was a deep red collar. His tail was long, his ears were short and floppy, his nose was short and stout, and he had two brown spots on top of his eyes that looked like tiny little angry eyebrows.

Callie was a tiny dog and also something of a menace. Her fur was scruffy, thin, and white. Her ears were pointy and triangular, and she had a teeny tiny little tail. On her neck was a yellow collar, and she had black paws the same color as her big, black nose.

“Aw, they really like you!” Stampy purred.

Proudly, Target stood. “I’m good with dogs. Now, Toby? Callie? This is Stampy Cat, and he is a friend. You know friend, right? Do you remember how to behave around a friend?”

They started sniffing Stampy Cat, and once they got accustomed to the scent, they started jumping around him as well.

Target clapped. “Very good!”

“They’re a jumpy bunch, aren’t they?”

“Mmhmm. I don’t think I should bring them to the party, though. They aren’t the best with other dogs.”

Stampy winced. “Yeah, I think you should leave them here tomorrow.”

Target grabbed his bed and placed it in his inventory. He instructed his dogs to stay with Jacques, then returned with Stampy to the cat’s lovely home.

“Oh, before we head inside, would you like to see my dogs?”

Target went wide-eyed. “Absolutely!”

They went into the doghouse. Immediately, Target was surrounded by every dog in the doghouse, save for Chicken.

“Settle down, everyone!” Stampy exclaimed. “Sit, all of you, sit down. Flippy, sit, sit down now. Good girl.”

Target turned to the wall of signs. “Are those their names?”

Stampy nodded. “Yeah. Except Porky. Porky has unfortunately… met his end, and I haven’t gotten to update the signs to reflect that.”

“Aw,” sighed Target. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Anyway, I guess I’ll be going alphabetically. Stand up, Arrow!”

Arrow stood at attention and ran over to Stampy’s side. He had a very thick coat of hair, tan and yellow, and big floppy ears with the same fur characteristics. He started panting.

“Alright, Barnaby, you come here. C’mere Barnaby.”

Barnaby rushed over. He was a light gray dog with slim, tall black ears. There were two white spots on his forehead that looked like eyebrows, and there was a gray spot on his back. He had a shiny red collar and a medium sized tail, with neatly groomed fur that felt smooth as silk. His underbelly was white, his snout was dark gray, his nose was big and black, his front paws were black, and his back paws were gray. After a moment, he ran to the top of the ramp like the cheeky little goober he was.

“That was Barnaby back there, he’s a good boy. Benton’s the long haired dog over on that side, he’s Duncan’s older brother.”

Benton barked. He was a completely black dog with a cyan collar. He had long fur, unlike his brother. He wasn’t a big dog, but he wasn’t small either.

“Yes, Benton, that’s you! Now back there is Craig’s favorite dog, Cedric. He’s my dog, but he doesn’t even respond to me half the time because he likes Craig more. Rude.”

Cedric, notably, was the only dog in the pack to be wearing a hand-knit sweater, custom tailored to fit his size. He was somewhat fluffy, and his fur was brown and white. There was a peculiar pattern on it shared by Gregory himself; white and brown spirals that seemed to resemble the letter “G”.

“The little one back there is only one day old! His name is Chicken, and he’s the son of Duncan and Oreo. Speaking of Duncan, there’s Duncan right there! He’s the dog with the crooked neck.”

Duncan growled.

“Yeah, he’s not very social. Anyhow, uh, Flippy! She’s got the purple collar, you can tell it’s her because she’s got the big jaw and the sticking-up ears and her nose looks like a heart.”

Flippy ran up to Stampy and started jumping.

“She’s quite athletic! She could make a pretty good attack dog. Back there, that’s Guilty Bark, he’s… not nearly as good as Flippy at combat. Oreo’s the black and white dog with those little eyes that look like Oreos, and Snowy’s the dog whose fur looks like snow! And then we have these two who I haven’t named yet. I think that’s all of them, I don’t think I’ve forgotten anyone.”

Bowser sat in the corner, completely silent.

Target brushed the dirt off his legs. “It was nice meeting your dogs, they’re all so very cute.”

“Yours too!”

“Is the entrance room an okay place to set up for tonight?”

“Absolutely. Here, I’ll go in and see if we have any extra blankets, you just make yourself comfortable.”

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here, I… I really hope you like what I got you.”

Stampy opened the door. “And I hope you get that hat you wanted from Santa.”

Target went inside and set his bed near one of the corners. Stampy rushed over to one of his house’s many rooms, retrieved a blanket, then returned to give it to Target. The skeleton tucked himself into bed with the blanket as a comforter.

“Goodnight, Mr. Target!”

“Night, Stampy Cat.”

Stampy laughed. “You can just call me Stampy.”

“And you can just call me Target.”

Stampy went up to his room and struggled to sleep due to the anticipation. Such is the norm on Christmas Eve.

Chapter Text

A glimmering white spectacle awaited him outside. His lovely world was covered in snow! It piled on his balcony and frosted his glass.

“Yay! It’s Christmas Day! The wait is finally over!” exclaimed Stampy.

He ran to Craig’s room and opened the door. Groggily, Craig rose from his bed, hair an absolute mess.

“Craig, get up, Santa’s been, Santa’s been! There’s gifts on the hill and it’s snowing!”

“It’s morning already?” yawned Craig.

“Of course it is, look out your window! Look at all the snow! Actually, no time for that, let’s see what Santa got us this year!”

Stampy ran down immediately, having already put his vest on. Craig insisted that he’d follow behind once he put a proper outfit on. The orange cat caught a glimpse of the jolly man himself for a moment before he rose up the chimney. After the spectacle, Craig arrived in the library.

“You just missed it!” Stampy exclaimed. “Santa was here, I saw him! This must have been his last stop before heading back.”

“Where are the gifts?”

“They must be up at the clubhouse. Here, follow the snow!”

Kyle, Longbow, and Target were talking to one another, spirits high and all excited.

Craig, wearing a headband with reindeer antlers, immediately asked what they were talking about.

“Craig, you just missed it,” Longbow jabbered. “We saw Santa delivering our presents!”

Target was filled with holiday joy. “And he said he was able to read my handwriting!”

Craig sighed. “So I guess I’m the only person here who didn’t get to see Santa, huh?”

Kyle shrugged. “I guess.”

“Wait, look!” Stampy pointed outside. “There’s another tree outside! We got more gifts!”

Everyone ran outside.

The cat read the tag on the largest gift. “This one’s addressed to everyone. I wonder what this could be?”

Ank popped out the top of the gift, wearing a Santa hat.

Stampy laughed “So that’s where you’ve been! You’ve just been hiding inside of that present this whole time.”

“He is the gift,” Craig tittered, “fool.”

“Wait, look over there! Is that…”

A red F1 car sat next to the new tree with a sign that read:

Merry X-Mas

From Ank

“No way, this is wonderful! Look, there’s a little snowman inside with a pumpkin on its head! Hello little snowman!”

The snowman turned to the cat and waved.

Stampy leapt backward and nearly fell on top of Longbow. Craig started snickering, and Stampy shot him a rude look before turning to Ank.

“He’s a magic snowman. He’ll never melt, so long as he stays away from water,” said Ank.

“Cool! What else did you get us?” Stampy asked.

“Open up the gifts and find out!”

Target opened a small gift addressed to him. “Coal?”

Stampy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ank, this is perfect! I’ve been needing this for my campfires, thank you!”

Ank gave him a thumbs up, assuming that Target was going along with the joke. Unbeknownst to him, the lore about the significance of coal on Christmas was not commonplace in Target’s community.

Craig opened his. “Whoa! Diamonds! What is this, like, twenty diamonds? That’s amazing!”

Longbow followed. “Sweet! I got a bunch of nether warts! This’ll be perfect for my potions.”

“I wanted to make sure you all got something nice this year. Kyle, check yours out.” Ank replied.

Kyle dug into his and gasped. “Lily pads! I love these! My everything collection grows larger…”

Stampy walked over to his gift and carefully unwrapped it to find a glowing table with a magical book in the center.

“What… what’s this?” Stampy asked.

“I was trading with the lamblets, trying to get something for Kyle, and one of them offered me this nice looking table and this weird book. I haven’t read the book, not sure if you’ll like it or not. I also gave you some blaze rods just in case.”

Stampy grabbed the blaze rods and put them in his inventory. “These gifts are wonderful, thank you for doing this! I’m going to go grab a few of my dogs so we can all open presents, everyone gather round the tree in the clubhouse.”

By the time Stampy was back with Barnaby, Cedric, Oreo, Duncan, and Chicken, everyone was gathered around in a semicircle, including Henry even though he hadn’t gotten any gifts. Stampy sat in the center next to Craig.

Stampy chimed in. “So, are we going alphabetically, or…”

Craig nodded. “Alphabetically works. Ank, you’re up first.”

Ank grabbed a gift. “This is the one I got from Santa, let’s see… it’s… it’s a redstone handbook! Awesome! Craig, you’re up next.”

Craig tore into one of the small gifts. “Gotta open the gift from Stampers. What’s he gotten- oh my goodness, is this a custom engraved-?”

Stampy nodded. “Yes indeed. And it’s in teal, one of your favorite colors!”

“Cedric!” Craig called. “Over here, look! Stampy got you a collar with your name on it!”

Cedric ran over to Craig, barking joyfully as his collar was fastened on.

“So, Target,” said Stampy, “since your first name starts with H, you could either go last or go before Kyle.”

“Eh, I only got three presents, I’m fine with going last,” remarked Target.

“That means I’m up!” Kyle interjected. “And Santa got me… wow, a lava lamp!”

Longbow opened his gift. “This is from Santa too, and I got a- whoa! A recipe book for potions!”

Stampy clawed at his wrapping paper and tore open the box. “I don’t know how he managed to get my prescription lenses, but new glasses! Yay!”

Target opened Kyle’s gift. “Is this… what exactly is this thing?”

“It’s an otamatone,” Kyle explained. “Basically, it’s an electronic instrument that-”

“Oh, he got me one too!” Ank interrupted, holding an opened gift.

“Same here,” replied Craig.

Kyle laughed. “You can never go wrong with an otamatone. Longbow said his was fragile, so I’m gonna open his before I accidentally knock it over. Let’s see… oh, neat, vinyl records! I’ll go put this on now.”

Glowing with excitement, Kyle ran to the DJ set, only to realize it didn’t play vinyl discs. Within that time frame, Longbow had already begun opening his gift from Kyle, which was, of course, an otamatone.

“I wonder what Kyle got me,” Stampy said, not-so-delicately tearing the wrapping paper. He gasped when his eyes met the contents of the square box which was approximately the size of his arms.

“What’d you get?” asked Craig.

“He got me a new bicycle!” quipped Stampy.

Target opened his gift with great care, and his eyes lit up when he saw what was inside. “Craig, is this haircare? I’ve been wanting to get this for months!”

Ank opened his gift from Target. “...is this a sword?”

“Yup,” Target grinned. “Swords are awesome.”

Craig opened his. “Target, did you give everybody swords for Christmas?”

Kyle followed. “He got me a sword.”

“Same here,” replied Longbow.

“I got a sword too,” Stampy mewed.

Target opened his final gift. “It’s a hat! Thanks, Santa.”

Everyone else continued to cycle through their gifts. The most notable reaction to a gift was Stampy’s reaction to Longbow’s; he’d not only been given multiple CDs, but he’d been given an entire television set, capable of streaming shows from across the LAN network.

Stampy was also the last to open a present. He saved the biggest present until the very end, a gift from Craig wrapped neatly in the fanciest wrapping paper he could get his hands on. He almost felt bad clawing into it.

“And it’s… a box! What’s in the box?”

Stampy opened the box.

“...another box. Box in a box, it’s like a box-ception. Right, let’s look inside here.”

He opened the smaller box, only to find an even smaller box. Craig stifled his laughter.

“How many of these- oh my god, you’ve stuffed another one in here. You little jokester, you. It’s just going to keep on going forever and ever, isn’t it?”

“There is an end,” Craig reassured him. “Just keep going, you’ll find it.”

Stampy opened box after box, until a comically small box remained. When he opened this box, he found a small slip of paper with a tiny little smiley face with two dot eyes staring back at him.

“Marvelous,” Stampy gibed.

Craig started giggling. “My father taught me that one. He’s played it on me since I was seven years old, figured I might as well take a page out of his book this year.”

“Sounds like a fun guy.”

Silence.

“Is anyone else hungry?” asked Craig.

From every resident in the house, there was a resounding “yes”.

Chapter Text

The clubhouse table was set neatly, and everyone was seated properly in their chairs wearing Santa hats. Henry was seated in a playpen, and even the dogs were managing to stay well behaved. There was a great feast already set on the table; rotisserie chicken, golden apples, various fish, stew, exotic fruit (courtesy of Nutrat, who declined the invitation but offered a bowl of fruit anyway), sweet corn, and cold milk. Only one thing was missing from the table.

Craig and Longbow traveled up the stairs, holding the centerpiece that tied the feast together. The Christmas cake.

Being undead, Target did not need to eat to live. However, the option was still there, and in this moment, he was so glad it was. The cake looked delectable with all its berries and frosting. Hell, the whole meal looked wonderful. He almost didn’t believe they were going to let him have any. But when grace was said and they all dug in, he heard nothing but encouragement to have at it, to take a slice of cake, to eat a slice of chicken, to serve himself a portion of fruit.

He was surrounded by people who he was told would hate him, but he had never felt more loved.

In the background, an instrumental rendition of Sleigh Bells played out of the speakers of the DJ booth. Everyone spoke of Christmas memories, and Target found himself joining in. Stampy was feeding pork chops to his dogs. Around halfway through the meal, Craig left, citing the need to spend the rest of Christmas with his family as his primary reason. Though his departure was unfortunate, his friends understood, and they continued the festivities as planned.

There was a brief pause after the feast concluded to let the food settle. Target offered to move the TV and the other gifts downstairs, and he followed through with it. When he went back up and gazed at the sky, he found it was still blue, but the sun was beginning to set.

“That was a great meal,” Stampy remarked. “Christmas is wonderful. And it’s really made all the more wonderful because, look around! There’s not a single- okay, well, there’s Target, but he’s nice, so… aside from Target, there’s not a single googlie in sight! No creepy spiders climbing up the walls, no slimes jumping around and making everything icky, and most importantly, nothing that could blow up my OH MY GOD THERE’S A CREEPER!”

Everybody jumped backward in horror, except for Target. The creeper observed this gesture and smiled, rose in maw. It skittered up to Stampy and dropped the rose at the cat’s feet.

Stampy relaxed his muscles and knelt down to pick up the flower. It was red and beautiful.

“Are you… are you a friendly googlie as well?”

The creeper nodded.

“…and you’re not going to explode?”

“I can’t,” the creeper began, “even if I wanted to, my body won’t let me.”

Stampy gasped. “I didn’t know creepers could talk!”

“Not many of us-sss learn to sss-speak. Our great capa-sss-ity for language learning is dampened by the fact that many of us-sss only live for a day. Joy, fear, sss-sadness, anger, any sss-strong emotion causes us to explode. Peace is my only option, my natural defen-sss mechanism doesn’t work properly.”

“How long have you been alive?”

It talked in a loud whisper. “Two month-sss.”

“Wow, that’s a while! What’s your name?”

“I… don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a name?” Stampy mewed. “That’s so sad! Can I name you?”

“Sss-sure.” She smiled.

“How about… Agatha? Agatha the Friendly Creeper?”

“That-sss a wonderful name. Orange friend, I have come with a sss-surprise for you. Bring your friend-sss, I have placed it out-sss-side.”

Agatha led them to the mountain that Stampy had been carving out in his free time. It was there that he saw a miniature statue of a creeper in a Santa hat. On it, a message was inscribed:

Merry X-Mas

From The Googlies

“This is so kind! Thank you, Agatha! I’ll be sure to put this somewhere safe.”

Stampy put the statue in his inventory. Agatha smiled as she walked off into the distance.

Ank grinned. “Sun’s starting to set, maybe we should head inside.”

“Good call,” Longbow replied. “We’ve still got one hell of a party to throw. You’re still up to man the bar, right Stampy?”

“You know it,” Stampy replied with a toothy grin.

And so they headed inside, took down the Christmas tree, cleaned up the clubhouse, and got ready for a night unlike anything else they’d seen before.

Chapter Text

Stampy woke up in bed with a horrible hangover. Target was on his balcony, staring off into the snowy distance. The cat took a slice of bread out of his inventory and bit into it, hoping it would quell the ache in his head.

Apparently, he wasn’t nearly as good at managing his impulses as he thought he was. The plan was to take the edge off, not black out and pass out.

He opened the door to the balcony, and Target immediately turned his way. Stampy sat down next to him, and Target turned back to the left.

“What’s got your eye- oh my goodness, that’s a blood stain. Blood stained on my path, what a lovely way to end a party. Whose is that?”

“Stampygoodnose,” Target sighed. “I overheard you cheering outside, and I went out there, and you said you tamed a new dog. Named him Stampygoodnose. I started looking around for him, but I tripped over him by mistake, and he fell off the hill and died. We, uh… dissolved the party after that. Things were getting too heated. Sorry.”

Stampy paused. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember any of that at all, so I’m not angry. You’re welcome to help build the living room, if you’d like.”

“...I think I’ll just stay out here for now.”

Stampy shrugged. “Your call.”

The cat went down to the empty living room and found that Craig had already decorated the kitchen.

“Hi Craig!” Stampy chirped. “How was Christmas back home?”

No comment.

“...I guess it…didn’t work out then?”

“Didn’t work out,” muttered Craig.

“Oh,” Stampy murmured.

Craig had built the kitchen at some point beforehand, but Stampy never really took the time to look around. It was well decorated. The walls were wood and stone, and the floor was tiled in black and white because of course every kitchen needs to be. There was a small table capable of seating four, and a nice little cooking area with everything a kitchen could need. An oven, an air fryer, a toaster, a microwave, a blender, cabinets, a sink, some cutting boards, a couple spices, a small timer, drawers for utensils, and of course some well polished countertops.

“Place looks great,” Stampy remarked. “You’ve even got a little cookbook right here, how smart.”

“You should try reading it sometime, maybe it would do you well.”

Even in his lowest moments, Stampy could always count on Craig to leave his snarky comments.

Stampy got to work decorating. The walls were already painted white, and the carpet had already been installed, so the hard parts were complete. The carpet was soft and teal, very sensory affirming. There really wasn’t much to do.

He moved the couch, put a coffee table down, added an empty picture frame, and set the TV up to receive signals. Craig assisted with the configuration. Soon enough, it started picking up channels.

“Ooh, let’s see what’s on!” Stampy fiddled with the remote until he stumbled across a lad in a red shirt.

“Hello, my name is Grian, and today, I’m gonna show you how to make a quick tree. First, you put the sapling on the ground, water it periodically, hit it with some fertilizer, and within a few years, you will have yourself a tree!”

Stampy nodded. “How interesting. I’m not really in the mood to watch TV right now though, so I think I’ll just do some building. I’ve wanted to tidy up that furnace room, and…well, my schedule’s free, so I’ll do just that. Here’s the remote, go nuts.”

“Thanks, Stamps. Have fun with your furnace room, try not to get incinerated.”

Stampy walked over to the doghouse and looked at his little wolf pack. He still had something of a mild headache, so he decided on taking one of his quieter dogs. Snowy almost blended in with the quartz, but Stampy found him and stood him up.

His water room was already complete, but only half of his furnace room was done. As was the case with carving the mountain, he’d been periodically working on it between major projects. It was certainly one of the more interesting looking rooms in the house. The walls were an iridescent amber-hued stone, with glass pipes filled with heated and dyed paraffin wax over the top. The actual furnace itself was not yet placed in position.

Snowy barked. Stampy turned to him, and he started to think that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to bring a dog into the lava room. Still, he didn’t want to be lonely, and he didn’t want Snowy to be lonely either, so he just sat him down next to one of the pipes.

“Now, Snowy, don’t get up from that spot. Stay. Good boy!”

Stampy neglected to realize that Snowy did not have to stand up to get himself into danger. As he was hooking up the heater, he heard a little dink sound periodically, but thought nothing of it until it was far too late.

Snowy had been chewing through the pipes, and he had ingested some of the paraffin wax. The dyes and the wax in conjunction with one another were lethal to dogs, and Snowy died a quick death.

“No!” Stampy cried. “Snowy!”

He vowed that from that point forward, none of his dogs would be allowed in the furnace room.

As he lied down in his bed that night, he reflected on all the events that transpired, and concluded that all in all, it was a pretty shitty day.

Chapter Text

There was nothing better than a slice of cake for breakfast. The sugar gave him drive and focus, and the delicious taste was the perfect taste to start the morning off with. His schedule was packed, there were at least a dozen errands he had to run around his world. Stampy strode through his house in search of his helpers, and found one of them lounging in the living room.

Craig was seated comfortably on the couch, holding a tibia in his hand.

“Why’re you holding a bone?” asked Stampy, looking down toward him over the back of the couch.

“I dunno, I wanna hold a bone,” Craig replied.

“Good a reason as any.”

An uneven rhythm of lopsided steps echoed through the hallways, accented by the sound of shifting bones. They turned to the source and found Target, limping to one side with a missing leg bone. The sight made Craig burst out in laughter.

“Craig, did you- did you steal his leg?!”

Target sighed. “This is why you never fall asleep first at a sleepover.”

Craig handed the tibia back, still giggling about his little prank. Target rolled his glowing red irises as he unscrewed his foot from his femur.

Stampy walked in front of the TV. “I just remembered, there’s someone I have neglected to add to the Love Garden. I should add them before I forget.”

“Alright,” nodded Craig, “you go have fun with that. I’ll be out in a minute, I wanna finish this episode first.”

“Sounds great!” replied Stampy.

The cat waltzed out the door. Target fastened his foot back in place, donned his new black pork pie hat, and followed close behind. Warm rays of sunshine sparkled on the fine layer of snow that remained on the ground. Stampy kicked the snow off to the side to clear the path.

He rummaged through the chest and grabbed a selection of items. A wooden board, a hammer, a nail, a small oak wood pole, and a pencil. He was about to head to the back of the garden, when he heard the pitter patter of footsteps trudging through the snow. An unremarkable occurrence in most circumstances, but the strange part was, he couldn’t see the source of the sound.

“Target, did you hear that?” asked Stampy.

The hatted skeleton nodded slightly, his bones making muted sounds as they moved.

Gradually, the sound drew near. The two were completely lost regarding the cause of this noise, until they looked down and noticed the tracks being left by whatever was roaming around the garden. Snow boots. But there was no wearer in sight.

“…Hello?” Stampy called.

The being marched over to them at walking pace in response.

“…Who might you be?”

A moment's pause, then the mysterious entity spoke in a light Scottish accent.

“I am the ghost of Christmas past. You must change your ways, or I will break your kneecaps.”

Target scoffed. “The ghost of Christmas past doesn’t break people’s kneecaps.”

The creature stifled a laugh. “Then I’ll make you my first victim.”

Stampy raised an eyebrow. “What are your demands, Mr. Christmas Past?”

“You must donate to my non-profit organization. Our goal? Move every single bird slightly to the left. It is a good cause. We need 35 grand immediately.”

“I don’t have 35 grand,” stated Stampy.

“Not with that attitude you don’t.”

The cat stood tall. “Okay, seriously, who are you?”

A glass of milk appeared out of thin air and began floating to their eye level. The creature drank it and slowly faded into view.

It was a fair skinned lamblet. Its fur was pearly gray and matted, and it was visibly aged. The lamblet wore a long blue cloak with a chartreuse star pattern, and atop its head was a matching nightcap with a fuzzy star shaped ball at the end.

“My name is Breadstick,” the lamblet announced, “and while we were talking, your friend left you a little note.”

Stampy turned to find Target sticking a sign onto the grass. On the sign was an arrow pointing directly at Stampy. Target smirked a little, looking very proud of himself.

“What’s this say… ‘loser’? Did you just put down a sign so you could call me a loser?”

Target started snickering quietly, his cheeky grin still unwavering. 

“How mature of you,” Stampy quipped with a smile. “Such high-brow humor, you should open up a comedy club.”

Turning to Breadstick, Stampy decided to begin his introduction.

“My name is Stampy Cat, I’m the one who owns that house back behind us. Everyone just sort of lives there, they’ve all helped build it so I think they’re well within their right to do so if they please. This fellow right here is named Target. And while yes, he did just call me a loser completely unprovoked, he’s actually a friendly skeleton.”

Breadstick waved. “Hi Target. It’s nice to meet you, both of you.” 

Stampy’s mouth made a little circle shape. “Nice to meet you too, welcome to Stampy’s Lovely World!”

“It’s not called that,” Target retorted.

“Yes it is,” Stampy argued.

“You’re the only one who calls this place ‘Stampy’s Lovely World’, nobody else agreed to-”

“My friends call it Stampy’s Lovely World.”

“Yeah, well everyone I know still calls this village Weeping Meadows, so clearly they’re not on board with this.”

“Weeping Meadows?” Stampy echoed. “That’s a sad name. Makes the place sound depressing.”

“It was called Weeping Meadows because there used to be weeping trees everywhere, not because it was a sad place to live.”

Stampy turned his head back and forth. “Well, I don’t see any weeping trees nearby, so I think this town is in need of a new name. How about… Stampy’s Lovely Town?”

Target sighed. “You know what, fine, call it what you will, I won’t let myself get all worked up about this. I’m gonna go clear my mind, walk my dogs, I’ll be back soon.”

The skeleton stormed off. Stampy turned to Breadstick’s direction, only to realize that he disappeared during the little quarrel.

Stampy exhaled harshly, a sullen countenance appearing upon him as he lowered his shoulders. Still, no amount of petty arguing could deter him from doing what he set out to do. He took out his writing utensil and carved a name onto the wooden board.

Hit The Target

He went into his crafting room and hammered the plank to the pole, then dawdled into his backyard to put the sign down. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another glimpse of the message Target left for him.

loser

---------->

An idea popped into his head. He lodged the pole to the right of Target’s little message and chuckled quietly to himself.

“How’s that for high-brow humor?”

Chapter Text

Walking the dogs could wait.

Sure, it would be much more convenient to do it in the earlier parts of the day, but running into Target would be pretty awkward. Instead, he opted to cut the middleman and go straight to the construction site.

Ank had made incredible progress on the lighthouse. The only parts left to work on were the flooring, the interior, and the exterior paints. When Stampy arrived, Ank was lying asleep in a hammock tied between two trees.

To his surprise, Cal was present as well, turning wood into planks to use as floorboards. Cal waved when he noticed his feline friend, and Stampy waved back.

“How’s Crimcity been treating you?” asked Stampy.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” marveled Cal, “and I’m not just saying that because Crimson’s around. Great food, unique architecture, and every 40 minutes I get to see the sunset! Truly a dream come true.”

Stampy gave him a little butterfly clap. “Lovely! I’m so glad to hear it!”

“Sorry I couldn’t make it for Christmas this year. Dan doesn’t celebrate, but I didn’t want him to be lonely, so we spent the day hopping around servers and playing games.”

“Games?”

There was a sparkle in Cal’s eyes.

“Oh, Stampy, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a go at server minigames. That’s like, the best part of being a vagabond, going down to the Hive, or Mineplex or Hypixel- there’s so many, I could just go on and on. They’re like giant arcades but you play the games for free in real life! Craig and I actually met on a game of Skywars, fun fact. It’s good. You should try it sometime. Ask him to take you to… to Live Arcade, that’s what I recommend.”

“Live Arcade?” repeated Stampy.

“Beautiful place, all the games are solid, and it’s not overly populated with players. Craig will know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll be sure to bring it up,” assured Stampy.

He felt something graze his shoulder. The orange cat turned around and saw his magical snowman behind him, holding a leash tied to his arm.

“Aw, Henry, you’re taking Benton out for a walk! How responsible!”

Henry nodded and began spinning in circles, leaving a trail of snow behind him.

“Hold on,” Stampy interjected. “I’ve got a spark, I need to go ask Ank some questions about those magical snow properties of yours.”

He ran over to Ank and, with some hesitation, woke him up.

“Five more minutes,” Ank muttered.

“You can head back to bed in a moment, there’s just a couple things I’ve been wondering, regarding my snowman and all.”

Ank mumbled something so quietly that Stampy couldn’t understand it.

“I know Henry doesn’t melt, but he’s been leaving snow trails behind. Do those melt?”

“None of Henry’s snow melts, it’s all… magic stuff, something.”

“And since he hasn’t gotten any smaller, I assume that he just produces that snow infinitely?”

“Yeah,” Ank yawned.

Stampy grinned. “Thank you, Ank, you can go back to sleep now.”

Ank was back asleep within seconds. 

Filled with inspiration, Stampy took his shovel and began harvesting the snow that Henry had left behind. Henry continued his route in the opposite direction.

Standing at the bridge, Craig noticed Stampy drawing near.

“What’re you up to?” inquired Craig.

“I am going to build an emergency igloo with this unmeltable snow. I think it’d fit right in, seeing as spawn is so cold and snowy, and I’ll make a huge umbrella over top with pillars and cloth or something so it doesn’t get rained on.”

“Alright, you have fun with that.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Stampy added. “Cal and I talked about those… game servers, I think they were called? He said there was this really cool one called Live Arcade, do you think you could try taking me over there tomorrow?”

Craig nodded. “That’s one of my favorites. They’re like, right at that sweet spot between a classic and unique game catalog. We could make a day out of it.”

“Sounds great!” Stampy beamed.

The cat continued en route to his house, picking up snow along the way, when he noticed an avian fellow in a frog hat cleaning up as well. Shoveling all the snow in the Love Garden and using it to build snow-robins, touching up the farms, sweeping the paths, all completely unprompted.

Stampy approached her, which she quickly took note of and responded with a wave. When he got there, he gave her his signature introduction.

“Hello, my name is Stampy, and welcome to Stampy’s Lovely World! What’s your name?”

“My name’s Froggy Robin. I hope you don’t mind me tidying up the place a little, I figured this house could use a touch up.”

Stampy laughed. “Not only do I not mind, I appreciate it! Thank you, Ms. Robin, I think you’ve earned yourself a spot in the Love Garden.”

“Really?” Froggy gasped.

“Mmhmm! Here, I’ll go get the sign ready.”

Soon enough, a sign was placed, and on it, Froggy Robin’s name was inscribed.

“Does that look right?” asked Stampy.

Froggy flapped her winged arms in excitement. “It looks great! I’m honored.”

“I do hope you like it here in this town, because I’d love to have you stick around here. You seem very nice.”

“As do you! I’ll be sure to talk about you to my friends. Actually, wait, you should meet them! I could introduce you, they’d love to have you.”

Stampy gasped. “Wow! Seems like today is just my day, I guess. I’ve already met you and someone else, and now we’re meeting even more people, that’ll be loads of fun! Is now a good time for you?”

“It’s a perfect time,” she chirped.

“Right then, let’s head off! Lead the way, Froggy Robin!”

Froggy flapped her arms even faster and began floating, much to Stampy’s surprise. Her blue jeans waved in the wind, and her green frog bucket hat was fastened on tightly. Though Stampy lacked her ability to take to the skies, he followed close behind on foot.

By the shore, a redstone powered wheelchair was parked. The whole thing was painted pink and blue, with wheels designed to look like buoys and starfish stickers all over. It was covered with glitter and seashells and pearls, and a giant iridescent shell decoration functioned as the chair’s back. The handlebars on the back looked like enchanted tridents, and red flowers on vines were tied around the armrests.

“We’re closeby!” announced Froggy.

The two of them descended into the water, though Stampy only went in after a bout of hesitation. The water was very cold, much to the cat’s dismay. Froggy didn’t seem to mind. A small chunk of ice began fading into view, and upon it sat a penguin in a sun hat wearing tan cargo pants.

Stampy squinted. “Is that one of your friends?”

“Yup! That’s Rosie Penguin. She’s one of the two rulers of the ocean. Well, sort of. They don’t hold any sort of executive power anymore because of, well, I think we all know what happened last year.”

Stampy floated in place. “What happened last year?”

Froggy turned his way with a chilling look on her face. “Doomsday.”

For a moment, there was a somber silence.

Froggy smiled. “But we all try to look on the bright side anyway! I suppose the good news is that Rosie and Amy Lee are both alive and well, as am I. The ocean’s full of delicious fish, and the land is filled with beautiful flowers!”

They swam up to the iceberg and mounted it. Rosie began tossing rose petals in celebration, her little orange beak forming a big smile. Froggy picked up the petals and began throwing them as well, the two giggling about it. Deciding that it looked like fun, Stampy joined in as well.

“Who’s your friend?” inquired Rosie.

“Oh, that’s Stampy! He built a great house and added my name on a sign in his backyard.”

Rosie squinted. “You mean the one with the waterfall?”

Froggy jumped up. “Mmhmm! I was just over there cleaning up, and he found me building snowbirds with the snow piles.”

“Whoa!” Rosie exclaimed. “I’m in the presence of a master architect.”

Stampy chuckled. “Well, I try my best.”

The ocean water sloshed a little bit, and then a sparkly purple tail flapped above the surface, before crashing back down, creating a little splash of water to go along with it.

Stampy shrieked. “What was that?!”

“That’s Amy! I think she might have gotten another fish,” explained Froggy.

The cat’s ears perked up. “Fish? I love fish, they’re such a delicacy.”

Rosie spun around in a circle. “Me too! We were going to have some fish for breakfast, you can join us if you’re up for that.”

Stampy agreed to their proposal, despite having already had a slice of that leftover Christmas cake.

The water bubbled and waved for a short while, and out emerged a fair-skinned mermaid with side swept hair as pink as bubble gum. It was tied with seaweed into a low ponytail, and atop her head was a pastel princess crown spangled with flowers. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were ocean blue. She held a cod high up in the air, grasping onto it tightly to make sure it can’t escape. Rosie and Froggy both cheered.

Amy turned to Stampy, then back to the others. “Is he a new friend?”

“Yeah,” Froggy replied. “His name’s Stampy, he’s the one who made that big house with the garden.”

“Aw, that’s like, totally mental! Loves it. Also, your house looks super cool.”

“Thank you!” Stampy mewed.

The cod in Amy’s hand stopped moving. Rosie grabbed it and took a large bite.

Stampy leaned toward Rosie. “You like your fish raw as well?”

Rosie nodded. “There’s nothing better than the classics. According to me, at least. Though I will admit, Froggy’s onto something with her choice of toppings.”

Froggy pulled out a cooked salmon, marinated with honey and topped with sunflower seeds and garnishes. She set plates down for Stampy and Amy, with Amy’s on the edge of the ice block. Rosie set a cod on Stampy’s plate, and Amy placed a pile of dried kelp on hers.

“Shall we dig in, my love?” Rosie asked Amy.

“Of course, darling!” Amy smiled, picking up a small portion of kelp.

They ate well that morning.

“We’re like sea hippies,” Stampy joked, “wearing frog hats and throwing around flower petals and eating fish and kelp for breakfast.”

Froggy nodded. “We’re living that good life!”

Stampy laughed. “Cheers to that, Froggy.”

And when the meal was done, they all followed him back to the construction site.

Chapter Text

Just as Stampy thought the day couldn’t get any more unusual, he found himself being immediately greeted by his dog going absolutely buck wild, chasing Ank all around the beach.

“Benton!” shouted Stampy. “Benton, sit down!”

Benton did not listen. He kept sprinting around the beach, his matted black fur becoming covered in sand and snow.

“Over here, Benton! Benton, stop! Stop- sit! Sit down, boy!”

Benton bit Ank, who vanished on the spot, dropping paint buckets and pork chops and ladders and scaffolding.

“Oh Jesus Christ, Benton!”

Benton ran over to Stampy, excited at having won the interaction.

“Bad dog! Don’t do that! No pork chops for you, boy, you cannot bite my friends. Unbelievable. I thought you’d be better than this.”

Benton flipped on his back, hoping to get a belly rub.

“No, no belly rubs for you. You do not bite my helpers, understand?”

Benton ignored this and lied down, prompting Stampy to sigh in exhaustion. He turned over to his merry band of sea hippie friends to explain himself.

“Sorry about that, ladies, Benton’s one of my cheekier dogs. I’ve only had him for like, a week, so he’s still learning who’s a friend and who isn’t.”

Amy nodded. “I get that. I used to have a pet axolotl.”

“What’s an o-show-lot?”

“It’s a type of big aquatic salamander, and it has the most silliest little derp face! Loves it! Landfarers seem to like trying to pronounce its name phonetically, like ax-uh-lot-tull, so if you hear anyone talking about that, it’s the same thing. Now the thing about them you wouldn’t expect is that they’re really good at fighting! When I first got him, he wouldn’t stop trying to bite my other animal friends.”

Stampy leaned closer. “What happened to him?”

“Eaten by a heron. It was sad, but it was getting close to his time anyway. Rosie helped me through it, what a dear.”

Rosie blushed and smiled. Her face was as red as Froggy’s.

Clearing his throat, Stampy changed the subject. “Well, I think some introductions are in order. A few of my friends are here, everyone else is back at my house, we’ll visit them later. Now, my snowy friend over here is Henry, he’s a magic snowman who leaves trails of magic snow everywhere. He’s a bit shy, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate seeing you all.”

The trio of seafaring gals turned to Henry and gave their own individual introductions. As they did so, Stampy walked over to Cal, Craig, and the recently returned Ank and told them about his new friends, encouraging them to make introductions of their own as well.

As everyone assimilated together, Stampy began working on the igloo, having gathered enough snow to make a structurally sound emergency shelter. Eventually, they all started working on the lighthouse. Amy Lee painted the lower exterior in her wheelchair, Froggy flew up and painted the upper exterior, Craig installed the floors, Cal built the stairs, and Ank and Stampy painted the interior. It took all day, but they’d made a proper lighthouse.

Craig whistled. “Fine craftsmanship all around, folks.”

Stampy nodded. “Couldn’t have done it without Ank.”

Cal adjusted his tie. “So, Stampy, what are your plans for this thing’s interior?”

“I was thinking we could put a little art exhibit inside, but I’m not sure where we’d be able to find some fine art.”

Froggy flew over to him excitedly. “My fiancé makes fine art! He gives it away for free, he’d be happy to supply you with some.”

“How convenient!” Stampy mewed. “We could go there in the morning and get some paintings.”

“Well, you see, he’s… something of a night owl.”

“Ah! I see, in that case, we ought to get moving. Lead the way, Froggy!”

Froggy flew south, and Stampy followed close behind. The other helpers decided they should just head to bed, so they all went back to their homes. Save for Amy and Rosie, who spent the night in the emergency igloo.

Stampy and Froggy made their way across the bridge and continued south past his house, before stumbling upon a marvelous sight. There was a forest on the shore, and a river split the land they were on from that forest in a straight line.

They traveled through the forest as the sun began to set. Winds grew colder, and the buzzing of fireflies and crickets echoed through the trees. Leaves and twigs snapped beneath the cat’s feet, and greenery rustled as the robin zoomed through the air.

Whenever Stampy saw a zombie, he drew his sword. Interestingly, the ones closest to the forest's edge had a tendency to attack, whereas the deeper he went, the more likely they were to flee. One zombie even offered Stampy a potato, which he graciously accepted, placing his sword back from whence it came and stowing the potato in his inventory.

“I thought all the googlies hated me,” Stampy ruminated. “I was told they all believed that I had something to do with the plague.”

“Everyone’s different,” replied Froggy. “Not everyone fits in the same box. I’ve met zomblets who love the curse, skeletons who hate the curse, zombies who actively fight the instinct to infect Amy, undead who wear hats to go out in the day like they used to… it’s a beautiful world full of different people, and I love that.”

Stampy looked around. There was campfire smoke somewhere, and he heard a chorus of voices singing a folk song while a backing guitar played the chords. From another direction, he watched an arrow zip right past him. He grabbed the potato out from his inventory again, stared at it, then put it back.

“Maybe I should take a page out of your book. You’ve lasted this long with all your peace, love, and hippie power.”

Froggy’s yellow beak formed something of a smile. “It’s good to have an open mind.”

Right up ahead was a great spruce tree, tall as a mountain, with lanterns hanging from its pines. Beneath it was a gallery display of dozens of paintings, collages, and miscellaneous artwork. In the center was a stump where a skeleton in a beret sat, painting a sunset upon a canvas. His hair was strawberry blonde and their bones were painted with iridescent paint that glowed in the moonlight. He wore a messy smock, and beside him was an ender chest that murmured static sounds ambiently.

There was a signpost nearby, written in glow ink.

Craztol Robin’s Art Emporium

Free Artwork

Requests Closed

Stampy stepped back nervously, his eyes darting to Craztol, then back to Froggy.

“That’s your fiancé?” whispered Stampy, with the slightest tremble in his voice.

Froggy nodded. “He was my husband, but death did us part. Now that he’s back, I’m… not that clear on whether or not we’re still technically married. I just call him my fiancé to avoid misnomers.”

Craztol overheard the whispers and looked up from his project. Upon realizing who had arrived at his booth, he got up from his seat and went up to her right away.

“Froggy, my darling angel, welcome back!”

“Hi Craz!” Froggy joyously flapped her arms.

Stampy smiled awkwardly. “Hello, Mr. Robin, my- my name is Stampy Cat, and I’ve been… I have been told you have fine art?”

Craztol turned to Stampy. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Nevertheless, browse away!”

Tension began to alleviate from his body, and Stampy’s tail began to sway. He started examining one of the first paintings he laid eyes upon.

A warm yet faded sunset tinged the sky with salmon and tangerine hues, and floating solemnly across this sky were clouds as pink and fluffy as cotton candy- fairy floss, as Stampy called it. There was a yellowish hint to the carefully snipped grass upon which a figure sat, knelt on their knees, tending to a garden. Brown boots. Blue denim overalls. Green gingham check shirt. They appeared aged, but not elderly. Their skin was a warm beige, and their hair was an even lighter blonde, shaggy and short, side swept and unkempt. Two horns protruded from their skull, pierced by wilting green vines with thorns leaving scratches upon them. Their ears, long and pointy, were perked up. Notably, they were the only part of the body left unrotted.

A black rose, positioned on the bottom right of the work, leaned toward the figure, who leaned inward to the rose as well. Its right palm was level with the grass, out of which dead roots sprouted, chaining the arm to the earth. The skin of the arm lost its color and decayed, withering away. The hand was completely black, and tar oozed out of it. Water sprinkled out of a watering can held by the right hand, which was also withered, but less so. Cracks were visible in the raised arm, and some fragments of skin were missing. On the figure’s face, there was a small hole, just big enough to see through, near the mouth. It did not link with any existing orifice. Small black freckles were scattered all over the skin, but they were abundant on the face. And on that face rested the faintest smile.

In the bottom left corner, there was something written in tall, thin white letters:

hospice kills

but i refuse

to let anything stand

between my loving arms

and my baby girl

Stampy turned to Craztol, who was watching over his shoulder. He pointed to the painting he had just finished staring at.

“What’s this one called?”

Craztol pointed to a small wooden plank, with an inscription burned onto it in an elegant serif style.

Harper, 2010

Chapter Text

Somewhere, someplace, on a server on the Local Area Network, a vagabond named William Beaver farmed carrots.

Floating in the sky was a plot of land he cultivated all on his own. On a technical level, it was an impressive feat, but there was something of a drought in the creativity department. His farms were functional, but garish. His house was convenient, but generic. His builds were passable, but uninspired.

Gathering materials is easy. Building the structure itself is easy. The hard part is coming up with the actual build itself. It’s always too big or too small, there’s too much or too little empty space, it’s either a boring box or an asymmetrical mess, unless he directly copies from someone else's blueprints. His favorite farm, his carrot farm, had an optimized design engineered by the greatest carrot farmer on the whole server. His other farms were woefully inefficient in comparison, usually prompting him to buy food when he couldn’t get adequate results.

None of that stopped him from labeling himself as a designer. Because he was a designer, just not in that way.

William Beaver. Fashionista. Grand Champion of Live Arcade’s Fast Fashion leaderboard, under his iconic alias, billythebeaver. Trendsetter, tailor, carrier of newbies in the Teams mode.

Still, he didn’t desire an extravagant life. Spending his spare time on an economy server, living comfortably on the down-low, occasionally hiring tailors with his discretionary income to breathe life to his designs, that was paradise. By goodness was he living in his paradise.

Solitary? A little. But it’s never lonely in utopia. Not even in the dead of night.

William heard a ding, equally as present in both ears, coming from directly above him. There was no physical origin, it could not be heard by anyone else, but it was real as could be. It was a join notification. One of his friends must have come to visit.

He pulled out the server-exclusive Menu Ruby and opened one of its menus. The menu that appeared was an abstraction, like the inventory. He read the message log.

Your friend FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has joined the lobby!

Pleasantly surprised, he closed the menu and opened his party chat. Fizzy immediately began typing. 

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Hellooooooooo!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> All my friends are asleep but I am awake!

<billythebeaver> I can see that

<billythebeaver> Let me guess, you’re up for some games?

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Yes yes yes indeed! <]%)

<billythebeaver> Is that a party hat?

<billythebeaver> What is the celebration for

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Everyday's a celebration the way I see it <]%V

<billythebeaver> Well said

<billythebeaver> Well said indeed.

<billythebeaver> There should be more days where people wear silly hats.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> NEED

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> WE NEED TO MAKE THAT A THING

<billythebeaver> We are going to make that a thing for sure.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> !!!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> awesome awesome awesome awesooooooooome AWEMAZING EVEN

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> That is awesome plus amazing.

<billythebeaver> How about you pick the server this time

<billythebeaver> Which one should we play on

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> hrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmph

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> OK

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I think the council of Fizzy has come to a consensus!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Unanimous votes from its one member (me) declare…

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW <]%>

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> LIVE ARCADE FTWLIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> vLIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I’ll meet you there!

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTW

<billythebeaver> LIVE ARCADE FTWok

<billythebeaver> I’ll see you!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> And I will see youuuuuuuuuu there also!

William closed the menu, jubilant and joyful, as he jumped around in a sporadic circular motion. There was, however, one quick thing he had to do before heading to Live Arcade; pick an outfit.

It didn’t take long for him to decide. Brown comfy shoes. Long beige pants. Limited edition Live Arcade collectors belt. White button-up V neck. Dark ashy brown blazer.

Aesthetically, it was perfect, but as he looked in the mirror, he realized there was something missing from this outfit.

Silly hat. He needed a hat that was very silly. He rummaged through his drawers and found a multicolored rainbow squid hat with big eyes and long tentacles. He put it on and marveled at it for a moment.

Peak fashion achieved, he put the port and address into a different, non-ruby related menu for vagabonds, and arrived in the queue.

The waiting room was a roofless, floorless area with a lime to green gradient skybox and big, white, shiny translucent ovals floated aimlessly like fish. There were fifteen doors, each directing to a different lobby.

Fizzy Elephant ran around and waved, shooting firework rockets as they did so. They wore a teal jumper over a purple and yellow polka-dotted shirt. No shoes, no socks. Their tusks were painted with nail polish in the colors of the rainbow.

“Hiiiiiiii William!!!” Fizzy beamed.

William waved in response. He wasn’t much of a talker.

“Let’s do lobby six! That’s how many letters are in the word beaver, as you probably know.”

They dashed through the door and arrived on the other side. The lobby had a glossy, retro-futurist look to it, and ambient drum & bass music played through the speakers. Reflections shone faintly on the black hexagonal tile floor, and a neon green glow emanated from the ridges separating one tile from another. The half walls were white, and translucent green windows resembling waves sat atop them. Small circle lights were all over the ceiling, and the ceiling itself had layers. It had dips in abstract shapes. There were green and purple streaks that changed width and crossed over one another, all patterned on a pearly white roof.  

There were fourteen elevated tiles encircling the spawn, upon which holographic 3D renders sat. Flatscreen monitors flush with the podiums displayed the title of each game. Fast Fashion was the third one alphabetically, so it sat to the left and slightly ahead. Fizzy and William touched the hologram and were immediately transported to the game, with thirty seconds left on the timer. There was an option for any mid-round arrivals to join, but there was less than a twelfth of the game time remaining, so they just waited for voting.

The aim of Fast Fashion is simple. Each round, a random theme is chosen. It could be an aesthetic, a color, an object, a concept, anything goes. You and seven other people get six minutes to construct an outfit using a catalog while staying under budget. The more wins you get, the higher your budget becomes. You can also customize the mannequin to better suit your outfit by changing the color, face, pose, body type, head type, et cetera. Once the six minutes are over, each person has to vote for one other design. Whoever gets the most votes wins the round.

The theme was rainbow. William voted for the one whose mannequin looked like a flamingo wearing a rainbow lei. Evidently, that one was a hit among the other voters, as it won first place.

Participants exchanged GGs, exchanging fist bumps, and were generally good samaritans all around. The thirty seconds of downtime passed in a flash, and the new theme was revealed.

Enderman

William usually regarded mannequin customizing as an afterthought, but for this theme, it was imperative that he get the mannequin to look like a proper Enderman. The moment he was warped to his tailor studio, he got to work. Being familiar with the UI of the catalog proved useful, as he managed to turn a generic base into a tall, lanky end creature in a matter of seconds. He even gave it double tipped pointed ears, a tail, and horns, which aren’t present in all Endermen but gave the form a unique touch.

The mistake many people make with this theme is trying to make dark-on-dark work without understanding how colors mesh together. Instead of the edgy Enderman they were hoping for, they end up with a design that only has two colors and minimal contrast.

William had a vision. His enderman had to stand out. The best way to do that? 80s fashion.

He selected a tank top with a cool sunset design. Blue, purple, and light pink. There was a black palm tree on the front. A neon pink, cyan, and white varsity jacket paired quite well with the top. Square neon shutter shades? Absolutely. Boots that reached the high knees, tacky leg warmers with geometric patterns, a scrunchie on their wrist, and an energetic pose made for a sight that was hard to forget.

Before he knew it, time was up, and he had to vote for one of seven contestants.

Fizzy’s was easy to spot. Theirs was a half-enderman half-elephant in a purple jumper, whose arms were covered in jingle bells for some reason. The rest of the designs were done by strangers, but he promised to remain unbiased.

On the far left was an emo enderman wearing black. Next to it was a nearly identical emo enderman wearing black. Another spot right was an overtly feminine pink enderman in a dress. There was a techno DJ enderman with a visor which he thought was pretty creative. Second to last one wasn’t an enderman at all, it was just some mannequin in a full body chicken costume. Finally, the last entry was a third emo enderman.

He voted for Fizzy’s, solely because the competition wasn’t nearly as interesting.

The results went up. In first place was William, with four votes. Second place was a stranger, with three votes. Third place was Fizzy, with one vote. Everyone else got zero votes.

GG’s were exchanged. Etiquette was well. The two kept playing until Fizzy got tired. Twas a good day.

Chapter Text

Target was dressed differently today.

Rather than the suit he’d grown so accustomed to wearing, Target sported a short-sleeved brown collared shirt, long brown pants, and a black apron. These articles were tightened and tied with vines and string, seeing as everything was slightly baggy on him due to his lack of skin. His new look caught Stampy so off guard, that he almost didn’t realize that Target was eating the last slice of Christmas cake.

Almost.

“I was saving that,” commented Stampy.

Target swallowed the bite he took, the slice seeming to vanish upon doing so. “For whom?”

“For me. That was going to be my breakfast.”

“Maybe you should have gotten here faster, then.”

Stampy nodded. “Perhaps, perhaps. Also, welcome back, by the way. In case you haven’t heard, I made a few new friends in your absence. They’re outside right now, have you had the chance to say hi and introduce yourself yet? I promise, they’re open-minded.”

“I know they’re open minded, I’ve known them for months.”

Target stood up on the tiled kitchen floor, being certain to push his chair in for added courtesy.

“Small world,” Stampy shrugged.

The two went out the door and into the Love Garden, where Rosie and Froggy sat on the ground and Amy sat in her pink wheelchair. Stampy wrote a few more names on Froggy’s sign, then admired the garden’s collection of names.

Crimson Azoth
ANK
Agent Cal
Squid

Longbow
Dan
Kyle
Nutrat

Stanta

Froggy Robin
Craztol Robin
Amy Lee the 33rd
Rosie Penguin

Hit The Target

“Oh!” Stampy exclaimed. “I just realized, under Santa’s sign, there’s someone I didn’t add. Here, I’ll just write it now.”

Agatha

“She’s a friendly creeper.”

Craig was quietly sniggering behind him. Stampy turned his way.

“What’s so funny?”

“You spelled Santa wrong.”

“I did? That’s odd, I don’t think I-”

Stampy squinted at the sign.

“Shit, you’re right,” Stampy whispered.

Cal and Ank ran up to Stampy, who acknowledged him with a little meow. The lad in the suit chuckled.

“Are you still up to go to Live Arcade?” asked Cal.

Stampy snapped his fingers. “Right, I almost forgot! Be sure to forward this to Longbow. Ank, Cal, Craig and I are all going to be out for the day. I’ve kept the itinerary light to make sure nobody gets overwhelmed. We’re adding wheelchair ramps around my house so Amy Lee can get around easier when she visits. As you all know, she doesn’t have legs, and pearling everywhere can be dangerous. Amy’s job is to test the ramps to make sure they’re up to code. Everyone else, divvy the tasks up amongst yourselves. If there’s an emergency, tell Longbow to contact us at Live Arcade. Thank you all for helping, and I will see you later. Bye!”

Ank, Cal, Craig, and Stampy disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Confused, Amy turned to Target. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Longbow.”

“Oh, he’s another one of Stampy’s friends,” replied Target. “He built a den by the water, he’s probably in there now. Here, I’ll go get him.”

Target swam down a water elevator and opened the hatch to Longbow’s den. Longbow was polishing a chain mail helmet, mask next to him on the floor, wearing a white tank top and black shorts. He was playing one of C418’s songs through four speakers on his oak wood floor. Most of his walls were furnished with oak planks as well, with the exception being the one by the entrance, which was dirt. The roof was made of dirt as well, and the only decorations to be found were a bed, some lanterns hanging on the wall, and a sign that read “Longbow’s Den”.

“Hey, so we-”

Longbow shrieked, jumped up and immediately shielded his face with his mask, before realizing that it was just Hit The Target. He lowered the mask and smiled awkwardly.

Target returned the gesture with an equally awkward smile. “Sorry, I forgot to knock first.”

“I didn’t even hear you come in. You’re a stealthy guy,” remarked Longbow.

“Thanks. Nice tunes you’ve got playing there.”

Longbow nodded. “Strad, by C418.”

“Fascinating. So, Stampy wants you to help us build wheelchair ramps for one of his friends.”

“Okay.”

“...so are you coming up?”

“Yeah,” Longbow nodded again. “Yeah, I’ll be right there, I just- I really need you to knock next time, I need to spiff myself up first.”

Target gave him a thumbs up. “You get to that then. I’ll be up by Stampy’s house.”

The girls were already hard at work. Rosie was moving the wood from Stampy’s chest to the crafting room. Amy was crafting it into planks. When Target returned, he offered to sand the wood for smoothness. Soon, Longbow and Froggy started installing the ramps themselves, and Amy began rigorous safety tests. With the five of them hard at work, they managed to complete the task extraordinarily fast, finishing just after a lunch break.

Stampy’s Lovely Home was now wheelchair accessible, meaning the helpers had the rest of the day to themselves.

“What now?” asked Longbow.

“Now we do whatever we please,” smiled Froggy. “I think I’m going to pay Craz another visit.”

Rosie nodded. “I’ll just take some R&R time.”

“I shall tend to the flowers,” Amy decreed.

“In that case,” Longbow started, “I’ll just go back to polishing my helmet. What’s your plan, Target?”

Hit The Target thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. Then it came to him with absolute clarity.

“I’ll take after you, Longbow, and make myself a proper place to live.”

“Best of luck to you then, chap.”

“And to you as well.”

Target searched the nearby area for an acceptable place to put his house, and decided to build atop one of the hills where a ramp was recently installed. He just hoped Stampy wouldn’t mind having neighbors.

The perimeter was lined with string, and the brick foundation was laid after brief planning. Living so close to the beach had its perks, one of which was that some of his kin exchanged bricks for his swords. Such an item had great use here, but he didn’t have enough on him to build an entire house out of. This prompted Target to brainstorm a little.

If there was one thing Stampy had in overabundance, it was cobblestone. Target figured he was doing something of a favor by taking some of it off his hands. He built his walls higher and higher, then lined the roof with spruce planks and added a few crenellations so he could have a good view from the top without falling over.

The sun set by the time the exterior was done. He heard the others coming back, so he ran over to Stampy’s entrance. Rosie and Amy were holding hands in the Love Garden, just chatting it up. Froggy was showing Craz his sign, which Craz found amusing.

“Hello, lovely ladies,” Stampy chirped. “Also Target. And Craztol. Hello to both of you as well.”

Target waved. “Hi, Stampy.”

“I’ve been inspired. Tomorrow, there will be another build. I haven’t even told the boys what I’m doing, I want you all to guess.”

Froggy piped up. “Are you planning on building a golf course, by any chance?”

Stampy was at a loss for words. He stammered for half a minute or so before confirming that yes, he was in fact planning on building a golf course. 

“Are you a psychic?” Craig joked. “Not even I would have guessed that. Live Arcade doesn’t even have a golf course.”

“I don’t think I’m a psychic,” Froggy began, “but there’s still a lot I don’t know about myself.”

The cat looked around his world to see the new ramps, but did a double take when he saw something else by his clubhouse.

“What is that? Did someone build a castle by my house?”

“Not a castle,” Target corrected. “That’s just my new place of residence. I built a house.”

“Why’d you put it so close to mine?” Stampy squinted at Target.

“Figured maybe you wanted neighbors?” Target shrugged.

Craig butted in. “He’s never had neighbors before. His whole life he’s lived in a mansion in the woods with his dad.”

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that?” Target retorted.

Stampy cut in. “Alright, for future reference, please check with me before you build anything in my town. I need to be sure it doesn’t overlap with my plans.”

Target gave Stampy a look. The same look he’d given him on the night he stormed off. Stampy could see in his eyes that his patience was thinning.

Stampy realized it wouldn’t be wise to push him any further. Perhaps the matter could be worked out tomorrow, or next week, or some other time, but not tonight. With that, he bid Target adieu for the night and went into his house to sleep, only to find Target following close behind.

“Why’re you following me?” inquired Stampy.

“My bed’s in here,” said Target, with a blunt intonation.

Target put his bed into his inventory and gave Stampy a peace sign, though that same look faintly persisted upon his face. They exchanged goodnights and went to their own rooms to sleep.

As Stampy lied down, he looked back on everything that had happened in the past two some-odd weeks. He looked back on Froggy’s words to him, and found that yes, those are good values to have. But as he traversed deeper into thought, he started to extract something else from her words as well.

That mysterious someone, that person he knew from somewhere but didn’t know exactly where, said something to him. He didn’t remember what they looked like or what they sounded like, but the words were there.

“There’s always a catch.”

His inclination was to trust. It’s always been to trust. But that friend was right, this world did come with a caveat. Being “open” means paying mind information that doesn’t align with your preconceptions.

Perhaps Phorjay’s words held more weight than he’d anticipated.

Chapter Text

Stampy woke up in a familiar place. Garbles of glimmering violet specks dispersed all throughout the inky sky above, and white noise passed him by like a spring day’s wind. He was on a small island of creamy yellow rock, rough as sandpaper and dull as an abandoned piano in a forest, untouched for centuries and claimed by nature’s long arms.

Standing in front of the castle was an equally familiar ramlet, donning his same signature blue robe. However, there was something different about him. It was something in-

“My eyes,” he began. “I can sense your curiosity. I see no harm in giving you a rundown of how the last two weeks have gone for me, if you’re interested.”

Stampy nodded. “I am interested. Please tell.”

“I have begun my metamorphosis. This form I take is not indicative of my values. Lamblets and ramlets are blinded by their love and hatred of religion respectively. I see myself as neither of those things. I am not Phorjay the illusioner ramlet. I am Phorjay, keeper of the End. Phorjay, holder of legends. Phorjay, creature unmoved by the influence of any God.”

The cat listened intently, not saying a word.

“I will soon become a great dragon, like the ones in ancient legends long before my time. They say a dragon known as Jean, whose only God was her own mind, watched over the End many years ago, with an heir fated to inhabit the overworld. This tale is not a prophecy, and even if it is, I don’t believe in prophecies anyway so it doesn’t matter. I only chose a dragon as my desired form because I felt inclined to pay homage to the tale, and so far? I am making good progress on my transformation. It has already taken effect on my eyes.”

His eyes looked like newly lit portals to the Nether. Their pulsing purple glow made his robe appear darker.

“Why’d you bring me here?” asked Stampy.

“I sensed an uneasiness. I wanted to quell it with another, much smaller gift.”

Stampy gasped. “More gifts already? Phorjay, you’re so generous!”

“Think of it as a late Christmas gift. From me to you. Don’t get me anything, though, I don’t celebrate.”

“Is it wrapped? Where is it?”

Phorjay laughed. “No, Stampy. I gave it to you when you went in here. It is an abstraction. Look without seeing, and you will find it.”

A new menu appeared before him and him alone, in an audiovisual language he alone could perceive. The UI would be labyrinthian to anyone else in the world, but it was navigable to Stampy, and that’s what mattered. There was a header above it, denoting the menu’s purpose.

“Whoa,” Stampy gasped. “What are ‘Operator Settings’? What do they do?”

“Think of them as quality of life tweaks. Let’s imagine that someone is being creepy, annoying, or just a general nuisance. There’s an option in this menu to ‘mute’ them, or take away their ability to speak. You can mute them for as long as you’d like, then unmute them if you so desire. Essentially, you-”

For a couple seconds, Phorjay was speaking, but only air came out. He caught onto this immediately afterward and unmuted himself.

“Nice try, but I’m an operator too,” Phorjay grinned. “You can’t mute me, not for long anyway.”

Stampy nodded, and a little giggle escaped his mouth.

“I see you’re feeling more at ease already. Are there any other things you would like to know, or are you ready for me to return you to your slumber?”

“Actually,” began Stampy, “there is one thing.”

Phorjay sat on the buttermilk stone of his island, hooves on his lap and ears perked at attention. An inquisitive expression sat upon his face, beckoning Stampy to share what he has been wondering.

“What happened to the other mermaids?”

The luster in Phorjay’s eyes dulled. His wise and collected disposition turned somber, and it felt as if the whole end turned slightly grayer with it. The sky quieted. Time seemed to move slower. The other islands almost appeared to stray farther away, and the two of them sat on this floating rock above the great chasm of the void, both acknowledging the cry of a cosmic pain sewed deep in the veins of the world. 

“You recall the curse, yes?”

Stampy nodded gingerly.

“The plague was a horrible way to die. If you haven’t remedied the infection and your body shuts down in your homeworld, it roots itself in your brain and feasts on your body’s nutrients. Good news is, by this point you’re already supposed to be dead, so the parasite shouldn’t be able to feast on other people’s brains using your rotting corpse. Bad news, there just so happens to be a death-defying curse attached to this world.

“The host can try as it may to resist its symbiotic partner’s wishes, but some people simply have more restraint than others. Like all plagues, it grew in exponents. I’m sure you’ve heard of the last living mermaid, Amy Lee, the 33rd and final generation of aquatic royalty. She brought peace and prosperity to the ocean with her philosophy of peace, love, roses, and emo music. Sadly, she happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

“She wasn’t a monarch fit to lead a war. Her efforts for peace had no effect on the plague-infected mermaids, bit by zombies and infected with their disease. The surviving mermaids did everything in their power to protect Amy and her beloved wife, the former of whom soon realized the necessity of shades of gray in her philosophy. Her subjects dwindled and dwindled down to nothing.

“Now she is forced to flee from these… ‘googlies’, as you call them, fearing they may bring her people to extinction. It is a scary life to live, constantly running from an omnipresent threat, but she has taken it better than most. She scours the sea for kelp, learns of culture on the land, plants flowers, and… hopes with all the hope in her heart that the plague’s cure truly is being developed.”

The static returned. Stampy stared a thousand yards into Phorjay’s aubergine eyes, haunted by the knowledge befalling him.

“She just wanted peace,” the cat whispered, “but the zombies couldn’t go against their nature?”

Phorjay nodded disappointedly.

“...but that can’t be all googlies. I’ve seen friendly googlies all over this world! You said some had more restraint than others. If they really wanted to, can they just fight it?”

Nothing was said.

“They… can fight it, right?”

…

“Right?”

Chapter Text

In a cold sweat, Stampy leapt from his bed. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but the sun was rising, which was a good sign. At the very least, he estimated seven hours. Birds were chirping. There were few crickets. The frogs seemed to be out and about, as per usual, and the goats were starting to rise up from their slumber once more.

He gazed out into the sky from his balcony. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the brick and cobble “place of residence” Target had built for himself was in the process of being decked out with LEDs.

“That’s light pollution,” muttered Stampy. “He can’t do that, he’ll ruin the view of the stars.”

Stampy put his vest on and began running up to the clubhouse to investigate, but was swiftly distracted by the smell of rising cake batter. He elected to investigate that instead.

In the newly-furnished kitchen, Craig was baking a cake with the help of Longbow. An empty pack of chocolate creme sandwich cookies sat on the counter. While Craig was stirring, Longbow acknowledged Stampy with a little wave. Courteously, Stampy waved back.

“Is this… cookies and cream cake, by chance?” asked Stampy, knowing very well that it was.

Craig gave him a thumbs up. “Mmhmm. Don’t eat it all in one go, I need to make sure there’s enough for everyone tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

Longbow piped up immediately. “New Year’s 2012! Craig and I are making a celebratory cake.”

“Already?” sputtered Stampy.

Longbow fluffed his hair. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess.”

The three of them engaged in a quick conversation about nothing in particular, then Stampy went out into the Love Garden to see if Amy and Rosie were out there. Which they weren’t, but in their place sat a familiar face.

“Agatha, you’re back!”

The joyful feeling seemed to be mutual, as Agatha greeted him with great enthusiasm.

“Is-sss that my sss-sign in the garden?” Agatha hissed.

Enthusiastically, Stampy nodded. “I meant to add you sooner, I just couldn’t find the time.”

“This-sss is-sss wonderful! I love it sss-so much, thank you!”

“Aw, you’re welcome.”

Agatha jumped around before running off to wherever she usually hung out. Out of respect for her privacy, Stampy never bothered to follow her back.

He caught another glimpse of Target’s house. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made for those lights to just be New Years decorations. Still, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to see if it’s up to code. Stampy ventured up the ramp and knocked on Target’s door.

It creaked open, seemingly on its own. Stampy was met with a barren, gray living room, with cobblestone floors and torches in gothic looking candleholders. To his right was a row of furnaces and a long workbench, which he assumed also doubled as a dining table. There was a single red mushroom in a flower pot sitting upon this bench, otherwise it was barren. In front of the furnace row was a staircase leading to the castle’s roof.

He peeked into the furnaces and found that Target had already gone through the coal pieces he’d gotten for Christmas. 

To his left, there was an unoccupied raised platform, perhaps there were unfinished plans to use that area for something. There was another much thinner raised platform, but he spotted a ladder leading down to the basement. Seeing as he was already in the house, he thought it would be a good idea to explore further, so he carefully descended the rickety ladder.

On the left was the exit. He peeked through the backyard and saw Target’s dogs sitting down in kennels, situated in a small garage area. Both of them were asleep. Stampy began questioning the ethics of Target’s style of dog-raising, before abandoning the topic to see the rest of the house.

There was a spiral staircase leading down to the depths of his home. The walls were lined with torches and swords, with each sword sporting a miniature plaque. Stampy tried reading what the labels said to no avail. A small dining area sat on an elevated platform, with two wooden chairs, a wooden table, and a mess of paper napkins. It seemed like a bit of an odd place to put a dining room, but he supposed it was up to personal preference.

Stampy finished his descent down the stairs and was met with a smooth stone floor. Much larger signs denoted the three doorless rooms carved out in the mountain. The closest of which was the one on the right, whose sign he could just about make out.

“...armory?”

What’s he need an armory for?!

Stampy dashed inside and began investigating. There were three chests, and the walls were lined with more swords than the walls leading down here. He peeked inside the chests and found they were overflowing with stone swords. All three of them. He estimated that there were at least fifty in each one.

On the other side was a room with a door. Beside it was a framed picture of two long-eared men, one riding a horse and the other feeding it an apple. The man on the horse had an olive complexion and short black hair, with two horns protruding out of their head. The one with the apple had more of a deep tan complexion and dark brown hair, but lacked the former’s horns. He was wearing red and he had hair that dropped just below his shoulders. They both looked rather young.

They both looked rather familiar as well.

There was no sign denoting the room’s purpose, so Stampy just snuck in through the door. To his surprise, the room was fully furnished with wood floors and everything. The walls were painted wine red, and there was a lamp made of a copper bulb and blackstone sitting on a wooden desk. The ceiling was painted black, and there was a spiderweb pattern that Stampy assumed was just painted on as well. 

In the walls, there were long, wide book cubbies with a number of books inside. Books about fungus. Books about stones. Books about swords. Books about dogs. Books about moss. Books about…

Advanced haircare? Who buys a whole book about advanced haircare? Shrugging it off, Stampy continued looking around. 

He had a dresser and a desk and many chests and shelves. In the middle of his room, touching the back wall, was his bed. Red sheets. Carvings on the wood. A painting of an arrow on the wall above.

Target was in that very bed, fast asleep. He had to have been working on this all night.

Attempting to remain silent, he inspected the contents of his chests. One had over five dozen pieces of iron dispersed randomly within it, with sticks and flint and handmade arrows haphazardly thrown inside as well. A couple flimsy axes held together with vines. Cacti. Seeds. Pieces of gravel.

Wasn’t a very organized chest.

Another was filled with dog toys and fifty something feathers. A jar of redstone dust rested on a shelf just above it.

The more he thought about it, the more he began to question if Target acquired these items through legitimate means. Perhaps this was more insidious than he previously thought.

There’s no way he mined all this himself. Has he been stealing my stuff?

I mean, it’s not out of the question. He did seem to enjoy helping himself to my cake. 

Suddenly, there was a sensation in his gut. The orange cat stepped back, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be snooping around here. There was another room he was yet to explore, but he decided it was none of his business. He tiptoed up the steps and ran out the door.

Above all, he was glad he didn’t accidentally wake Target’s dogs.

Chapter Text

Stampy’s to-do list for the day was remarkably small. All he had to do was move the Christmas decorations out of the clubhouse and walk his dogs, both of which he did in less than three hours total. The rest of the day was his to seize.

He decided that it’d be a nice day to start on the golf course.

After dropping off the rest of his dogs back in their doghouse, he took Barnaby with him into new, uncharted territory. He wanted a level area for his golf course, he’d had enough of demolishing mountains and terraforming. Luckily, he found a good spot within ten minutes of searching.

“Well, boy, do you think this is a good spot to start building the golf course?”

Barnaby woofed in approval.

“I do too! Let’s get going.”

Stampy lined the perimeter of the course with wood and hedges. Periodically, Stampy would throw a tennis ball to the other side of the course and have Barnaby fetch it. He’d suffered enough casualties as is, he didn’t need his favorite dog dying of boredom.

His first hole was simple enough. Noob Alley. A couple slabs and a place for your ball to fall in. Par two. During his practice run, Barnaby kept getting in the way trying to get the golf ball.

The second hole was also quite simple. He called this one The Dip. There were three obstacles and the titular dip, but it was easily achievable in two swings.

The third hole was an interesting one. He built a small model doghouse that you had to hit the ball through. The hole, of course, was called Doghouse, and his plan was to have Gregory Jr. guard it. It was a fun one.

The fourth hole was the most complicated one to build. Cobblestone Castle. It involved some basic redstone, and Stampy was so proud of himself when he got it to function. One has to time their swings in order for it to actually go through. Par three.

His final course for the day was hole five, as he’d run out of ideas for new holes. This hole was themed around the Nether. Par three as well.

“Now, Barnaby, the plan is to have eight courses. I’m still trying to figure out what to do for the last three, so they’ll all have to wait.”

Barnaby panted excitedly.

“I think we ought to get going. Sun might start setting soon. I don’t want to risk you getting mauled by a googlie.”

Barking enthusiastically, Barnaby followed Stampy back home, where a familiar lamblet awaited them in the Love Garden.

“Breadstick!” called Stampy. “Welcome back!”

“Oh, I never left,” corrected Breadstick. “I’ve just been invisible for the past 3 days. You should’ve seen the looks on everyone’s faces when the ramps started building themselves!”

Stampy snickered to himself after he pictured it in his head.

“So, New Years, eh? I heard you’re having a party.” smirked Breadstick.

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like!”

“You’ll see me there then,” Breadstick assured.

Stampy piped up. “One more thing, would you like to be added to the Love Garden?”

“This place here with the signs? That would be nice.”

The cat grabbed his pencil and scribbled a name underneath Stanta and Agatha.

Breadstick

The lamblet smiled before taking a swig from his invisibility potion and disappearing into the air. Stampy assumed that the lad ran off as well, so he returned Barnaby to the doghouse and went inside. Craig and Target were talking in the kitchen, but they put their conversation on pause once they noticed Stampy walking in.

Stampy sat down to make some conversation. “Is it just me, or did today feel particularly short?”

“I think it’s just you, I felt like today was sufficiently long,” replied Craig.

“Went by pretty quick for me, but I think that’s just because I woke up like, what, two some odd hours ago?” Target shrugged.

Crickets chirped, frogs croaked. The low hum of redstone machinery decorated the air, with its bassy and ambient frequency lying just on the cusp of audibility. A warm orange glow seeped through the windows in nearby hallways.

“You must’ve been up pretty late then,” Stampy remarked.

Target adjusted his hat. “I was, I absolutely was. Spent the whole night decorating my house, and I’m still not done.”

“Judging from the outside, I assume it’s decorated for New Years?”

“Quite the contrary. I’m not even going to be there for New Years. The others have a celebration planned in the forest, and I was invited to join in.”

Stampy gasped. “Could I come?”

“...you probably shouldn’t, they don’t like you very much.”

“Oh yeah,” sighed Stampy. “Right, right.”

The sky dimmed a little more.

Craig broke the silence. “Did you show him what you got at Live Arcade yet?”

Stampy jumped up. “Ah, I forgot to tell him! Target, check this out.”

After a bit of rummaging through his inventory, the cat pulled out a bronze and black film camera and placed it on a tripod. The device had a gold hued lens hood and a detachable strap for ease of use. Stampy pressed a button on the top and ran in front of the lens.

“It’s a camera! Look, Target, you’re on film!” beamed Stampy.

Target tilted his head. “Pardon?”

“Craig bought me this with his… uh, point coins or something. Tokens? I dunno, he just had a few spare ones he was willing to spend, but yeah. Neat, isn’t it?”

“And you said it’s on, right?”

“Yeah, it’s on. Here, I can put on an interview.”

Stampy ran behind the camera. Target centered himself in the frame.

“Craig, you’ve got to interview him,” instructed Stampy.

Craig walked into frame and took a stick out from his inventory. “Welcome to the Crimson Azoth show, today we will be interviewing resident weaponsmith Hit The Target. How are you doing tonight?”

Target lowered his shoulders. “Why’s it called the Crimson Azoth show?”

“Hey, I’m the interviewer, not you,” intoned Craig.

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, how have you been, Target?”

“I’ve been well, I just constructed a new house.”

“Could you take the time to address the allegations that your house is actually an evil castle fortress of doom?”

“No, because they’re categorically false. There’s nothing to address.”

Craig clicked his tongue. “Curious. Are there any interesting talents that skeletons have that the rest of us don’t?”

Target shrugged. “I mean, we can speak spider, I guess.”

“…‘spider’ as in the animal?”

Target proceeded to answer Craig’s query using a series of hisses and chirps that sounded nearly identical to the sounds made by the world’s giant spiders. The demonstration was met with applause from Stampy and a twinge of fear from Craig. No further questions were asked and the interview was abruptly concluded.

Craig was in bed within the next five minutes. Stampy and Target were seated in front of the television, watching videos on the Local Area Network’s catalog. The program was filmed in 4:3 with a home camera.

“Welcome back, I wanted to make a video showing off how to do some efficient vertical wiring, uh, both up and down.”

It was a redstone showcase, and the information section revealed that the person behind the camera was a man by the name of Seth Bling.

“So, uh, let me just jump in. The vertical wiring, I’ve known about for a while, uh, it’s really simple, you just have a shelf or a raised platform with a torch on top of it, and then another one above that one, so on and so forth. Each one acts as an inverter, so every two of them acts as a repeater.”

Stampy smiled and rolled his eyes. “It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language here.”

“That’s exactly why I only deal with copper wiring. None of this quasi-connectivity nonsense.”

“Plus, it’s more common, I’ve heard.”

Target leaned back. “Annoyingly common. Whenever I try mining stone, I come across it and I never know what to do with it.”

“Knowing you, I’d assume you’d make it into a sword or something.”

“Copper makes rubbish swords, they’re too soft to weld properly.”

Stampy turned back to the TV. “The more you know.”

He wasn’t sure when he nodded off, but when he woke back up, Target was gone.

Chapter Text

Water rushed through his bones, the bubble column propelling him up through a hole he’d dug in the ground. It was something of a rude awakening, but it was anything but unanticipated. The pearl stasis chamber continued to bubble as he bobbed up and down. He looked up and saw Jacques, holding a parasol in one hand and the sword he gave him for Christmas in the other.

Target climbed out of the water. “Hello again, Jacques.”

“Hey Target,” his friend replied, stowing the sword back in his inventory. “Your dogs are in the kennel, right?”

“Course. I can’t have them freaking out over the fireworks.”

“Cool beans.”

“I see you’re very excited for the party.”

Jacques gave a thumbs up with his unoccupied hand. “You know it! Kvynn’s gonna prepare the steak, how could I not be excited about that?”

Target glanced at the clearing ahead of him. It was decked out in decor to a degree he’d never seen in his life. Tables, chairs, a stage, a CD player hooked up to some sculk speakers, lights, buntings, and just about everything else a party could need.

“I hope this isn’t too early for you, mate.”

Target squeezed the water out of his hair. “Timing’s perfect, actually.”

“Nifty! I’m gonna go grab my horse now, I’ll be back.”

Jacques ran into the depths of the forest. Target smiled. Behind him, he heard rattling bones. He turned to find someone he knew when he was alive, dressed to the nines in the sparkliest tuxedo he’d ever laid his eyes upon.

“Feels like it’s been months,” the fabulous skeleton remarked.

“…Eiden, right?” Target inquired.

Eiden nodded. “You really know how to make a quality farming scythe, Hit.”

“I- well, thank you, first off. I appreciate that, but please just call me Target.”

“Right, okay,” replied Eiden, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve heard about what you’ve been up to.”

“In regards to moss farming?”

“You know I’m not talking about moss.”

Target sighed. “Okay, look, I know we have our differing viewpoints on… him.”

“Yeah,” sputtered Eiden, “that sure is a way of putting it!”

“And to a degree, I think you’re right. What… he did was beyond reprehensible.”

“NO FUCKING SHOT!” Eiden laughed, with a hint of rage behind it. “Gee, I wonder how you arrived at that conclusion?!”

“Stampy isn’t him though. I personally think that I’m not wrong for showing him kindness. You’re free to disagree. Feel however you want to feel, do whatever you want to do, those are just my personal thoughts.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? Stampy Cat? As in, the heir?”

Target stood taller. “You’re saying that as if he was there when we were hit by the plague!”

“And you’re saying that as if you weren’t!”

Eiden felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Jacques behind him.

“Please keep the party drama-free,” instructed Jacques.

Eiden rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever, I’ll just shut up then, instead of saying what everyone else was already thinking.”

Jacques returned to his horse-retrieving route. Eiden turned Target’s direction, only to find he’d left the area completely.

“Typical,” Eiden muttered.

Meanwhile, trotting farther away from the clearing, Target decided to stop by Craztol’s stand. Seeing as he wasn’t at the party yet, he thought he’d be likely to see him asleep at his little emporium.

Just as anticipated, he was. Craz, however, was not the type to let such frivolous things as sleeping stop him from distributing paintings and other works of art, so he just put some of his less valued ones up on display, with little labels beneath them each reading “TAKE ONE”.

Target chose to take the painting of a skeleton surrounded by a swarm of adorable puppies. Perhaps he could hang it up when he got home. 

As he sat down on the grass to clear his mind, he realized how little attention he’d paid to this section of the land lately. His old tree was farther up north, and he wasn’t usually one to pick up paintings. The quiet trill of afternoon bird calls, the light breeze rustling the leaves, and the faint dewdrops still present on the grass were serendipitous.

There used to be berry bushes here.

Miraculin berries, or sweet berries, as they were, flourished in fields and forests. The red ellipsoidal fruit that sprouted from the bushes turned sour foods sweet. They grew in abundance, there were next to no instances of starvation due to the sheer amount of bushes there were.

At least, not until he arrived, incurring his wrath upon them with his plagues and disasters. Just like their houses, the berry fields vanished without a trace. Some evenings, farmers would try to replant them, but by morning, the bushes were nowhere to be found.

Despite preferring savory over sweet, he couldn’t stop himself from yearning. Yearning for the taste of these berries again. He sighed and whispered to himself in the tongue of spiders.

“When will they learn? Firing arrows at the middleman won’t bring our berries back.”

A breeze passed through him, flowing through his hair toward the direction of the party. Target took this as a sign and followed the whims of the breeze.

The party was considerably larger now. Jacques was sitting atop his taxidermied horse. Kvynn was sitting at a table, talking it up with a stranger. Eiden was present somewhere in a small crowd. Many others were around. Ximena. Siekit. Artic. Kyra. Binzerlu. Children, both zombies and skeletons, were playing joyfully together.

One such child was sitting at a table, drawing a picture with crayons. Target peeked at the work. It was a mini golf course themed around mushrooms.

Target smiled. “Cool artwork.”

“Thanks!” the child beamed. “It’s an idea for a new hole in Stampy’s Crazy Golf course. I heard he was building one so I checked it out, and it was super amaze-sauce!”

“I actually know the guy, I think he’d like to see this.”

The child gasped. “You do?”

“Course I do. I can give it to him if you’d like.”

The kid jumped up, ran around a little, then sat back down to write some text on his drawing. Once he was done, he signed his surname.

Littlewood

Littlewood handed Target the drawing, and Target promptly put it in his inventory. The kid ran off without a care in the world.

He knew of the kid’s parents. Whole family died in a ramlet siege, long before plagues were involved. It just so happened that one of the attackers was the apocalypse-bringer himself, and by the nature of the curse, the kid was counted as one of his casualties.

Poor kid. Waking up from his eternal slumber to find the world he knew, not just gone, but full of unjustified hatred. How the little skeleton managed to retain his innocence was beyond Target for sure, but it gave him hope.

A peaceful tune was playing. It was difficult to hear the music over all the conversation, but he tried his best.

Afternoon turned to sunset. Many more attendees joined the festivities, some of whom weren’t even zombies or skeletons. Craztol invited Froggy, and the two were dancing elegantly. Some endermen arrived earlier than anticipated. A few zomblets were kind enough to forgive those who spread the parasites their way, and they celebrated among their zombified kin.

Kvynn was grilling steaks. Others were preparing and drinking wine. Many foods were harvested, others were bartered through varied sources. Though the undead were not required to eat to live, the taste was still to be desired. Besides, it was tradition. 

Tables were moved to the center of the clearing. More undead popped up. Parasols were closed. Hats were taken off. Endermen began appearing behind partygoers. Foodstuffs rested atop the tables. Drinks were poured.

The feast was about to begin.

Chapter Text

Indistinct clamor accumulated across tables. They spoke of life and death and resolutions for the new year. Of times, good and bad, they had experienced during their time in the world. Of the horrors of plague and the value of community. The sun kissed the horizon as it set.

Target said nothing. He simply sat, and Jacques sat next to him.

The sound of footsteps in the grass caused the conversations to die down to a whisper. Approaching them was a skeleton in ultraviolet face paint, with split-dyed hair tied up into a bun. They wore a deep brown leather jacket bedazzled with sequins and a translucent blue top through which their rib cage could be seen. On their face, they donned a ghost scarf, and they had accessorized their jeans to a great degree.

Kvynn ushered in the steaks, then sat at the head of the center table. Everybody turned to them.

“Before we begin,” Kvynn announced, “I’d like to say a few words.

“It’s been tradition for me to give a small speech every year. A speech about the past, about the present, and above all, about the future to come. I would talk for a while, everyone would give a round of applause, and we’d all dig in. As much as I’d like to continue this tradition as if we’ve gone through yet another normal year, this year has been anything but normal. I would go as far as to say that these past two years have been incomparable to anything any of us have ever experienced in our lifetimes. There’s nothing that I can say about what we’ve been put through that doesn’t diminish its impact. But… I can express the way it’s affected me.

“I became acquainted with the art of grilling because I loved the thought of creating something that everyone could enjoy together. Food is this world’s universal language, and- and the idea that I could just… take something I put my heart and soul into and share it with the world? I wanted to be able to do that for the rest of my life. Every chance I had, I made something to the best of my ability. I’d cook and grill and season to perfection, it was a wonderful life to lead. And every year, I’d grill steak for the New Years celebration and think to myself, what a wonderful year it’s been, and I’d put all my struggles behind me and feel accomplished.

“I did not fall sick to his plague. I met my demise in a windstorm. I had no shelter. A tree fell on top of me and killed me instantly. But I was dead long before the log toppled. Our foliage began wilting. Our berries disappeared. My herbs and spices, my pans and mitts, my ovens and grills… I woke up one day and all of it was gone. When bodies began to drop, quarantines were implemented. I couldn’t share my food, and even if I could, nobody trusted anybody. There was simply no way to distinguish sick from well, not yet at least. By the time we discovered what the symptoms were, it was too late. Regardless of whether or not we were quarantined, we were all fated to catch it. I tried my hardest to isolate myself, because I didn’t want to taint my own food with disease.

“He’s not going to get the grace of anonymity. Phorjay killed me. He killed me, and I remember exactly where I was standing when I died. It was right by the river. I was fishing, and I caught a single fish. And I stared at it as it flopped around in my arms, and I realized something. There wasn’t a practical reason for me to keep fishing because I only had one mouth to feed. Somewhere between that point and the fifteen minutes it took to cook the fish on a campfire, I… that’s when I died. It was the quickest meal I’d cooked in years, and it tasted so unfinished that I started to doubt I’d eaten anything at all. There wasn’t any passion baked in it. It just tasted like burnt fish.

“Every effort we made to rebuild our villages led to the same result. Phorjay wiped our homes off the soil by the next morning and left no trace of our work. It was pointless to build shelters that weren’t able to be taken down and stored within five minutes, because unless your whole house fits in your inventory, it won’t last. There was no way for me to defend myself against the winds, so I just stood outside. I heard a crack, and I just… felt this sea of dread, and I was drowning in it. This wasn’t my time. I had a family, my friends, a village to feed and people to care for. At the very least, I thought I’d be able to make it to New Years. I didn’t know how it would work, but I knew it had to happen. We weren’t going to let him stop our celebration.

“And… we didn’t. Some call it a blessing. We defied Phorjay’s goal of being rid of us. We walk reanimated, here today, all gathered round the tables. That dread I felt has long since subsided. We’re in the dawn of a new age, and… I have never been more delighted in my life… that I would- that I’d be able to cook a steak for you all on New Years. I thought I’d never be able to do it again.

“But this year isn’t about me, and it would be in bad taste to end the speech here. All of us have stories meant to be shared, which is why I will be passing this next segment onto the party’s guests. If any of you feel comfortable sharing, please feel free.”

Whispers echoed throughout the table. A zombie stood high.

“I wanted to nurse the unwell. I contracted the plague in the process.”

A skeleton.

“When I was little, I used to love lounging around on the beach, soaking in the sun. I can’t do that anymore.”

Jacques.

“I remember when we had horses.”

A zombified lamblet.

“I can’t even look at my own brother without feeling hungry. I feel horrible.”

Another skeleton.

“I don’t even know anyone here. I died thirty years ago, and I was long past the point of accepting that fact. Now I’m back, and… frankly, I don’t know what I’m even supposed to do.”

Eiden.

“Phorjay took everything from me.”

A second zombie.

“I used to be a vagabond. He took away my ability to travel. When the plague hit, I couldn’t leave.”

Craztol.

“I’ve had people tell me that my paintings of them are the only reason they haven’t forgotten what they used to look like.”

Anecdotes cycled across tables until the steak stopped steaming. The undead and all their living friends began serving themselves portions. Steak, carrots, potatoes, stew, melons, pork, bread, and many flavors of wine were available.

Resolutions were shared, many of which involved sneaking into the nether to escape Phorjay’s influence. Build houses in the nether. Study fungus in the nether. Make six new friends in the nether. Grow nether crops, mine nether quartz, barter more, half of the resolutions involved the nether in some capacity.

“It almost feels isolating,” whispered Target.

“What feels isolating?” Jacques whispered back.

Target sighed. “They’re all just… going to give up on this world.”

“I mean… yeah, what choice do they have?”

“Cooperate with Stampy?”

Jacques turned to face his steak.

Chapter Text

Dance pop music blared out of the speakers as midnight drew closer. Party lights were flashing in bright neon tones, and someone was preparing fireworks in the distance.

Truth be told, Target wasn’t very fond of the music, but he danced anyway. People sang along and queued their requests. A handful of the attendees were downing more alcohol than they could handle and making complete and utter fools of themselves in front of everyone. The sight was hilarious.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Target turned around and saw a zombie whose ears were charred at their tips. It didn’t take long for him to recognize them as someone he knew when he was alive.

“Ximena, was it?”

The zombie nodded. “And you must be Hit The Target.”

“Spot on,” the skeleton replied. “Has freelance been doing you well?”

Ximena laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one there mate. Haven’t had a client in seven months. Remember when ‘redstone technician’ was a leading job title? How the times have changed, am I right or am I right?”

“You’re very right, yes,” replied Target, matter-of-factly.

“This year’s gonna be different though.”

Target tilted his head in curiosity.

“That Stampy Cat guy… being nice to him seemed to work out well enough for you, and frankly? A client’s a client, maybe I could do some trimming around the hedge’s edges. Compact some contraptions, y’know?”

“Worth a shot,” remarked Target.

Ximena nodded. “I think I’m gonna head over there now.”

“Now? But you’ll miss the countdown!”

“Eh,” shrugged Ximena. “I wasn’t even invited to this thing anyway.”

Ximena’s reply disoriented Target so much that he didn’t even wave to them on their way out. After a moment’s consideration, he elected to have another sip of wine, because that conversation singlehandedly returned the edge that was taken off by his prior drink.

Someone rigged up some countdown timers around the clearing. Each one was synchronized to the same countdown, approximately five minutes remained.

Five minutes? When did that happen?!

The clearing was rife with anticipation, everyone was gathered round in their little groups to watch the clock tick down to zero. Ambient chitchat cycled in a revolving motion through the forest, nothing in particular was said, it was a means to pass the time. The music faded out as five minutes turned to four. All eyes were on the clock.

In the deep, cloudless sky, the moon shone like a diamond. It glistened and gleamed as its lustrous glow appeared to concentrate on the clearing’s middle, giving the illusion of a spotlight beaming onto the countdown. Target peered up at the moon, then back down on the countdown again.

Someone announced that there were three minutes until midnight, and the crowd became more excited. One of the people in the crowd handed Target a party blower, which he politely accepted and clutched in his hand.

Seconds felt like hours, moments felt like eternities. When the two minute mark passed, Target began counting down in his head. Nobody counted aloud until the ninety second mark, but even then, they were few and far between. It was only at sixty seconds when a sizable chunk began the chant.

Target counted down with them. The energy grew higher with each multiple of ten they passed. A zombie stood by the CD player with a generic looking disc in their hand. The song’s title was written on it in permanent marker.

The Olive Tree

Everybody knew The Olive Tree. Hardly anyone paid attention to the words, but they all sang along with the chorus whenever it was on. As the timer inched closer to midnight, the zombie came closer to slotting the disc in the player.

Ten.

His voice subsumed into the crowd.

Nine.

It felt nice.

Eight.

It was nice to be part of something.

Seven.

One modest collective.

Six.

Each leading their own lives.

Five.

Brought together by chance.

Four.

Celebrating the new year.

Three.

Celebrating what is to come.

Two.

Celebrating life.

One.

The sky lit up with fireworks as the forest lit up with cheer. Target blew his party blower while a gaggle of small children threw homemade confetti all over the place. The bright neons reflected off of a spiderweb, carefully weaved to form a message ushering in the new year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR
TO ALL THE TIEFLINGS

Emanating from the sculk speakers was a tune on guitar, a tune everyone he knew could recognize within seconds. Target watched the firework show as he laid back and listened to his people sing a tune.

He paid little attention to the verses. Something about a guy whose whole family died. Awfully morbid for a folk song, but it fit the theme of the prior year pretty well. Yet, there was something about the chorus that caught his eye. 

And when I die, don’t bury me

Just leave me by the olive tree

It struck something of a new chord in him, listening to this song again after returning from death. His peers felt it too; he could hear it in their voices, singing along with that added umph. There was so much excitement in the air, it was almost contagious.

As the minutes passed, the trails from previous fireworks became more and more visible. Rockets blew up into fantastical rainbow hues above him. He could hear the sound of the wind launching them, the air zipping up and zooming to the sky.

From his seat, he could just about see Stampy’s firework show as well. Most of the fireworks were orange and white, though there were a few red and pink ones here and there. Some even looked like flowers.

When the firework show ended, half of the party dispersed. Target elected to do the same, and he spent the next few minutes heading to his new house. To his surprise, Stampy was wide awake, with none of his friends in sight.

“You’re still up?” Target remarked.

“No, I’m actually just sleepwalking,” intoned Stampy.

Target reached into his inventory and pulled out a piece of paper. “Someone uh, told me to give you this.”

Stampy held the paper in his hands, and after a quick glance, he started to smile.

“What a nice idea! A mushroom themed hole, I’ll be sure to work that in somehow. Thank you!”

“I’ll forward that to Littlewood,” replied Target.

“Is that who drew this- oh, looks like it! I nearly missed their signature.”

The orange cat pocketed the drawing in his inventory, then strolled over to the Love Garden. Beneath Breadstick’s name, he wrote a new line of text on a sign.

Littlewood

“I've got some big plans this week,” Stampy said with a yawn. “Between the theatre and the golf course, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

Target blinked. “Theatre?”

Stampy pointed to the carved out mountain behind his yard. “Yeah, I’ll be putting a theatre right there so we can put on plays whenever we’d like.”

“You’re putting a theatre… right outside your backyard?”

“Well, yeah. Craig likes musicals, I’ve a passion for directing, it seems like the most obvious choice.”

“Maybe not as much of an obvious choice as it is an… eccentric one.”

“In a good way?”

“Not in a bad way,” Target hesitantly replied. “Perhaps the more unusual choice of location will do it well.”

The cat smiled. “Now that I think about it, you’ll probably like what I have planned in terms of design. It’s going to be made out of stone, and judging by the looks of your castle, you seem to be fond of building out of stone. Maybe I’ll have you build late at night after the rest of us get started, I recall you saying you’d be willing to do that?”

“I could do that, yeah. When do I start?”

“If you’re not too busy tomorrow night, Craig and Longbow will have made some progress by then.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Well then,” Stampy beamed, “I suppose that settles that. I think I’m going to head to bed now, night Target.”

“Night,” replied Target, giving Stampy a peace sign with one of his hands.

The two went their separate ways, with Stampy heading to his lovely home and Target heading to his own place of residence. In the hours preceding sunrise, he redecorated his humble abode and added finishing touches to his emptier rooms. During this time, he caught sight of a few strands of orange fur scattered throughout his home.

He swept them under his bedframe before dozing off. It wasn’t worth the trouble of acknowledgement.

Chapter Text

Stampy woke up much later than usual. From his window, he could see his friends hard at work constructing the theatre. After some quick stretches, a big yawn, and a small slice of New Year’s cake for lunch, he went to his balcony to greet them.

“Good morning Longbow, good morning Craig!” Stampy exclaimed.

“It’s the afternoon,” Craig shouted back.

Stampy laughed. “Already?”

Longbow’s voice was muffled by his mask, but Stampy managed to make out something about taking a lunch break. Then they started speaking amongst themselves, eventually splitting off to do their own thing. If he had to take a guess, he figured they were cashing in that lunch break they were talking about.

In spite of the fact that he was asleep during what was supposed to be his shift at the Golf Course, Stampy elected to cash in his break as well. He started pacing around his house, when he noticed a trail of snow on his floor.

He followed the trail into his office, the “Inspiration Room” as it was often called. Henry was sitting at Stampy’s desk, admiring Littlewood’s drawing of the new hole concept.

Henry noticed him out of the corner of his eye and jumped up, before sheepishly waving.

“Found you,” Stampy grinned.

“How are you so good at knowing where I am?” inquired Henry.

“It’s not hard when you leave all those trails everywhere.”

“Oh. Whoops!”

“How about this, let’s have a proper go at Hide and Seek. I’ll even let you be the hider again.”

“Twice in a row?” Henry beamed.

“Mmhmm! You remember the rules, right?”

“Seeker counts with Mississippi, no one’s allowed in the pool room, and you can’t hide outside?”

“That’s right, little guy! Now, I know you have some issues using doors, so I’ll go open all of them for you. Why don’t you go clean up your trail from earlier so we can get started?”

Henry gave an affirmative nod and scurried off, picking up snow along the way. Stampy ran around his house, making sure every door was opened and unlocked.

As he was walking out of the library, he overheard some noise coming from the pool room. He figured it was probably just Amy Lee having a swim, but he decided to check just to be safe. After all, creepers manage to find their way into the most unexpected places at times. Dealing with intruders is hard enough on its own, it’s a lot worse when those intruders are capable of blowing up.

When he stepped inside, he heard some splashing and some giggling from the inside of the pool. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a tiny yellow wing waving at him.

“Hello?” mewed Stampy.

The poolgoer leapt to the surface, revealing themself to be a yellow duckie with teal eyes, like shards of prismarine glimmering in the great blue ocean, and a beak as orange as sunset. Stampy froze in his tracks as he came to the realization that he knew who he was looking at. 

“Stampy, are you okay?”

Peering into the water, Stampy’s tail swayed. “Sqaishey?”

Sqaishey blinked. “Yeah?”

Stampy started jumping around in excitement. “Sqaishey! I’m so glad to see you, welcome to my Lovely World!”

“Yay!” Sqaishey cheered, splish splashing around the pool. “Lovely World, Lovely World!”

A second poolgoer rose up and joined in. “Merry Squidmas!”

It felt as if a wave of fog had been lifted from his mind.

“Good afternoon, Squid! Welcome to my Lovely World! You’re in my house right now, I’m about to start a round of Hide and Seek. I could give you both a tour if you’d like!”

Squid turned to Sqaishey, then back to Stampy.

“I’d be up for a tour,” Squid shrugged.

Sqaishey nodded in agreement.

Stampy led the duo to his room, informing Henry that he was ready to start counting. Henry scurried off the moment he saw Stampy step through the balcony door.

The sky was a marvelous blue, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The theatre hadn’t changed since he last looked at it. Sqaishey and Squid were impressed at the craftsmanship.

“Right now, you’re all standing on my balcony! This is where I start all my mornings. My first ever shelter is right across from us, and on your left you can see my Love Garden! All the signs down there? Filled with names. It’s kind of like my way of showing appreciation for my friends and the people around me.”

“Ooh,” Sqaishey chirped. “Can you add me next?”

Stampy’s ear twitched. “Well… the rule is you’re not supposed to ask, but… since I was going to add you anyway, I think we can just keep that between us.”

“Yay!” Sqaishey beamed. Their joy was contagious.

Stampy stepped back inside his room, figuring that by now it’s probably been at least 30 seconds. He could feel his paws on the soft, blue carpet. It felt nice.

“This is my room. See, there’s my bed up against the wall. Here are all my nightstands, they’re actually drawers in case you were wondering. Back in the corner, you can see my Ender Chest! I guess there were lots of Ender Chests back home, because mine was packed. Ended up having to move a couple of things elsewhere, you know, so I could put things inside it without losing them immediately.”

Squid took a peek inside the chest and pulled out a dandelion colored hoodie.

“No way, my favorite shirt’s still in here! I didn’t know they worked between worlds.”

Sqaishey pulled a striped sweater out. The stripes were orange, white, and blue.

“I forgot I put this here,” they said with a quack.

“Hey, wait,” Squid interjected. “Is that a picture of Craig?”

Squid and Sqaishey walked over to the framed portrait between Stampy’s regular chest and his flower pot. Stampy walked up next to them and purred before continuing his bedroom tour.

“Now, right there in the corner, that’s where I keep my fidgets. I took all my biting fidgets out of the Ender Chest and put it in this little box that I’ve painted to look like a cake! Don’t touch any of them, you’ll get germs. Then right next to it, there’s a CD player, that was a gift, and here’s my scratching post!”

Stampy took a short break from his room tour to scratch the post with his claws. The texture was very satisfying to dig his claws into.

“Finally, right here in the corner is my inconspicuous painting, and as you can see, it’s a normal painting with absolutely nothing behind it… until you flip this super secret lever and find out that it’s actually a hidden door!”

Intrigued, Sqaishey and Squid followed Stampy behind the painting and climbed up the ladder. They entered a room with a dusty stone floor and a low ceiling.

“This is my room of no requirement. It’s empty at the moment, maybe I’ll put some barrels here once I’ve run out of space in my chests.”

Squid waved his tentacles. “It’s like a miniature attic! Except only for one room.”

Sqaishey nodded. “What if you put some fairy lights up here?”

“Ooh, I like that,” Stampy conceded. “Very good suggestion, I’ll be sure to hold onto that one. Right, we ought to keep looking through the house, Henry’s sure to be around here somewhere.”

The trio of Wonderbergers strolled out the bedroom door. Stampy continued speaking as they walked.

“This next room belongs to a very special friend of mine, you all know him quite well. He’s been helping out with this world since day one, and uh, yeah, he lives here now, and I couldn’t be more happy about it! Welcome to Craig’s room!”

Sqaishey’s eyes widened. “Craig’s here?”

Stampy nodded excitedly as he opened the door. Henry was hiding behind the miniature bookshelf, and was spotted rather quickly. Stampy congratulated him on his good work hiding, and his great work at cleaning up snow. The other two friends explored the room and admired the paintings. Sqaishey seemed to enjoy the sensory swing a great deal.

“I s’pose you were right, Stampers,” Squid laughed. “Phorjay’s a man of his word.”

The cat turned to Squid. “Well, to be fair, you had every right to be suspicious. This is like the equivalent of, you know when you’re browsing through the web and there’s these pop-ups that say ‘click here to win a free iPhone 4s’, and then it asks for your credit card information or your home address or something? It’s like that, except you actually get the free iPhone 4s instead of just getting scammed. Only caveat is that the phone is cursed, but it’s not a big deal because the phone is fully functional otherwise.”

“...Eh?”

“I think I went too deep into the analogy,” Stampy ascertained. “What I’m trying to say is, you were right too. There was a catch, and the catch is that the dead rise every night and sometimes they try to kill us. But like I said, not a big deal. If any of us die, we just respawn, and not all of the googlies are evil like that. I’m actually friends with one of them, he’s a skeleton-guy and he lives next door to me. Said he’s going to help with constructing the theatre later.”

“You’re building a theatre?”

“Yeah, it’s right outside my house! We could pause the house tour for now and check out the progress, would that work?”

“Works for me,” Squid concurred.

Sqaishey halted the motion of the swing. “Could we go see Craig first? I wanna say hi.”

“He’s actually at the theatre right now, working on it as we speak. We can do both at the same time,” replied Stampy.

Enthusiastic as ever, the trio of Wonderbergers made their way to the theatre.

Chapter Text

There was only one helper present at the theatre. Sqaishey and Squid looked at him with a hint of unease, then turned to Stampy, who smiled to take the edge off.

“This is the friend I was talking about earlier,” reported Stampy. “His name is Hit The Target, he’s a friendly googlie.”

Target smiled and waved.

“Hello,” chuckled Squid, being sure to extend the o sound at the end. “M’name’s Squid, nice to meet you. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

“Thank you,” Target beamed, visibly proud. “Nice to meet you as well, Squid.”

“And I’m Sqaishey!” Sqaishey chirped.

“Hello Sqaishey,” replied Target.

Stampy adjusted his glasses. “You’re up pretty early. Earlier than I expected, at least.”

“Been up for a while,” Target shrugged. “Craig and Longbow gave me a rundown of the plans, said they ‘weren’t expecting me’, whatever that means.”

Sqaishey piped up. “Where are they anyhow? Stampy, you said Craig was gonna be here.”

“Forgot he was on lunch break,” replied Stampy, swaying his tail rhythmically. “I’m not fully sure where he’s gone off to, he didn’t tell me.”

Squid sighed. “That’s Craig for ya.”

Target chimed in. “If it’s any help, I think I saw him following Longbow and that lamblet from earlier, the one who introduced himself as the ghost of Christmas. Bread Roll or something.”

“You mean Breadstick?” Stampy mewed.

“That sounds about right. I saw both of them going to that little garden outside your house, maybe they’re home-growing their lunch.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help today, thank you.”

Target made a peace sign and went back to building. Stampy turned to face his produce garden, about to start doing his typical Stampy style walk-and-talk, when a peculiar sight caught his eye.

“Why is that sugarcane taller than my house?”

Stampy ran to his garden, with his friends following closely behind. Longbow and Breadstick were giggling like a gaggle of first graders.

Immediately, he pressed the two for an explanation. “What’s going on here?”

“We are making the tallest sugarcane known to man,” announced Longbow.

The sugarcane was at least seventy-two times taller than Stampy Cat, towering over his house and just about everything else in the world too.

Longbow turned to Breadstick. “The question is, can it get any taller than this?”

“Let’s find out!” proclaimed Breadstick, rolling up his sleeves.

The robed lamblet spoke some incantations whilst waving his arms. Green particles shimmered as the plant grew taller. A few tiny lime orbs dissipated into the air as he performed his spell. Longbow started giggling even harder, and Breadstick joined in after he completed his ritual.

Watching this reminded Stampy of something, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Brain fog still pervaded his mind. Not much changed in that department, even after the identities of Sqaishey and Squid were unearthed from the chasms of his subconscious. Though, judging by the looks on their faces, Stampy assumed it must have been something they were familiar with as well. Perhaps they could give him a refresher later.

“I didn’t know we had wizards here,” Sqaishey chirped. “Imagine all the bread you could grow with that!”

Breadstick adjusted his sleeves. “I grow bread all the time. Hotdog and I have a farm in my community world.”

“You’re a wizard and a vagabond?!” blurted Squid.

Breadstick gave him a thumbs up. “When you’ve been alive as long as we have, you tend to pick up some skills.”

Stampy stepped a few paces closer to his masked friend and his wizard companion, both of whom turned his way at attention.

“One more question, where’s Craig gone off to?”

“He just got done walking his dog,” conceded Longbow. “Any second now, he’ll be walking out of that doghouse and- oh, there he is, right on cue.”

Arguably, the best part of standing next to the tallest object in the general area is the attention you receive by being in its proximity. Craig was drawn to the prodigious plant solely out of curiosity related to its abnormal size, leading him exactly where the others wanted him to be.

His head was still tilted up to the sky once he made it up to the peak of the hill. He leveled his gaze gradually, only to do a double take when he noticed who was standing in front of him.

“Sqaish?! Squid Nugget?! Didn’t expect you two to show up, how have you been?”

Sqaishey jumped up. “Hi Craig! I’m so glad to see you, I’ve been great for the most part! A little shaken up, but other than that I’m good.”

Squid nodded. “Same ‘ere.”

Stampy tilted his head to the side. “Shaken up? About what?”

“It’s about Stacy,” Sqaishey replied. “She’s been a bit sad lately, to the point where she’s too gloomy to join us. And it’s making me sad too.”

Stampy nodded slightly, pretending to know who they were talking about.

Breadstick darted his eyes. “I assume this is my cue to, uh… leave?”

Stampy’s tail shot up. “No no, it’s fine, you can stay here. We’ll go and continue this inside, you two can… keep… having fun growing sugarcane? I suppose? Whatever the reason, you both seem to enjoy it, and I mean, it’s more sugarcane for the rest of us. Sun’s a bit aggressive today anyhow, I was planning on going inside by now but I got a bit carried away, and- oh, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, a little,” Squid laughed.

Stampy laughed as well. “Sorry, I just really like talking. Helps me think.”

“We can tell,” Craig smirked. Stampy found his quip amusing.

The troop of Wonderbergers exchanged some playful banter back and forth as they made their way into Stampy’s Lovely Home. The four of them sat in the empty room by the entrance. Craig sat across from Stampy, while Sqaishey and Squid sat to his left and right respectively, each facing the other.

Craig initiated the conversation. “So, about Stacy-”

“Um, before we get to that,” Stampy interrupted, “I have something to… would ‘confess’ be the right word-? Yeah, to confess.”

Squid blinked slowly. “Go on.”

“I told Craig this already, but I think I might have developed some… weird form of memory loss? Everything’s kind of blurry, and I’m not sure if Stacy was like, one of your friends that I’ve never met, or if I knew them? This- I’m not entirely sure if this was worth butting in to bring up, but Craig got on my case for not bringing it up to him sooner than I did, so maybe it is worth mentioning, who knows. So, uh… I might ask for additional context a lot more than I used to, if you’re wondering why, that’s the reason why. It’s just memory weirdness.”

Sqaishey and Squid turned to one another, then to Stampy, then to Craig, then back to one another.

It was at this moment that Stampy realized that this was going to be one hell of a conversation.

Chapter Text

In his paws, Stampy held a picture given to him by his duck friend. He squinted at it closely, but the sight of the subject wasn’t jogging his memory like Sqaishey and Squid’s presence did. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t make the fog disappear.

“Is… this Stacy? Is this a picture of Stacy, or is there something obvious I’m not picking up on?”

“Mmhmm, that’s her,” Sqaishey confirmed. There was a disquiet quality to their voice.

Stampy looked up from the photo. “I mean, it’s helpful for visualizing. I can kind of imagine her in the place of this… mystery fourth friend, but it’s not the same as having those memories, if that makes sense. Am I- am I making any sense here? At all? Have I just been explaining this terribly, like, the words are there. It’s that, I’m not sure if they’re translating correctly, from my brain.”

Craig lowered his shoulders. “I just don’t understand how this happened. You don’t remember Stacy? At all?”

“I’m not even sure where this was taken.”

Squid leaned forward. “You don’t recognize the Hall of Wonderers?”

Stampy grinned awkwardly. “Was that important, or…?”

He took the silence that followed as a resounding “yes”.

As he dug his claws into the wooden floor to calm his nerves, Stampy’s eyes drifted toward Sqaishey. “What was it you said about her earlier? About her being sad? Why’s she sad?”

Sqaishey tensed their muscles, then released the tension to calm themselves down.

“Right around the time you left, Wonderberg had an outage. Someone severed the LAN connection by sending a bunch of junk data through the routers using some sort of… illegal lag machine, something like that? And no one was able to enter or leave. I guess at some point while Stacy and I were asleep, someone must have taken us somewhere else, because we weren’t in Wonderberg the next morning.

“By this point, the three of us had our fair share of questions, especially Stace, seeing as wondering was one of her biggest duties back home. We started coming up with theories about who did this, why neither of us were able to travel back to Wonderberg, whether this had to do with Keen being ‘preoccupied’ for a month straight… it was a very weird way to spend what was supposed to be your birthday!

“And then Phorjay went over to our island to sort of, catch us up, except he didn’t really… explain anything? All he said was that there was a threat in Wonderberg and it would be closed until further notice, and when we asked more questions he gave us really vague and unusual answers. Like, on the first day, Squid asked where you two were, and he just replied ‘nearby’ without really… elaborating on it? None of us really knew him that well, I don’t think any of us really trusted him that much, and his thing about being vague and dismissive wasn’t helping.

“He kept doing this until about a week ago, I think. Right around Christmas time, the connection must have fixed itself, but he just kept going on about how we shouldn’t try to go back. Stacy was starting to get really anxious about her dogs missing her and her crops wilting, which, I mean, I would do the same thing in her position. If I was a farm girl who had six dogs I hadn’t seen in three weeks, I’d start getting a little bit squeamish about the matter as well.

“Stacy stood up and said, right, forget this guy, I’m going back to Wonderberg to find my dogs. She leaves for an hour or so, and Squid and I are both passing the time like we’ve been doing. As it turns out? I think Phorjay had his reasons for not wanting us to go back there. Because when Stacy came back, she was all sad, and she was crying a lot. And when we asked what’s wrong, she couldn’t explain it, she could barely get a word in edgeways. Whatever she saw in there must have been really really bad, because even earlier today, she was just… constantly on the verge of tears, all the time, no matter what. None of us could cheer her up. I’ve never seen her this upset before, I didn’t know what to do.

“Squid and I decided that, nope, we are going to leave Wonderberg alone, so I didn’t take them over there, and I didn’t try to sneak a peek inside, no matter how much I wanted to go for a swim in the pond by my house. So… that’s pretty much why she’s so upset. Moral of the story, don’t try to go back to Wonderberg, I guess!” 

Stampy was deeply perturbed by this story, while Craig seemed more pained by this information than he was surprised by it. The two were as still as mosquito infested water on a hot summer day.

Then came a thought, passing through Stampy’s mind. Something didn’t add up.

“Craig, I thought you said you weren’t able to make it to Wonderberg on Christmas.”

His voice was softer than usual. “I never said that, no.”

Squid scooted closer. “You went to Wonderberg?”

“I always come home for Christmas,” Craig noted, in a deep and wistful voice. “Why would I make this year the exception?”

Squid blinked. “Was it… was it bad down in-”

Sqaishey cut in, frantically. “Did something happen to the Wondergem?!”

“No,” he aspirated. “The gem’s fine, it’s in pristine condition.”

Sqaishey let out a sigh of relief. It quelled some of Squid’s anxiety, but not all of it.

“So if the gem’s okay… what’s got Stace so worked up?”

Craig stared off into the distance. Stampy didn’t say a word, in hopes that the situation would de-escalate itself. He kept switching between who he was focusing on, until a low whisper from his ginger friend locked him in.

“When I went back, I…”

He took a deep breath in and let it out. His feline friend jumped in before he continued talking, letting him know that he didn’t have to share if he didn’t feel comfortable doing so, but after a moment’s hesitation, Craig assured him that he was perfectly fine with telling them about his time there.

There was an uncharacteristic solemnity in Squid’s eyes. “Was it bad back home?”

Craig sat up straighter. “It was… I don’t think ‘bad’ is the most accurate word to use here, it was… it was bad, but not the- I’d say it was more somber than it was ‘bad’, it was somber back there. Back home.”

“Somber?” chuckled Squid. “In Wonderberg?”

Cracking a small smile, Craig let out a small sibilated laugh. “Exactly, it sounds absurd just thinking about it!”

Squid gave two thumbs up, not knowing what else to say. The demeanor went back to its preceding state a second or so afterward.

“It was completely silent when I went in. And I didn’t see why that was so weird to me at first, because obviously it’s gonna be quiet, it was past sunset, and there’s not many places open on Christmas day. But it wasn’t just quiet. It was dead fucking silent. As in, the animals weren’t making any sounds either. And I looked around, and I realized, I couldn’t see a single animal nearby. So I went down to my house, my parents’ house technically because I don’t- I never really visited that often, I didn’t need my own- it’s usually where I stayed whenever I went back, that’s the important bit. And the LEDs were on. All the village’s LEDs were on, probably because of the power outage. Weirder yet, the cars from the guests my parents invited? They weren’t parked outside the driveway. They were just, missing. But I know I had to have had a lot of family over by this point, even if the guests didn’t show up. And I could feel the power of the Wondergem inspiring me to ask questions, so- so I tried to go inside… ask everybody what the deal was. So I open up the door, and I- and I walk in… and…” 

Stampy tilted his head. “And?”

A pause.

“Everybody’s corpses were there.”

Chapter Text

Longbow, Breadstick, and Hit The Target were passing the time, building the theatre as the sun set upon Stampy’s Lovely World. Paneling the walls of a room that was somewhere around a hundred fifty square meters in area was not an easy task, and it was not made any easier for Target by the fact that his only two coworkers were goofing off.

“Target,” Breadstick shouted. “Check out my new house!”

It was a small dirt mound, hollow on the inside, just barely big enough for one person to fit inside comfortably.

“That’s nice,” sighed Target, “but I’m trying to concentrate on something right now.”

Longbow ran up to the house. “Target, Target, look over here! I built something as well!”

“Is it another one of your giraffes?”

“It’s a giraffe!” proclaimed Longbow.

“Wow, it’s even funnier the thirty-fifth time,” remarked Target, unmoved.

Breadstick drank a potion and levitated over to his skeletal acquaintance, who was very clearly unimpressed by this display.

“What’s with you, man? Is it such a sin to have a good time?” Breadstick chortled.

“I have no problems with you ‘having a good time’, so long as you do it without roping me into it. Some of us want to get things done, you know.”

“Ha!” Breadstick exclaimed. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the burial ground.”

“I’m being serious, Breadstick. Stop trying to get me to join your goof off session, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Did somebody break your funny bone?”

“That’s a nerve, not an actual bone. And while we’re on the subject of nerves, you’re starting to get on mine. Quit it.”

“You’re such a square.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Longbow cut in. “Would it kill you to sit back and relax for two minutes? We just want to show you all the cool stuff we built.”

Target glared at him. “I was tasked with helping to build this theatre. If they wake up and see I did a half-assed job, that will reflect poorly on me.”

“You have been working on this theatre for five hours straight,” Longbow laughed.

“And I have no intention of stopping.”

Longbow leaned closer. “Have you even eaten lunch yet? Take a lunch break.”

“I don’t need to eat anything, I’m dead.”

Breadstick took a baguette out of his inventory. Target looked at the baguette, then back at Breadstick, who held it out in his direction.

Longbow moved closer to Breadstick. “It’s a baguette!”

“I know what a baguette is,” Target clarified.

Breadstick leaned closer. “Take a bite! It’s delicious.”

“No.”

“You sure? It’s extra crunchy.”

“I don’t care how crunchy it is, I’m not going to risk getting whatever status effect you’ve hexed this thing with.”

“Longbow, do you want some?”

He examined the bread closely, then put his hand up to his mask as if he were clearing his throat.

“Ahem,” he said verbally, giving his verdict. “It looks tasty, but I have one question.”

“Ask away chap.”

“Can you make it longer?”

Breadstick’s eyes widened. He placed the bread on one of Longbow’s giraffe statues and rubbed his hands together with a cheeky smirk. Longbow, enthused, spectated the bread growing ritual with eager eyes.

With the power of magic, Breadstick enlarged the bread. Longbow cheered and downed a potion of swiftness.

“This is the funniest shit I have ever seen in my life.”

“You haven’t seen the half of what I’m capable of,” Breadstick announced. “Follow me outside. I’ve something to show you.”

Longbow and Breadstick ventured out toward Stampy’s House. Target let out a sigh of relief as he watched them leave the theatre. A single spider scaled the walls and stood next to Target.

“Good evening,” Target hissed in the tongue of spiders.

The spider hissed back, nodding in acknowledgement.

Target smiled. “I’m paneling the walls right now.”

The spider expressed a desire to help with the project. Target paused to think.

“How about… how about this, you can be the official wall-tester. Climb up the walls and make sure they’re all sturdy. Does that sound good to you?”

He didn’t have to ask the spider twice. It immediately skittered to the nearest wall and began scaling it. The next couple minutes were spent in silence, with Target continuing his work, and the spider continuing its own. As was made evident by its contributions, all the walls were sturdy.

After a while, Target noticed that at some point, the spider stopped running laps around the walls and began following close behind him. That’s when it clicked.

“Oh, you’re not a freelancer, you’re just trying to keep me company.”

The eight-legged critter nodded affirmatively, mentioning how it saw him working alone and it didn’t want him to be lonely.

Target continued speaking in spider's tongue. “That’s very nice of you. I appreciate that, nice to know there’s others who haven't given up on the overworld already.”

It made note of the unusual desolation as of late.

“I guess I just don’t understand how someone could live somewhere their whole life, only to… to leave the second things get difficult. Does everything this land stood for mean nothing to you people?”

The topic of Phorjay was brought up by the arachnid, a topic which Target greeted with visible disapproval.

“Can’t even have one conversation without someone bringing him up, can I? At what point will we have said everything that needs to be said? I know he sucks. Everyone knows he sucks. We were THERE.”

But the farms, the spider insisted, and the buildings. They keep getting removed.

“What about the experiences we’ve had as a people, the lives we lived on this soil? We can adapt without abandoning everything we’ve known in favor of a place where everything is on fire and the ground bleeds for some reason. Has it crossed anyone’s mind that they’re doing exactly what he wants us to?”

The spider made a confused hiss.

“In the sense that he wants us to disappear. He wants us out of his sight, out of his mind. That’s why he killed us, that’s why he destroys our buildings, that’s why he wilts our crops. That’s why he does everything in his power to stop us from living the lives he tried to take away.”

Nodding, the spider hissed back. 

“But of course, everyone else has to take the easy way out of things, because that’s more important than ‘defying’ Phorjay, which is supposedly the most important thing to them. I don’t even want to talk about this anymore, I’m getting so much secondhand embarrassment that I’m starting to get angry. Why are they letting their lives get consumed by the stupidest politics imaginable? Everyone’s so angry that they can’t even direct all their anger at the right person, so they’re taking it out on a random cat-guy who happens to be in contact with Phorjay. That’s ridiculous! Do they not hear how ridiculous that sounds? Listen to yourself!”

The spider crawled up the wall.

“Sorry. I’ve had a long day. This one wizard guy waltzed in and started harassing me while distracting my coworker, then my other coworker took a lunch break and didn’t come back, and the other people I managed to recruit for this project won’t rise for another few hours. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate their willingness to help. But they have nothing to lose if they slack off. I have everything on the line.”

Turning his way, the spider made a perplexed hiss.

“It’s my only way of proving that I’m not like them.”

Chapter Text

The term “graveyard shift” took on a surprisingly literal meaning that night.

Nobody cared that it was Stampy’s theatre that they were building. The selling point was the idea that their efforts to build would not be in vain. Target reasoned that Phorjay wouldn’t lay a finger on a building planned out by his heir. Still, just to be safe, he stayed up past sunrise to make sure his hours of labor wouldn’t go unnoticed.

It was a bit disheartening to him, watching his people willingly step out into the sunlight and perish. They seemed used to the feeling. Target couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a sad thing.

There was a period of time between the sun’s rise and Stampy’s where he was alone in the theatre. After all his hours of nonstop effort, he felt physically drained. He glanced at the resulting theatre, then back at his blueprints. Hardly anything was missing. The only things left to do were the lights up front and the dome on the ceiling.

He leaned back on a chair in the audience and stared up through the gap. Hazy and half-asleep, he watched clouds for hours, thinking back upon the days where he would do the same thing through a window while sanding swords.

Eventually, he noticed a strange bird heading his way. It grew larger as it drew closer, and he quickly realized that this was no bird. The surrealism jolted him awake as he realized that Stampy Cat had somehow acquired wings.

The feline fluttered down to the floor, landing delicately on his feet. He took a look around at the progress, taken aback by the sheer amount of labor put into it.

“Were you at this all night?!”

Target nodded slowly, still not completely sure this wasn’t a lucid dream. “I had help.” 

“I… I would imagine you did. You managed to get a week's worth of work done in one night, I don’t think it’s even remotely possible to do that alone.”

“Is that so?” Target leaned forward.

Stampy nodded. “You’ve really outdone yourself tonight.”

Hit The Target stood up from his seat, tall and proud. Stampy’s tail swayed back and forth as he gazed at the theatre, purring at the sight of an artistic vision come to life.

Target piped up. “Did you find Craig yesterday? He didn’t come back from his lunch break and I was wondering if he was with you.”

“Yeah, I told him he could take the rest of the day off. Those people I introduced you to yesterday, Squid and Sqaishey? They’re Craig and I’s best friends, and it’s been a while since we were all together in the same place at the same time. Thought it would be nice to take some time to catch up.”

“That sounds nice. Did you have fun?”

Stampy’s tail fell to the floor slowly. “To be perfectly honest, no, we actually found out some pretty unfortunate news and it kind of killed the energy. Craig and Sqaishey left me a note saying they were going on vacation and that they’d be back in a week and a half, and… I think that might have something to do with them being sad about it.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, check out this gift I got last night!”

Stampy’s wings sprouted from his back again. They were most comparable to those of a bat.

“I was going to ask about those!” Target remarked. “How’d you get wings?”

“Well, it’s a bit- actually, before I start, do you know who Phorjay is?”

Target’s demeanor shifted to one of less amusement. “All too well.”

“Ok, good, I don’t have to do any extra explaining. He gave me this cool thing called an ‘elytra’ when I was asleep, it gives you wings and makes you able to fly! Now I can zoom around my world through the air whenever I like! Except, not now, because I’m still trying to get the hang of them. I’ve been told that it takes a lot of practice, but once you have it down, it’s like second nature. I’ll be sure to ask for more tomorrow on your behalf.”

“Friendly advice,” Target snickered, “if you’re going to ask Phorjay for stuff on my behalf, don’t mention that you’re asking him for stuff on my behalf. He despises all of us. Loathes us, even.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say he despises you guys. I mean, yeah, I got the impression he’s not that fond of you, but-”

Target was full on cackling at this. Stampy stepped back, confused.

“What?” the cat asked. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t even know the half of it, Mr. Stampy Cat.”

Stampy looked concerned. “Mmkay, um… could you explain it to me then? He seems like a nice enough guy, if not a bit… vague and unnerving. I find it very hard to believe that he would actually think those kinds of things.”

Target stifled his laughter. “It’s a heavy topic, definitely not one I can explain at, what, seven in the morning? Eight, even? I’m far too tired for this.”

“Fair enough, you’ve been working very hard. I’ll ask later. Why don’t you go get some rest?”

“Probably a good idea,” yawned Target. “I hope you have a good rest of your morning.”

“And I hope you have a good… morning’s… sleep? That feels weird to say.”

Target adjusted his hat, waved, and headed back to his house. On his way there, he noticed Stampy flying up to the clouds, struggling to balance or fly in a straight line.

He couldn’t help but laugh a little more.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Stampy learned from all of this, it would be that flying is a difficult thing to do correctly. It didn’t take long for him to realize that if he wanted to get anywhere with this, he’d have to consult an expert.

Luckily, he happened to know someone who was very experienced in the field of flight.

On a chunk of ice by the lighthouse, a band of three familiar sea hippies were eating sushi and talking amongst themselves. A wheelchair was parked by the path. Many rose petals were washed up on the sandy beach. They all turned to him when they saw him.

“Hello, ladies!” called Stampy.

“Hi Stampy!” the ladies replied, in near unison.

Amy Lee rolled off the ice and landed in the water. She then pushed the chunk closer to the shore, with the two birds assisting her by rowing the ice along.

“We’re having breakfast,” said Rosie. “Would you like to join? We have cucumber rolls.”

Stampy’s ears perked up. “What’s in a cucumber roll?”

“Cucumber, avocado, and rice. Then it’s wrapped up nicely in a thing of kelp. It’s delicious, you should try one.”

A moment’s thought later, he was sitting with them on the ice, munching on a cucumber roll for the first time in his life. There was a sparkle in his eyes.

“Wow! It tastes nice, reminds me of bread.”

Rosie swallowed a salmon roll. “I figured you’d like it.”

Amy rested her elbows on the ice. “So, what brings you here? Have you come up with an idea for a cool new project that we can help with?”

“Not a project, per se,” Stampy began. “I do need help with something, though. Recently I was given an elytra, and when I put it on, I get these super cool wings, watch!”

Stampy’s wings sprouted, much to the interest of Froggy Robin.

“Amazing!” Froggy peeped.

Stampy nodded. “It is! But there’s one problem. I’m not very good at flying. I’m a cat.”

Froggy scooted closer. “How long have you been practicing?”

“Um… fifteen minutes, I guess?”

“Well, that explains it! You just need more time.”

“But I don’t know how to fly! I need you to teach me so I can practice correctly.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner? I can help with that, no problem! Girls, I’m gonna be out all day today, be sure to save me some fish for later.”

Amy gave her a thumbs up, and Rosie smiled.

Froggy turned back to Stampy. “I know a spot. Follow me!”

The feline and his feathered friend wandered through the grass.

“Full disclosure,” the robin noted, “I’m a robin, so I have robin wings. I know how bat wings work, but I don’t have the lived experience of flying with them. My experience with my wings might be different from yours.”

“I see,” replied Stampy. “Not all wings are the same, got it.”

“Here’s a fun fact! Bat wings are particularly unique, in that they’re not actually wings. They’re more like hands.”

Stampy began moving his wing fingers independently. “Oh wow. They really are a lot like hands!”

Froggy pointed up ahead. “Look! We’re here!”

Stampy squinted.

“This is just my house.”

“And?” Froggy chirped.

“I mean, nothing wrong with that, it’s just I was expecting that we were going to be on some sort of hill.”

“Always start small. First lesson of flying, don’t overestimate your capabilities this early on.”

Froggy flew over to the doghouse and stood on top of the wooden structure. Stampy climbed the small mound and spectated from above.

“Before you learn to fly, you need to be able to glide and land. Seeing as you’re not a bird, you’re going to have to go against your instinct. The priority should be aerodynamicity. Your form will need to reflect that.”

“How do I get good form?” Stampy mewed

“You need to find out how to balance. Distribute your body weight. I think that tail of yours might help you out in a way! Personally, this is how I like to glide.”

Froggy curved her wings and jumped off, tail pointed to the floor, with her tummy facing the grass and her head tilted upward. She let the wind guide her to her destination. Once she landed, she turned to Stampy and gestured for him to come over.

Stampy jumped down to the roof of the doghouse, clawing at the wood until he was sure he wasn’t going to fall. After a short deep breath, he stretched his wings and jumped.

There was a moment of panic where he thought he wasn’t gliding properly, and it nearly compromised his first go at it. But he fought his instinct and put his trust in Froggy, and there were a solid two seconds where he was gliding down without a problem.

Unfortunately, he lost his balance, and started flapping his wings rapidly to try to fix this. It didn’t work, and he fell down.

So, he tried again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

And soon enough, he got the hang of gliding. It took him hours of practice, but he finally found himself able to glide down from the peak height of his house to the grassy turf beneath him. Froggy cheered for him.

“You did great!”

Stampy purred excitedly. “Thank you, Froggy!”

“Let’s keep practicing tomorrow. I have fish dinner waiting for me back home, I don’t want it to get too cold.”

“Sounds good to me. See you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow! Bye Stampy!”

“Byeeeeeeeee!”

Froggy flew off to the lighthouse as the sun set in the distance. Stampy had a slice of bread and drank a sip of water before heading back inside. It was remarkably quiet. He could hear the birds singing their songs, the frogs and goats and llamas from afar, but the sound of people was remarkably absent.

Warm and cozy as his sheets, the golden orange lights shining through his window lulled him to an early sleep. Exactly as he had hoped, he was out cold within the next hour. A difficult feat, considering how rife he was with anticipation. There was something he needed to attend to.

In his ears crept a crescendo of white noise.

He was en route.

Chapter Text

Harsh static echoed as it hummed through the air, a sky of licorice black spanned unending through the vast space of the End. Stampy was right where he wanted to be. He stood right outside the great purpur castle, home to Phorjay. Keeper of the End. Holder of legends. Creature unmoved by the influence of any God.

Mumbling something to himself, he knocked on the door with a great deal of force. The sole inhabitant of the house welcomed his heir with open arms.

Stampy was unamused.

Ignoring that entirely, Phorjay continued. “To think, after all these months, I never once invited you into my house. Come in, Mr. Stampy Cat.”

“Are you going to answer my question yet?” Stampy purported monotonously.

“Whoa-ho-ho there!” Phorjay laughed. “You really are a curious cat, aren’t you.”

“I think I’m well within my right, given the circumstances.”

“And I will not deny that. I will not deny that you are well within your right to wonder about such a thing.”

The dim whisper of the static pervaded the atmosphere.

Phorjay opened the door ever so slightly. “I implore you, come inside. The answer you seek lies in these walls.”

Stampy stepped through the arched doorway. Phorjay closed the door behind him, as to not let the cool light of the outside world seep into the room. Jazzy bossa nova music played out of a faux vintage phonograph atop a rusty antique piano.

Everything was a faded yellow. He figured this had something to do with the combination of warm lighting and lack of windows. The walls were a creamy sun-stained yellow-orange, with a tile roof of a lighter hue. A single picture hung upon the wall in a wooden frame; one of Phorjay himself with a librarian woman.

A comforting scent wafted into his nose. Vanilla. It smelled of pastries and scented candles and memories of Christmas that he couldn’t quite pick out of the menagerie of hazy memories that lived in his head.

There were many fawn yellow dining chairs scattered around, but Stampy was not interested in sitting on those. What caught his eye were the two couches, one white and gold, the other a modern style velvet sofa.

He climbed on the velvet sofa. It was silky and untouched. If he looked hard enough, he could see individual strands of silk, and if the silk got boring, there was a patterned carpet right in the middle of the room. Yellow and orange and buttermilk in a flower pattern. As the cat glanced at it, he swore he saw a dust bunny swirl through the air.

Anemoia.

Stampy couldn’t help but smile for a moment. “Good house.”

Phorjay sat straight on the white sofa, sipping stew from a bowl. “Thank you.”

“And thank you for the elytra as well, that was nice.”

There was a pang of something on Phorjay’s face, though Stampy could not decipher what. The cat sat up straight when he saw the ramlet heading toward the kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going? You haven’t even let me ask a single question yet, you said you had answers!”

“Patience, little heir. I’m fetching something for you.”

Stampy slouched on the sofa and began spacing out. A few short minutes later, the illusioner returned carrying four blankets. He set three on the couch and a weighted one near an accent table. Stampy made himself quite comfortable with the three blankets, though he still looked at the ramlet sideways.

Phorjay had another sip of stew. “I saw how pained you were, Stampy. I hesitated because I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Nothing changed in Stampy’s expression. He continued looking forward blankly.

“And… It's a complicated topic. Wonderberg, that is. I did have some involvement. Admittedly, I may have been more concerned with self-preservation that day than… than usual. For that, I would like to apologize. Keeping secrets from my baby boy…”

Stampy’s ears shifted down. “Baby boy?”

“Ignore that,” Phorjay blurted. “Just- ignore that, don’t read into it-”

“Are you my dad?”

“No. No, I just- you’re like a son to me, is all.”

Nobody moved.

Phorjay’s eyes darted around the room. “Well. That was something.”

“Yeah, it sure was,” murmured Stampy.

“Not exactly what I was planning on admitting today, but-”

Stampy interrupted. “We can unpack this later. Tell me about Wonderberg. Tell me why I don’t remember anything. I don’t want a repeat of last night where you told me absolutely nothing about what I asked and then forced me to leave.”

“Right,” the ramlet choked out, clearing his throat. “I was a fool to think I could hide knowledge from you, one of the greatest wonderers in a town of wonderers. I know you know the fate of the town.”

“Everybody died,” interrupted Stampy.

“Yes. Everybody died.”

Phorjay finished his stew and set the bowl down on the table.

“I knew people would care if you went missing. You were a local celebrity.”

“And that was your solution to the problem?”

“Not the one I wanted.”

Stampy retracted his claws. Phorjay looked up at the ceiling, then back down to the floor.

“The idea was to quarantine everyone. Use a lag machine to sever the connection to the Local Area Network as the clock struck midnight. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”

“...but?”

“There was an accident.”

A pair of green eyes stared into Phorjay’s soul.

“There were supposed to be three pulses.”

Staring deeper.

“The second pulse came early.”

Deeper.

“I wasn’t holding the right gem.”

Deeper.

“I knew something was wrong when I reappeared in my home a whole hour and a half earlier than I should have.”

An unmistakable dread.

“My gems were gone.”

Fur on edge.

“My inventory was empty.”

Ears standing tall.

“And like you, I was curious.”

Eyes unblinking.

“I went in to see what had happened.”

Tail unmoving.

“Everyone was dead because of one small mistake.”

Still.

“And I couldn’t bring myself to tell you on your special day.”

Still.

“I didn’t want to taint the memory of your twenty-first birthday with the blood of everyone you’ve ever loved.”

Still.

“But I knew you’d ask.”

Still.

“So I took measures to stop you from asking.”

Still.

“Regrettable measures.”

Still.

“I went to someone who owed me a favor.”

Still.

“Asked them to repress your memories.”

Still.

“In the three hours we spoke, your memories were being actively tampered with.”

Still.

“I’m truly sorry, Stampy.”

Still.

“There might be a way to bring them back using magic.”

Still.

“But I know naught of magic.”

Still.

“I know naught of enchantments.”

Still.

“And I know naught of curses.”

Still.

Silent.

Unmoving.

Anger?

Guilt?

Tears.

Tears and tears.

Tears and tears and tears.

Tears and tears and tears and tears.

Chapter Text

He rose before dawn.

A hollowness in his heart. A lump in his throat. An ache in his head.

Feelings he could not begin to describe.

Though he had stopped crying, he could still feel the sadness lingering on, clinging like a child to its mother. A post-sadness sadness.

It hurt like hell.

His back ached from flying. His legs ached from shaking. His chest ached from breathing. Awful, all of it was awful.

The frogs still croaked.

The crickets still chirped.

The world still turned.

Watching the sunrise brought him solace. The music helped.

C418 - chirp

There was something magical to be found in the mundanity. This was what life was. Looking at the pretty colors in the sky while you play the same song on loop for half an hour.

It worked well enough for Stampy. By morning, he was smiling again. Seated on his balcony, basking in the sunlight. Admiring the view.

A familiar face flew up to him.

“Oh, good morning Froggy Robin.”

Froggy waved. “Hi Stampy! I, ehm… have some bad news. I can’t give you any flying lessons today. I’m booked. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I was thinking about canceling anyhow. Someone else ended up teaching me the more advanced maneuvers after you left, so all’s well.”

“That’s good to hear. Keep practicing!”

“I will!”

With a wave and a dive, Froggy took off, soaring through the sky above.

Stampy went back into his house, down into the kitchen, and had half a fish for breakfast. Raw and moist, just like nature intended it to be. He put the remaining half in the fridge for later. Lunch prep? Forward thinking.

Breakfast done and over with, the next task he had to do was walk his dogs. He entered his doghouse, and…

…noticed a strange door that most certainly was not there yesterday.

One brief examination later, Stampy deduced that he ought to open the door himself to investigate further, and open the door he did. Less than a second later, he heard a yelp, and the sound of water splashing on a tiled floor grew ever closer.

A squidling in a white jumper and a party hat aimed a bazooka at the suspected intruder, before realizing it was just his friendly neighborhood Stampy Cat. Stampy was as startled as he was perplexed, but ultimately found the exchange hilarious.

“Where did you even GET that?” Stampy laughed.

Squid held his rocket launcher. “Y’mean this? One of them skeletons back there let me ‘ave it in exchange for a thing of salmon. Good deal, good deal right there.”

“You gave them a fish, and they gave you a rocket launcher.”

“I know, right? I should pursue economics. I’ll be a business squiddy!”

Stampy snickered. “You’ve got to tell me where to find this guy. I’d like to do business with them.”

“Sorry mate. He’ll only do business if it’s slippery business.”

“Aw, I don’t know anything about slippery business. But for what it’s worth, I do know… cat… business!”

“Nobody deals in cat business.”

“Go figure,” Stampy sighed, smile unwavering.

“Yeh. Looks like you’re out of luck there.”

Stampy swayed back and forth, shifting the weight on his feet. Squid copied.

“Anyway, good morning, Squidnugget! Lovely day we’re having today.”

“Yes indeedy! Lovely day it is.”

“Lovely house you have as well.”

Squid put on a toothy grin. “Why, thank you! Built it me’self.”

“I must say, it is an interesting design choice to put it… inside of my doghouse.”

“Well, y’see, it’s kind of like when you’re eating one of them Do-Si-Do biscuits, those ones with the peanut butter in the middle. You take a bite and you’re like, wow, I can’t believe how good this tastes, I need to sign up for this again next year. You know what I’m saying? It’s kind of like that, in a way.”

“I… What?????”

“Have you not had one of those before?”

“No, I know what you’re- I- it’s just, what did that even-? Squid, what did any of that mean???”

“It’s like those peanut butter Do-Si-Do biscuits!” Squid wheezed.

Stampy could barely get a word in edgeways between laughs. “What???”

The duo of Wonderbergers giggled about it incessantly for a few long minutes. Afterward, Stampy started exploring the room he was standing in. Squid caught on and gave Stampy a tour of his humble abode.

At the entrance, there was a dais with a navy blue rug. Each wall had a large chest pushed up against it, and each chest was filled to the brim with stuff. There was a painting hung on the wall opposite to the door, ink on canvas. The floor, ceiling, walls, and stairs were entirely made of oak wood. There was a ceiling drop to the right, where the stairs began. A small embroidery hung above on the wall, reading “Home Sweet Home”.

There was a blue carpeted landing base before the stairs descended to the kitchen. To the left, there was a tall painting of a mermaid and a smaller painting of the ocean. Beside it was a picture of himself holding a particularly large fish.

Level with the ocean was a birch patio-balcony with a beach chair. Behind it was a great birch door frame with a sliding glass door, leading straight back to the kitchen. The kitchen floor was lustrous, tiled black and white in a most traditional manner. Cabinets and kitchen appliances as well as a refrigerator were neatly placed on the right side of the room. On the left side was a flight of birch stairs leading down to the rest of the house.

The basement was expansive and luxurious. It was sectioned off into two areas, separated by half of a wall and a bead door curtain. Behind this curtain was the right section; his bedroom. It sat on an elevated platform with a queen sized bed and a direct view into the water room.

On the left side of the basement, there was a lot more going on. The half-length wall was painted with a giant mural of the ocean, and a large white and periwinkle couch sat against it. A matted indigo rug was laid out in front of the couch, but it did not touch the wide bucket of water beads which sat against the couch. Perfect for dipping your feet into.

Right at the corner of the room was a giant speaker, and below it was a cabinet full of movies and video games. There was a box of various controllers of varying types seated atop it. On the wall to the left of the stairs, there was a flat screen smart TV mounted up, hooked up to a Dreamcast that was turned off. The television was playing aquatic ambience as cinematic captures of the ocean were displayed. Two bean bags were set on the middle of the floor.

Obscured from view by the birch railings was a large closet with folding doors. Inside it were boxes and clothes. His yellow hoodie was in there. And of course, all over the room, there were paintings, usually made of ink, as well as one picture, placed in a custom frame inscribed with the word WONDERBERG in smallcaps.

There were five people in the photo. Four of them looked to be early into Junior High. One looked as if they were a lowerclassman in highschool.

Squid was on the far left, doing a funny pose with his mouth wide open. Next to him was Sqaishey, who was doing jazz hands in a manner calculated enough so as to not block anyone’s face.

On the right, leaning to the center, was a young Craig in a pixie cut. He seemed unusually eager to be there. To the right of him was a tall orange fox in a plaid shirt and denim overalls, with her bushy tail perked up high and her fur braided into a small ponytail. She was the oldest looking out of the group. Who else could it be but Stacy Fox?

In the center was Stampy Cat, in the same quest vest he always wore. Donning a warm, excitable smile, he was leaning toward Craig as well.

Despite the contagion of the radiant joy Squid seemed to always possess, Stampy nearly lapsed back into emotional downpour.

Why couldn’t he just remember?

Chapter Text

“How did you get all this stuff?!”

Squid fell backward onto the bean bag without even turning to look behind him. Stampy walked his way and turned his head down to face him, standing tall and appearing quite engaged. Squid tittered at the sight.

“Down in the nether, they got loads of stuff. All of them piglins seem to really like gold, and it’s super easy to find! Granted, you do have to do a bit of diggin’, but it’s as common as a lump of seaweed.”

Stampy tilted his head. “I thought that place was a barren wasteland.”

“By your portal? Yeh, it’s pretty barren. Nobody’s built anythin’ there yet, ‘cept a few of them skeletons with their little huts ‘n’ markets. Those’re all new though. I could probably take you to the town I got all my stuff from, if you’re interested.”

“Ooh! Sounds fun, I’m in!”

“Oh, um, one quick thing before you head over there…”

Squid ran up the stairs, dug through his chests, and retrieved some shiny yellow trinkets. He leapt down the stairs, diving straight onto the floor, before standing back up as if nothing had happened. Dusting himself off, he handed Stampy some gold accessories.

“For me?” purred Stampy.

“It makes you look more trustworthy to them piglins.”

“Do they not like standing around the poors?” remarked Stampy, in a thick, exaggerated, and snobby faux-british accent.

“Of course not, every second spent around them decreases their net worth. This is common knowledge.” Squid mimicked his accent.

“Ah, of course, of course! How could I forget, as a fellow rich man myself?”

“Tell me, good sir, what is the combined value of all of your assets?”

“You go first, my good sir.”

“Hm… I believe I am approaching nine hundred million dollars in net value!”

“Oh no!”

“What is it?”

“Let me check my gold watch. Beep boop boop beep… EGADS!”

Squid let out a comically flamboyant gasp. “What’s wrong, my good sir?”

“MY NET WORTH! IT’S PLUMMETING!”

“Oh my word! Is there a poor nearby?”

“IT’S YOU SQUID! YOU’RE THE POOR!”

“OH NOOOOOOOO!”

They both fell into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the skit.

Before Stampy could head to the Nether, he had some chores to attend to. Namely, walking his dogs as he intended to earlier. Squid waited for him in the portal room.

As he was waiting, though, he saw an odd cloaked figure on the other side of the hall. He squinted at it to try to get a better sense of what it was.

When that didn’t work, he began inching closer. Though he happened to be a rather slippery fellow, he tried his best to be quiet and slow so as to not startle the creature. To his surprise, the figure seemed to be heading his way as well.

The hallway was lit a dim red from the glow of the redstone torches. He could make out the shape of an iron scythe from the rosy reflective light.

He was face to face with the cloaked figure. It wore a sun hat with wilting flowers. Its hands were bony and slightly green. It held a scythe.

Squid stared at it blankly. It smiled back at him.

“...are you the Grim Reaper?”

It laughed in a high femme New York accent, somehow both bubbly and nasally.

“I’m just a fan of his work! No affiliation.”

Squid whistled. “I see, I see.”

“Name’s Bubbachub. You can call me Bubba if ya like!”

“Ehmm… hi Bubba! My name is Squid. Why were you standing in that hallway all weird-like?”

“I heard prophecies of death,” she grinned, “and I need to make a pit stop before I watch ‘em come true!”

Nervous, Squid chuckled. “Um, there’s no death here, sorry. I’m too slippery to die! Any reaper comes for me, I’ll just slip my way away from ‘im!”

“...are you one of those vagabonds?”

“Eh, kind of, I guess? I wasn’t born in this world, that’s for sure.”

Bubbachub lowered her hood to reveal her skull. “Ah. I see how it is.”

“What, what’s wrong?”

“It’s less fun when they always come back,” she sighed.

“You… you are something of an oddball, and that’s coming from me.”

Bubba’s jovial smile returned. “Oh, dearie, I try my best. Ehehehe!”

She extended her hand out.

“C’mon, don’t be shy!”

Squid leaned his head closer.

And then he bit off her phalanges.

Bubbachub found this utterly hilarious. She nearly dropped her scythe when she lost her balance from laughing.

“You’re a funny man, aren’t ya! The world needs more people like you.”

Squid removed the bones from his mouth. “Aw, thanks! You can have these back if you’d like.”

“Nah, you can keep ‘em,” she remarked, pulling a few phalanges out of her inventory. “I always carry spares.”

She started heading to the portal.

“Where’re you off to?”

Bubba turned back. “The nether, of course! That’s the only place I know where you can get your filthy little digits on some blaze powder! I’ll see myself out, dearie.”

“Oh! Then, uh, bye Bubba!”

“Bye Squid!”

She was gone much faster than she came. Squid couldn’t help but feel unnerved. Not even a minute later, he saw Stampy heading down the hallway.

“Stamps!” called Squid. “Hellooooooo!”

“Hi Squid!” the cat replied. “You seem happy to see me.”

“How could I not? I’ve been waiting for you for a good while.”

“It’s hard to walk this many dogs in a timely manner. I have to make like, four trips just to get everyone.”

“Why don’t you take ‘em all at once?”

Stampy stared blankly at Squid. “Yeah, good idea, take fourteen, fifteen or so dogs on a walk all at the same time. I’ll need a leash for all my leashes.”

Squid started cracking up, Stampy couldn’t help crack a smile.

“I thought you only had like, five or something! Fifteen? Really?”

“Did you not hear them barking while you were making your house?”

“I assumed they were just really talkative,” shrugged Squid.

Stampy chuckled. “I suppose I can’t blame you, some of my dogs are more well behaved than others. And some of them just… don’t have as much energy right now. Duncan’s been grouchy, and Oreo’s been quiet lately. Maybe they’re still sad about Chicken.”

“Chicken?”

“Died on New Years, I wasn’t looking after him properly and he drowned.”

Squid lowered his tentacles. “Aw, that’s a shame.”

An ominous hum emitted from the redstone torches. Stampy looked at the wall and briefly mused about Gregory.

“They’ve been dropping like flies, I think I need to look after them better.”

“I mean… yeh, that’s kind of what you do when you have a dog. You look after ‘em.”

“And I try my best! But I could do better, I think.”

“Should I get a dog as well?”

“No, I have all the dogs, no one else gets any,” joked Stampy.

“What about that neighbor guy you have, he has two dogs.”

“I will have them executed by tomorrow morning.”

“The dogs?”

“Executed, both of them. Charged with treason and beheaded in the name of the monarchy.”

“You’ve gone mad with power, Stamps. I think I’m gonna have to overthrow you now.”

“Ah, how unfortunate,” remarked Stampy.

“I’m gonna execute you now. As retribution for your kitty cat crimes,” announced Squid.

“Oh dear, that’s going to hurt.”

“I’m going to let you eat cake.”

“There’s cake? Sign me up, I’m willing to get executed if I get cake afterward.”

“And it’s gonna be carrot cake.”

Stampy groaned, much to Squid’s amusement.

“C’mon, Stamps, let’s head through the portal. It’s high time you be executed.”

With a sigh, Stampy slumped. “Fine, alright, I’ll go, but only because you’re my best friend.”

Into the nether they went.

Chapter Text

Wandering down an unmarked path, the dynamic duo of Stampy and Squid talked and talked all the way to the nearest train station. Which was easy to do, because it wasn’t too incredibly far away.

The nether wastes where the portal lied were not as expansive as Stampy was led to believe. In fact, it split off into a warped biome and a crimson biome within a reasonable walking distance. From there, they could see a small station and a ticket booth.

Squid walked up there and cleared his throat. The piglin at the booth turned his way, their stare as judgemental as it was sardonic.

“Helloooo! We would like two tickets please.”

“That will be four gold nuggets.”

The exchange was made. Stampy and Squid promptly made their way to a waiting bench, biding their time until the train came. Everyone around them was so preoccupied with themselves, they didn’t even bother to acknowledge their presence.

It felt private.

Crimson particles and spores floated through the air like fireflies on a summer evening. The sky was infinite. The turf was blood red. The bench was purple, and Stampy swore he could hear some sort of breathy, whispery hum coming from it. Was it wind? Perhaps it was wind, but it felt too human to ignore.

“Hey, uh…”

“Yeh?”

“Is it possible to miss something you don’t remember?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused. He looked at Stampy, who was staring at the floor with his own hands in view. Squid stared out into the horizon.

Stampy continued looking down. “...have you ever felt that way, or have I just gone mad?”

“I, um… you know- you know what? Come to think of it, I ‘ave, actually.”

Stampy’s ears perked up.

“It was sort of… somethin’ I did without even realizin’. Y’know how it’s just me ‘n’ my auntie, right? Sometimes grandmama Squid comes ‘round to visit, sometimes Billy and Jeremy stop by and ask how it’s been, but that’s the only other family I know. Now, most folks, like Craig and Stacy, they got a mum. They got a pop. Maybe a few aunties and uncles, cousins, sisters and brothers… I just had my auntie. She was my family, and I couldn’t dream up a better one if I tried.

“I hear all these stories on the telly, kids like me who never knew their dad, never knew their mum. And I hear ‘em talk about how they do everythin’ they can to learn about what their lives were like, who they were, and they imagine how they’d be if they were still alive. Or they have some sort of argument with their foster parents, adoptive parents, uncle, guardian, and they get upset at ‘em and think, you’re not my real mum. You’re not my real dad. I… I never felt like that.

“To me, they were never really… parents. They were two people who had me and died before they could raise me. They were probably good people, but they weren’t my parents. And I wasn’t really curious about ‘em. Never even asked what they looked like. I thought, because of that, there’s no way I ever missed ‘em, they were just dead strangers.

“There was this one time, though. This one time that I really thought about them, and I mourned them a little. It was back when I was a wee little squid, some time after I met you, but not that long after. It was when Stacy had to grieve the death of one of her dogs for the first time in her life. Had to learn what loss is. When I saw this, when I heard about this, I was sad for her. A dog that someone I knew loved… they were dead, and I’d never gotten to know them, and I’d never get the chance to.

“And right then, that’s when the line started to blur. Because there I was, in bed that night, mourning mummy Squid and daddy Squid as people who made my auntie’s life brighter. Still ‘ave no idea who they were, there’s nothing to reminisce about. Most I know is the things my auntie’s told me, which… there’s not that much. I uh, I hope that answers your question.”

Stampy lifted his chin up and turned toward Squid.

“It… it did.”

There was a faint crack in his voice.

Squid didn’t press him about it. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I feel awful, Squid.”

Squid flinched. “How come?”

Stampy muttered something under his breath.

“...pardon?”

“It’s all my fault.”

“I- what? What is?”

“Everything, all of it, all of this! Phorjay told me the truth last night, every living creature in Wonderberg died an avoidable death, and they’d still be alive if I wasn’t stupid enough to leave the way I did! If I just held my tongue and had a happy twenty-first birthday with you like you wanted, none of this would have happened. None of it! Everyone else would still be alive, and maybe Craig would’ve showed up a day or so late and stayed for December before running off again to do his thing with his buddies and-”

“Stamps.”

“-maybe he’d be having a happy day out there today with Longbow and Dan and Nutrat and his new friend Kyle and living a happier life knowing his parents are alive and well and that his best friend Stampy Cat is back home where he belongs and-”

“Stamps, please-”

“-he’ll be there waiting just like he always is and he’d never leave no matter how much he wants to see you and how much he wants to talk to you and how badly he wants to play a nice round of Halo with you but it’ll never be the same ever again because I was stupid enough to kill everyone he’s ever loved and-”

“Stampy, stop.”

Stifling a sob, Stampy rose to a stand from the bench.

“Why aren’t you more angry with me about this?!”

The train came to a halt.

Chapter Text

Not a single tear fell down his face.

He sat next to Squid in silence.

No words. No looks.

No sounds.

The train rumbled. 

He knew how ridiculous he must look to the other passengers, biting down on a free complimentary paper map he was given upon boarding. But it was less disruptive than hissing. Less disruptive than clawing at the seats. Less disruptive than clawing at himself.

Biting down harder, he fought the temptation to unsheath them. Not here. Not now.

Absent-mindedly, he set his paw down in the space between them on their seat. He felt a colder hand lay on top of his.

He loosened his bite, focusing everything on the feeling of his hand on his paw.

And then the world slowed down to a halt for a fleeting moment.

“I think I get it now.”

Squid turned to Stampy. Stampy faced him.

“I think I understand why you’re not angry with me.”

There was a faint smell of wine.

Squid held a plastic ball in his other hand. “Would… would it help you if you said it out loud?”

“No.”

…

Stampy used as much will as he could to keep himself focused on looking Squid in the eyes as he apologized for what he’d done to Wonderberg, how he acted at the train station, the lying by omission, and everything else he could think of.

He held his hand through it all.

All the emotional turmoil had made Stampy exhausted. His eyelids grew heavy. He leaned toward Squid, and Squid let him lay his head down to take a nap. The jumper was soft and fluffy. Stampy purred softly as he nodded off.

Golden light shone upon him, hazy and dim. Light jazz echoed as it bounced across the walls. Phorjay was in the kitchen. Everything smelled like cranberries. The static persisted. Stampy rose from the couch he’d grown so accustomed to, meandering through the house and following the odd scent of cranberry.

The kitchen floors were shiny and wooden. Walls of cobble were worn and dented, visibly aged. A mural of the stars was hand painted on the ceiling, and a few of the stars were hidden light bulbs that illuminated the room.

Chorus plants hung from the ceiling. Every kitchen appliance was a warm mauve. No windows.

Phorjay was there. He was preparing a salad using freshly chopped chorus fruit.

Stampy stood next to him as he watched more toppings get added to the bowl. Iceberg lettuce, cucumber, cherries, blackberries, thinly sliced carrots, glow berries, beetroots, and chorus fruit, all drizzled with honey.

Once the bowl was complete, Phorjay turned to Stampy, who seemed surprised at the fact that his presence was acknowledged at all.

“I wasn’t anticipating you’d be back so soon,” remarked Phorjay.

Not knowing what to say, Stampy gave two thumbs up.

Phorjay held the bowl out. “Would you like some salad?”

“I don’t like salad,” Stampy admitted.

“How come?”

“Everything touches.”

“That’s the point.”

“I know.”

Phorjay set his bowl down on the counter and revealed a small tupperware container he hid behind a jar of sugar.

“Your friends wanted to save you a piece.”

Stampy opened the container and gasped. Exuberant, he started stimming by flapping his hands and swaying his tail.

It was a slice of homemade chocolate-on-chocolate cake, and it was one of the big pieces near the middle.

“They made a cake?!” exclaimed Stampy.

“All of them were insistent upon it. Iced and decorated the whole thing.”

“Oh my goodness, this looks wonderful! Can I have it now, please please please pleeeease?”

“Of course you can, they made it for you. Let’s head to the dining room and- my word, you should really take smaller bites. Here, just- put the other half in your inventory, at least wait until we go down to the dining hall.”

“Sorry,” Stampy laughed.

Phorjay began leading the way. Stampy tried his best to follow, but he struggled to balance standing up. A low rumble reverberated through his ears.

“Phorjay?” he called.

“Yes?” Phorjay called back.

“I have to go now, I’m waking up.”

Before he could hear what Phorjay told him, he was back on the train again, approaching the next stop. Squid placed the book he was reading in his inventory and smiled at Stampy.

“Did you have a nice cat nap?”

He nodded. “It was very relaxing.”

Stampy checked his own inventory, and to his delight, the cake was still there.

“By the way, uh, Squid?”

“Yeh?”

“Thanks for saving me a slice.”

The train came to a halt. Squid stood tall, and Stampy copied. The duo left the tram and stepped out into the world. An informative sign greeted them.

Welcome to Azuet

∴ᒷꖎᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᔑ⨅⚍ᒷℸ ̣

Standing on a blackstone pavilion, the Wonderbergers gazed around the station. Dark fuschia fog flowed through the air in the distance, and passerby whispered predictions of the weather forecast. They speculated it would grow nearer in the coming hours. Massive fungi with pulsing teal vines climbing up their stems grew to the ceiling, their caps of cyan imposing a tunnel upon the light of shroomlight beaming below. The nylium on the ground was of the same hue. A basalt path beckoned.

Like any good wonderer on an unknown trail, Stampy expressed his desire to explore. So they embarked on a journey to barter at every shop they came by. They traded, mined more gold, traded that gold for stuff, traded stuff for gold, bought stuff with that gold, and wrapped up everything after a good six and a half hours of being in the nether.

They regrouped at the train station and began discussing their spoils as they awaited the next train.

Stampy was particularly excited about his haul. “I got a whole Wii! Used, but still, it seems to be in good condition. How about you?”

“I got a PS2. With Super Monkey Ball 2 Deluxe.”

“No way, that’s awesome! I got this poster of Master Chief.”

“They gave me some nifty posters as well! Look at this one here, Biggie Smalls!”

“I bought a box of screws.”

“And I purchased a hundred rubber duckies.”

“I also got- hang on, why did you buy one hundred rubber ducks?”

“Why not?”

“Good point. I guess I don’t really have a place to judge you on that, considering how many stuffed animals I just bought.”

“How many’d you buy?”

“I’m not telling you, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Fair enough. Last time I went ‘ere, I bought a few of them octopus plushies where you turn ‘em outside in and they look different.”

“Oh, I love those.”

Squid pulled something out of his inventory. “I also bought these projector night light ball thingies, which I love. This one makes all your walls have moving ocean patterns. Back in Wonderberg, I had one of these, and it really helped me be able to sleep better on land.”

Stampy pulled a disc out of his inventory. “That reminds me. Someone gave me this as part of a music bundle. I think you’d like it.”

“Sounds of the ocean? Stamps, you’re the best!”

And they talked and talked until the train came.

Chapter Text

Squid’s room was looking better than ever. With all the posters, paintings, and shelves, it looked even livelier than it did before. After all was said and done, Squid yawned.

“You tired?” inquired Stampy.

“Yeh, a little. I think I’m gonna have a snooze.”

Stampy looked out through the sliding glass doors. “It is getting quite late. Well, good night, Squid!”

“Night Stampy! See ya tomorrow!”

Stampy walked out through the door of his doghouse, only to be met with a series of odd scents.

“Why’s everything smell like grease?”

He noticed a plastic cup on the ground.

“Who’s littering?!”

A paper rustled in the wind. Stampy turned around to find an advert pasted onto his doghouse. He read its contents and shrieked in horror.

“McDonald’s?!”

He sprinted up the hill to get a better look, and that’s when he saw it. In the hours he was gone, someone had built a McDonald’s, complete with a playplace. He cried out an objection and immediately ran to the scene.

Flinging open the doors, Stampy ran up to the cashier’s desk. Breadstick was sitting there, joyous as ever.

“Welcome to McDonalds, how may I take your help you?”

Stampy was having none of it. “I knew you’d be behind this!”

“We have a special deal today. Two meals for the price of two meals.”

“Breadstick, please, you cannot urbanize my Lovely World. We’ve been over this, you need to check with me to get your builds approved before you put them down.”

“Would you like a side of fries with that?”

The presence of Stampy Cat was causing quite a stir with the customers. Skeletons and zombies began indistinctly whispering to one another. In this crowd of customers was a certain skeleton in a suit and sun hat, listening in on the conversation from one of the booths and eating a McFlurry.

Stampy inhaled sharply and exhaled softly. “Stampy’s Lovely World does not need a fast food joint.”

“Well, I built one anyway,” laughed Breadstick.

“I will have this removed by tomorrow morning.”

Setting down his spoon, Hit The Target cringed a little. He channeled all the energy he could into remaining quiet and non-disruptive, turning away from the counter to focus on the ice cream he ordered.

Then he noticed some movement out the corner of his eye.

A mermaid in a wheelchair had seated herself at his table. She was wearing an aquamarine hoodie and her fuschia hair was tied into low pigtails. Covering her tail was a black and white blanket. Target immediately recognized who he was looking at.

“Amy Lee? What are you doing here? There’s zombies all over the place, if they find out you’re a mermaid-”

“I’ll be fine, they don’t know it’s me.” Amy pointed to the fake mustache she was wearing.

“...if you say so, I guess. But, um… why are you here this late at night?”

“Rosie wanted a Filet ‘o’ Fish, so I stopped by and got her one because I love her a lot and she is amazing. Then I found out that they don’t charge you to use the fountain drink machine, so now I’m trying to see how much I can smuggle out without getting caught!”

“Good deal, good deal.”

Patrons chatted in the background as a bedroom pop song played faintly out of the speakers.

“You seem a bit out of it, luv. Is something wrong?” Amy leaned forward, bubbly and inquisitive.

“I don’t want to get into it right now.”

A pause. Amy returned to her prior position, sitting relaxed in her chair.

“Well, if you’re ever looking for someone to talk to about it, I’ll be around.”

“I think it should stay between me and Stampy.”

Amy nodded and gave him a cup of Dr. Pepper.

“For the road,” she smiled.

Target gave her a peace sign, which she returned twofold. He watched as she wheeled herself over to the fountain drink machine, then turned back to the counter, only to find a notable lack of Stampy Cat. Breadstick was holding a poisonous potion. The customers were murmuring indistinctly.

Figuring that something had occurred, Target pocketed his McFlurry in his inventory and left his booth. He walked up to the line behind the counter and stood patiently as the people in front of him struggled to order food.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of eyes watching him. He looked around until he noticed a skeleton, not much older than him, examining his figure with great suspicion. The skeleton looked away for a moment, then back at him, almost as if they were double-checking the legitimacy of the situation.

Target glanced at the lad, perplexed.

The lad spoke at a volume just loud enough to garner attention.

“Why’s Hit The Target here?”

A few dozen people turned the lad’s way, then to the subject of their gaze, which happened to be Target. The whole room went quiet within moments.

“Same reason you’re here, I’m having a McFlurry.”

Scattered murmurs echoed through the building.

“What?” Target laughed. “Is that not allowed? Can a man not have a McFlurry in peace?” 

Right then, things started to get heated. A stranger walked up to Target. Scowl acidic as lemon, this aforementioned stranger began reprimanding Target for working against the interest of his people. 

“You’re fucking things up for all of us!” the stranger shouted. “All that boot you’re licking is rotting your brain, that cat could spit in that McFlurry of yours, and you’d probably still drink it!”

A second stranger stood up, taken aback by what they’d just heard.

“Why does that matter to you?! If he wants to live his life sucking up to Phorjay’s pet kitty cat, let him. It’s not your business.”

“It is my business,” the first stranger scoffed. “He’s an enabler and it’s fucking things up for all of us! Look at him, he was just standing around and watching while whiskers was having his little hissy fit. You haven’t accomplished a single thing you set out to do with this plan of yours!”

“Excuse me?” sneered Target. “If I intervened, he would have gotten even pissier. Believe me, I’ve tried. And you think I haven’t accomplished a single thing I set out to do?! I was right, he was nice to me, and he managed to persuade Phorjay to let me keep my house. He can get through to Phorjay, and I can get through to him.”

A third stranger piped up. “Hey wiseguy, if you’re so good at getting through to Stampy, why is he still acting like he owns the place, huh?” 

Target stammered. “It takes time, it’s a lengthy process, give me some time, and-”

“You haven’t changed him! He’s changed you! Whatever happened to the real you, the uncompromising and confrontational Hit The Target? Don’t tell me Phorjay’s gotten to you too!”

“You don’t know me! There is no ‘old’ me, I haven’t changed a goddamn thing about myself. I will get through to him, and I-”

“When?”

Target paused.

“I will get through to him soon.”

And the restaurant disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Text

Deep in the woods, guarded by the shade of leaves and the shadow of a parasol, sat a lone skeleton at a makeshift workbench. Set evenly in a row across the far end of the bench were a collection of mouse corpses laid out for him to examine at a later time. His eyes were set on the current project, a rodent that he wanted to put in a clown costume.

Rustling of leaves did not faze him. Each time he heard it, he figured it to be some common animal, such as a pig or a goat or a spider. Perhaps even a lost frog. After all, most tieflings were in the nether, and of those that weren’t, there were very few that bothered going out in broad daylight. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need to worry about being perceived at all.

Which is why he felt his stomach sink when something tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked his head to the source, only to feel a wave of relief right after.

“Ah, Target, it’s just you.”

“Jacques, I-”

In a cagey manner, Target ambled toward the desk. He leaned down and squinted.

“…why do you have a pile of dead rats lying on a rock?”

Jacques raised his pointer finger. “They’re mice, not rats. But I do have a small collection of completed rats if you’re interested!”

“Mmm, I see. It’s taxidermy, I should have figured as much.” 

“That was a genuine offer by the way. Are you interested in seeing the rats?”

Target paused. “Maybe some other time.”

Dusting off his jeans, Jacques rose from his seat with a wistful expression. Target observed this and tried to backpedal on his rejection to no avail.

“It’s not about the rats, I know you’re not interested in that sort of thing like I am. Which is fine! I’m worried about you. Is something up?”

Following some slight hesitance, Target sat himself on the grassy floor beneath him. Jacques placed his mice in his inventory and sat across from him.

“I’m conflicted.”

Jacques ran his hands down his own low ponytail. “This is about Stampy Cat, right?”

“Kind of. You’re probably sick and tired of hearing about him by now, sorry.”

“Well, it’s sort of unavoidable, isn’t it?”

Above them, the sky began to darken as the Sun made its way to the edge of the skyline. Flowing water sparkled with a tangerine tinge nearby, its low roar spangling the soundscape with its ambient beauty. A single frog croaked. Jacques got up and walked to it, cupping his hands to make a platform for the creature to hop on to. The frog stared at him before hopping away.

“Why’s… something smells like grease, do you smell anything-”

“I was at a McDonald’s,” asserted Target. “The lad at the counter, Breadsticks, was it, he had to have doused the whole building in it. Frankly, I’m surprised it didn’t get into the ice cream.”

“There’s a McDonald’s?”

“Well, not anymore.”

“Ah.”

“You missed your shot, mate.”

A pause.

“You didn’t miss that much, to be fair. The dining experience was subpar.”

“McDonald’s isn’t a high caliber establishment, I am not surprised in the slightest.”

“No, but even by McDonald’s standards, that was a new low. I’m pretty sure the cement was made of packed mud, you could kind of smell it if you filtered out the grease.”

“I mean, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? If they’re just going to take it down…”

“Fair enough, that’s- yeah, that’s fair.”

“See,” Jacques giggled. “I’m right as well, sometimes.”

“Someone ought to call the press.”

“You know, all this talk of food and such, it’s making me a bit peckish.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Craving’s hitting.”

“If I may ask, a craving for what?”

“Mushroom stew.”

Target’s bones shifted. “Really?”

“Mmm, yeah. Got a pretty good recipe for it too, I even have the, uh, the required mushrooms.”

“I’ve some ingredients at my place. Perhaps we could make some.”

“Sounds nifty. You lead though, I don’t actually have a clue how to get to your place.”

With a beckoning motion, Target prompted his friend to follow. Down the riverbank they went, taking a leisurely stroll to Stampy’s Lovely Town. They talked as they walked.

“I thought you were going to move to the nether like everyone else, did you change your mind?”

Jacques did a tilty motion with his hand. “More or less. For one, the hoglins kept trying to eat my mounts, and it got annoying having to deal with them. It’s also really hot everywhere, which I knew was going to be a point of contention, but I didn’t think it would be that bad! Not to mention, the political climate seems a bit tense at the moment. I’m sure it’ll calm down soon enough, but now doesn’t seem like the best time to make the move. I think I need to give it a few months.”

Target nodded.

Jacques began walking slower. “Maybe by then, they’ll learn to be more reasonable.”

The two approached the door. Target held it open for his friend, who carefully maneuvered himself inside without getting a drop of sunlight on him. Immediately, Jacques ran to the workbench.

“Looks sturdy!”

Target chuckled. “Well, it kind of has to be. Welding takes a bit of force.”

“Oh, is this where you make your swords?”

“Mmhmm. The kitchen’s to your left, downstairs, then take a right. It’s hard to miss.”

“Okay… um, where are the stairs? Are they-”

“Jacques, watch your step, watch your step!”

“Pardon?”

He quickly realized what Target meant by that as he fell down a two meter hole. Target immediately ran to the scene to check on his friend, finding him pumped on adrenaline and on the verge of laughter.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good!” called Jacques. “It’s just my arm, it’s a bit dislocated. Easy fix.”

With a tiny pop, he fastened his shoulder into place. Target descended the ladder and guided his friend to the kitchen.

“Wow, you’ve got a proper bar here!”

The area was quite small. All of the appliances were compacted into this tiny space in this little gray room. A toaster and a microwave sat on top of a minifridge in the right corner. An oven with a stove sat in the middle. On the left, there was a sink with a pot blocking the drain. In the general vicinity, there were a few other appliances. Namely, an air fryer, a blender, a cutting board, and a cooler. Jacques took a peek inside and found numerous filled water bottles submerged in ice.

“Yeah, I uh… I haven’t put in any pipes yet, we don’t have running water. That’s why the cooler’s there.”

Nodding, Jacques pocketed a few bottles. “Understandable. Plumbing’s hard.”

“And I can’t find anyone who’s up for hire because, well, you know. Politics and whatnot.”

“Holy hell, this knife is sharp.”

“Thank you, sharpened it myself.”

Jacques snickered. “Sorry in advance if I wreck your cutting board.”

“No worries.”

He continued to dice his vegetables and mushrooms into equally sized pieces. Target watched from a barstool on the other side of the half wall.

Chapter Text

Steam rose with its savory scent, mushy cooked carrots and sweet corn accenting the thick broth. Napkin in lap, Jacques sat directly across from his friend.

The stew was still too hot to comfortably sip. Eyes interlocked. A pause.

Jacques broke the silence.

“So, what about him has you so conflicted?”

Target set his spoon back down on the table.

It was beginning to get dark. A hazy red-orange sept through the windows as the scent of flame persisted. The ridges in the walls looked that much more defined. Frogs croaked nearby, deep and resonant. A bug flew in through a gap in the door before being swiftly caught in a giant spider web. It chirped.

He looked at Jacques again.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Jacques leaned forward. Target continued.

“I want to wait it out. Let the friendship actually develop before saddling him with the burden of a deep-cutting truth. Two weeks aren’t enough, if I told him now, he wouldn’t believe me. He’s still acting wary around me. I think he’s tried snooping through my house because he doesn’t really trust me. Maybe he would trust me more if I gave him more of a reason to, but I haven’t been doing myself many favors. Because I can’t stand by injustice.

“If someone does something that isn’t right, and nobody calls them on it, I have to call them on it. And I’ve been trying not to intervene in situations where my input is unneeded, but whenever I do that, it feels like… it feels like I’m compromising who I am to fit in a place where I’m not wanted.

“So I see Stampy Cat acting like he’s the leader of everything and everyone, and it’s making me sick. We all live here. Nobody said he should be in charge! Yet here he is, renaming our towns, taking down our buildings, commanding his helpers to do his bidding while he goes off and has a lie in… and to top it all off, he’s getting gifts from Phorjay! But I can’t say anything about it, because that’s confrontational and it’ll ruin our friendship.

“Everyone saw me sitting down and being complacent while Stampy was going on this spiel about this world belonging to him, and they called me on it. Of course, they aren’t concerned about me. They’re concerned about what I think. These people aren’t looking out for my best interest, and they sure as hell aren’t looking out for Stampy’s. When they’re suggesting I back off and stay in my lane, I know they’re not doing it because they’re worried about me ‘losing myself’.

“Still, you know what they say about broken clocks. I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to compromise who I am, I don’t want to become some… compromised version of who I am for the sake of his comfort, but I don’t think I have a choice anymore. I wasn’t the right person to do this. I don’t have enough restraint. I don’t know what to do. I just want to tell him the truth and get it over with, but if I jump the gun, it’ll wreck everything.

Target took a sip of his stew.

“He’s a nice person, Jacques. I don’t think he realizes that what he’s doing is wrong.”

Jacques set his half-eaten bowl of stew back on the table, with a weary look in his eyes.

“Can I be blunt with you for a moment?”

Target tilted his head. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Why are you so dead set on the idea that he’s misguided?”

The broth waded back and forth as Target stirred it gently with his spoon.

“If he sincerely believed in what Phorjay believes, he wouldn’t have given me a chance in the first place.”

Jacques took another sip of stew.

“Agree to disagree on that.”

“So… what do I do?”

Jacques shrugged. “Answer seems pretty clear to me. If you have problems with what he’s doing, take the time to tell him. If you don’t tell him, someone else will. Maybe you can give him the truth in small doses if you’re worried he’s not getting it. And if he has a problem with those, maybe he’s not as good a friend as you think he is.”

All was dim. The undead sat alone on a lifted podium, lit only by candles burning in gothic holders. Flames crackled. It smelled of stew and smoke.

“I’ll consider that,” Target promised.

He cupped his bowl in his hand and raised it to neck level.

“Now, what about those rodents you were working on earlier?”

Right then, Target noticed a twinkle in his friend’s eyes. Jacques wasted no time displaying his mounts, explaining each one in tremendous detail. As his skeletal comrade continued to prattle, Target took the opportunity to savor the stew. It was plenty cooled by now, but there was warmth elsewhere. In the air, perhaps not of the torches, but of enthusiasm.

He didn’t have to understand it to appreciate it. The appreciation did not go unnoticed. At dawn, Jacques asked a lone favor from Target.

“Could I… sleep here this morning? I don’t want to risk losing everything in my inventory.”

Target smiled. “Course you can, mate. I have an empty room right down there, and I’ve some good storage too if there’s anything you’d like to keep safe.”

Jacques hugged him. It felt nice.

His bed felt that much more cozy in the hours that followed. For the first time that evening, he felt at peace. Before he shut his eyes to rest, he looked at an old photo in an album of his.

It was of him and Toby.

Target’s hair was barely past shoulder length. He was only seven or eight years old at most, and Toby was a puppy. They stood on mulch, playing fetch with sticks and tennis balls on a sunny day at the local playground. Someone was serving ice cream. A group of kids blew bubbles. Everything smelled of sunscreen and strawberries, of soap and nostalgia.

Not everything was sunshine and rainbows back in the old days. The threat of invasion lingered. Fear of martyrdom was instilled in many souls. Yet, they still found it in themselves to live a life of joy in spite of it all. 

Whatever happened to that way of life?

Shelving the book, Target slept soundly.

Chapter Text

January 13th, 2012.

Getting pelted in the face with snowballs was quite far from the way Stampy anticipated he would be spending his morning. Yet, here he was, caught in the middle of a snowball fight, teamed up with Craig and Target, facing Squid, Sqaishey, and Henry.

He couldn’t help but think to himself, what a way to make a return. Initiating an indoor snowball fight while everyone is still in pajamas. Who would have thought?

The battle continued for several minutes, until Stampy’s team agreed to surrender. After an exchange of GGs, Target left to head to bed, while everyone else got dressed. It was easiest for Stampy, all he had to do was put his red quest vest on and don his Stampy Style boots.

Craig was done pretty quickly as well, he wore a black graphic tee with denim jeans and tennis shoes. Nothing too fancy. Sqaishey wore an orange t-shirt with a pumpkin on it, as well as their usual teal scarf. They also wore cargo shorts.

Squid, however, went all out. It wore a black and red floral patterned dress and a bright red wig, which took everyone in the room by surprise.

“Looking fancy today, Squidnugget!” Craig remarked.

Squid nodded. “Well, I try my best- bleh, there’s hair in my mouth now, ew.”

“Did you just have that wig lying around or something?” inquired Stampy.

“Yeh, I wore it on halloween one year, it was nice. Found it in an ender chest.”

Craig grinned. “That was a good year.”

Sqaishey piped up. “Wasn’t that the year we all went as each other?”

“Yup. Squid went as me, but it was back when I wore my hair down,” noted Craig.

Stampy chimed in. “Who’d I go as?”

“You went as Sqaishey. Sqaishey went as Stacy, Stacy went as Squid, and I went as you. Fun year, probably one of my favorite halloween costumes to date.”

Stampy grinned as he imagined what that would look like.

Sqaishey pulled a tray out of their inventory. “Who wants pumpkin pie?”

The decision was unanimous, everyone took a slice of pumpkin pie, much to Sqaishey’s delight. After they finished breakfast, Stampy led the merry band of Wonderbergers to the Inspiration Room.

“So, while the two of you were gone, I came up with a few new plans for this place.”

Stampy unraveled a large blueprint and opened a sketchbook. Craig and Sqaishey looked at the papers in awe. Stampy purred a little in excitement.

“You know the area where I put my golf course? I want to turn that into a… sort of theme park type thing? It’s going to have games and rides and roller coasters, and we can put anything we want in there!”

Sqaishey gasped. “Could we build a mini game with ducks?”

“Absolutely!” beamed Stampy.

Squid raised his arm high. “What about a super duper cool water ride that’s like, really really tall?”

“I’ll see if I can make that work!”

Craig chimed in. “How about a dark ride?”

“A… what? What’s a dark ride?”

“You know, like Small World. From Disneyland.”

“Ohhhhh. Yeah, I think we could do that!”

His friends listened as Stampy went over his plans to build a subway station, a haunted house, and most notably, a large roller coaster.

“While I was trying to come up with ideas for what the coaster would look like, I noticed my friend Agatha, the friendly creeper. And I thought, what if we made a roller coaster that was just a giant creeper? I sketched out the plans here, what do you guys think?”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” chirped Sqaishey.

“Awesome! I’ve already given some tasks to a few of my helpers. Froggy and Rosie were put on sign duty, there’s a giant sign there now. Amy’s gathering flowers for dye. I put Ank and Hit The Target in charge of gathering other resources, mining, et cetera. Then I asked Longbow and Breadstick if they wanted to help with the coaster, but Longbow said he wouldn’t start until you guys came back, and Breadstick said he wasn’t gonna start until Longbow started. They’ve just been building dirt houses everywhere. I caught them in the act once, trying to build a dirt house on top of my house.”

Craig nodded. “They’ve just become inseparable, haven’t they?”

“Yeah, they’re like two peas in a pod. If I’m not mistaken, they’re probably down in Longbow’s Den.”

Out of nowhere, an extremely loud incorrect buzzer noise played. Stampy covered his ears while Craig was utterly startled.

In a fit of laughter, Longbow and Breadstick emerged from a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t do that!” exclaimed Stampy.

They were both still giggling about it.

“Right, okay, Longbow? Craig’s back, and I was thinking we could get a start on the Creeper Coaster. How’s that sound?”

Longbow gave a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me. Breadstick, are you down to join?”

Breadstick played a moderately loud correct buzzer noise, which sent them both into yet another fit of laughter. The Wonderbergers looked at each other and shrugged wordlessly.

“Alright, let me go grab my dogs.”

Chapter Text

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The temperature was perfect, the wind was light, and the sun was shining. There wasn’t a better suited day to build than today. Spring and Arrow accompanied the six travelers as they ventured to a brick house next to the golf course.

Ank was sitting down on the sandstone floor, drinking bottled water next to a chest. He waved at the entering party.

“Good morning, Ank!” Stampy sang. “Is everything ready for the build?”

“Yup. Paint, scaffolding, wood, redstone… all of it is right here.”

“You’re a godsend, I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“It was a group effort. I’ll forward your thanks to Target.”

As Ank ascended up the ladder, Stampy dug through the chest and pocketed the building materials. His other helpers explored the tower.

There were five mattresses and two sleeping bags. Stampy’s bed was up against the wall, with a sign that read “Stampy’s Sleep Station” above it. Squid’s sleeping bag was folded up next to his, as he preferred sleeping out on the balcony for whatever reason. There was a second sleeping bag next to him, which was functionally a guest bed.

On the opposite side, right across from them, sat the other four mattresses. Two on the floor, two on an elevated bunk. Ank was already asleep on the bottom bunk, and Target’s bed next to him was empty; it could go to Sqaishey, Craig, or Longbow, depending on how things worked out. There was little headroom on the top bunk. Nevertheless, Breadstick reserved his bed there. A second guest bed sat next to it as well.

“Right, there’s… one, two… seven of us, and seven beds, so everything should work out favorably.”

Longbow piped up. “I call top bunk!”

Sqaishey raced Craig to the remaining mattress, and Sqaishey won by tripping him immediately as he started. After lying on the bed, however, they began to have second thoughts.

“This isn’t even a mattress! This is a futon. I can’t sleep on this, the texture’s weird.”

Craig walked their way. “Here, let me feel.”

Upon lying down on the futon, Craig became visibly relaxed.

“Dunno know what you’re on about, Sqaish. This is perfect.”

Sqaishey shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, I suppose!”

Stampy swayed back and forth. “So, now that sleeping arrangements have been decided, we ought to get to work on the coaster. I’ve mapped out where we need to build and- where’s Breadstick gone off to? Did he start without us?”

The cat ran to the balcony to investigate, only to find Breadstick and Longbow building the legs in the wrong place. Totally frazzled, he pearled down to the scene and began instructing them on how to do the job properly.

Breadstick threw a poison potion at him, an act which Stampy was not amused by. Arrow and Spring quickly turned defensive, viciously attacking Breadstick and killing him in the process. Luckily, he respawned and teleported back. He then proceeded to go about his day as if nothing had happened, only this time he was actually making progress on the build.

Agatha walked over and sat on the hill, modeling for the builders. The dogs weren’t scared of her, they felt very comfortable sitting next to her, and she felt great sitting next to them. They built until the clock struck noon, and the friendly creeper watched as Craig set a blanket down on the grass.

“What is-sss this-sss?” inquired Agatha.

Sqaishey flapped their hands. “It’s a picnic! We’re having lunch outside, Craig said he brought something very special to eat today.”

Agatha gasped. “I’ve always wanted to try a food! All I’ve ever eaten was sss-sunlight, through photo-sss-synthesis. Can I plea-sss-se have sss-some?”

“Of course you can! That’s why I was sure to pack some spare plates!”

Sqaishey laid out seven plates on the cloth, with Agatha’s at the head of the table. Stampy, Sqaishey, and Squid were on one side. Craig, Breadstick, and Longbow were on the other. Agatha smiled a little, though she seemed to be exercising a lot of restraint.

Craig revealed the mystery dish, and to Stampy’s delight, the dish was a chocolate fudge flavored cake topped with complementary berries. Each guest was served one slice. All the builders dug into theirs immediately, though Agatha’s was left untouched throughout the entire meal. Upon further questioning, the people realized that this was because she didn’t have any arms.

“I could… feed you the cake, if you’d like!” Squid suggested.

“That would work!” beamed Agatha.

She stood next to the brick house as Squid spoon fed her a single slice of cake. As she chewed, there was a sparkle in her eyes. She lit up with excitement, sizzling with joy as she grinned wider than she ever had before.

“Thi-sss i-sss… it’s sss-so wonderful, better than any-sss-ing I ever… sss-”

Agatha blew up.

In the blink of an eye, she became little more than a hole in the ground. Squid looked at the gaping hole with resounding guilt and disbelief, as everyone else looked down at what remained of her.

A pile of gunpowder and charred leaves. Her ashes.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, they all mourned in silence, hardly moving from their spots, pausing their work in Agatha’s memory. The only sounds came from Arrow and Spring, who were whining at the disappearance of their new friend, and later, footsteps from a very confused skeleton.

Stampy turned around to find Hit The Target, standing still with his two dogs on leashes.

“What happened here?” asked Target.

Stampy sniffled. “Agatha died.”

“The creeper? From Christmas?”

“I… I’m not gonna lie, I’m not happy, things aren’t good right now-”

“Did she… did she, um…”

“Look!” Stampy mewled. “It all happened so fast, one minute she was there, and then the next minute, boom, she was- she’s a pit in the ground that we’ll have to fill with dirt!”

Target walked up to the hole and knelt down to peer inside. Stampy knelt next to him, teary eyed.

He put his hand on the cat’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Stampy wiped the tears off his own face as he fought the urge to shut his eyes and shut down. He breathed as slow as he could manage.

“Everyone, I… you all can take the rest of the day off if you’d like. The golf course is done if you’d like to take your mind off the topic.”

Sqaishey chimed in. “Shouldn’t we have a eulogy first?”

“Right, of course,” replied Stampy, with a halfhearted laugh. “We can’t forget the eulogy. Would anyone like to say a few words?”

Everyone looked at one another, not saying a word.

“…I suppose that just leaves me then? That actually kind of works out, because I sort of had something in mind already.”

Stampy cleared his throat.

“She was a gift to this world. It’s quite fitting that we all met her on Christmas- well, I guess the royal ‘we’ since you three weren’t there, but that’s semantics. Regardless, Agatha was a gift to us all. I’m glad I had the chance to meet her. And I’m glad she had the chance to eat that cake she always wanted, even if it did sort of… you know, kill her. At least she went out happy, filled with joy and excitement from a nice tasty cake. Who knows, maybe that’s just how creepers respond to any strong emotion. By blowing up. When they’re sad, they blow up. When they’re angry, they blow up. When they’re happy, they blow up! So… maybe it’s not as sad as it seems, she went out embracing joy in a way she never could have done before. And I miss her, but I’m happy for her as well. I’m sure she’d be glad to know that she’s touched all of our hearts, playing hopscotch, celebrating Christmas, giving imaginary high fives because she didn’t have arms or hands, all of those moments turned memories that I won’t ever forget.”

“You promise for real this time?” remarked Squid.

Dead silence.

And then Stampy and Squid broke out in a fit of laughter.

Chapter Text

Half of Stampy’s entourage had taken the leave they’d been given. To his surprise, Longbow and Breadstick were not among those people. Squid remained by his side as well. Together, the four of them made progress on the coaster.

The upper half of the body was already complete, aside from the paint that still needed to be added. Construction on the head was in progress. Longbow had already started on the other half of the body. Squid was building the queue.

Breadstick, however, was just goofing off as per usual. Throwing around swiftness potions and whatnot. Running around inside the head like a madman. Being generally unproductive. Stampy was entirely fine with this, mostly because he was within his line of sight rather than doing some nonsense elsewhere.

Then, there was a thud. Stampy peered downward into the enclosure and noticed a certain wizard had fallen inside.

“Breadstick fell down the creeper, should I- should I just encase him in?” Stampy laughed.

“Do it! Do it!” chanted Longbow. Squid joined in as well.

Breadstick did not object to this.

“See you later, Breadstick! Enjoy your life in there.”

Squid started laughing at the sight. He ran over to the creeper and made a little window to spectate Breadstick’s continued shenanigans through.

“Day one inside the creeper coaster,” monologued Breadstick. “It smells like feet. My prison warden? A squid. I have resorted to making friends with this cactus in my pocket.”

“Why were you carrying a cactus?” asked Longbow.

“It’s the perfect shape.”

“Breadstick, you’re an absolute freak, I hope you understand that.”

“I know,” he smiled, coyly as ever.

Seeing as there was nothing better to do, Breadstick actually started being productive, working on the interior of the coaster. To pass the time while building, Stampy continued monologuing to himself about the development of the ride. This continued until he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

“…is that a googlie? In broad daylight?”

Stampy walked up to the lad. He was a small zombie, couldn’t be older than eight years old at most. Green skin, large eyebrows, and dark hair, styled with a long braid at the end. He had big pointed ears and a long tail. His eyes were obscured by red and black sunglasses, and he held a parasol with a cow design on it. Interestingly, he seemed to be dressed up as CaptainSparklez.

“What brings you here, little guy?”

“I wanted to meet you!” the child explained, in a youthful British accent.

“Oh, are you a friendly googlie?”

The child nodded. “I’m one of Breadstick’s fans. I like how he always builds a McDonalds.”

Breadstick waved from inside of the creeper coaster. The child waved back, visibly enthused.

Stampy put his paws together. “Have you just been watching us build this?”

“Yeah. It’s super cool looking. Just like your golf course!”

“Ah, you like the golf course?”

“My best friend Littlewood showed me how you- you namedid one of the holes after him. He was really happy about it. It looks fun.”

The cat let out a single laugh. “Well, you’re free to play a spot of golf whenever you please. Stampy’s Funland is a place for everyone, googlies included.”

“Really?”

“Of course! What’s your name, by the way?”

The child’s ears perked up. “My name is Kel, and I like brewing potions and watching all the hunger games with CaptainSparklez in it.”

“Nice to meet you, Kel!”

“Nice to meet you too, Stampy Cat!”

“Well, seeing as this is an important day to do with the relationship between the townsfolk and the googlies, I would like to welcome you to the land of the good and the land of the un-destructive. And uh, yeah, welcome to the world of not killing people!”

“Yay!” cheered Kel.

The other three builders clapped.

Kel smiled. “I can’t wait to tell the Stampy Cat Fanclub about this!”

Stampy tilted his head. “The what?”

“The Stampy Cat Fanclub! We only have three members so far, and that’s including me. Ohmigosh, wait, can I show you? Can I show you, please please please pretty please with miracle berries on top?”

Standing tall, Stampy gave a thumbs up. “Sure thing! Here, I’ll gather a few of my friends, and then you can- and then yeah, you can lead the way to the club meetup spot. Are any of them Craig fans, by chance?”

“Yeah, he’s awesome.”

“Alright, I’ll go- I’ll go get him now, be right back.”

Kel ran around the coaster excitedly as he waited for Stampy to return. Longbow handed Breadstick a pearl so he could leave the creeper coaster.

“I like the lighthouse, Mr. Robin’s paintings look so nice there. I want to be a builder one day. Like you guys!”

He took a few swiftness potions out of his inventory and handed them to the builders. They all drank up and gave his brewing work some praise, which made the little zombie very happy.

Stampy came back with a party of three other people; Dan, Cal, and Craig. Kel was beaming with excitement, which Stampy felt secondhand.

“So, which way to the Stampy Cat Fanclub?”

Boldly and bravely, Kel led the way. Following close behind were Stampy, Longbow, Breadstick, Cal, Dan, and Craig. Squid had chosen to stay at the creeper coaster to continue working, and everyone else was on break, which left only those six. Still, as they traveled through the forest, they could tell that this was more than that kid could have ever wished for.

The young zombie prattled on and on as he walked.

“I went down to the Love Garden and I saw Littlewood’s name there. On a sign. Did you add him?”

Stampy mewed. “Yeah, I really liked his drawing. I think he’s a great artist.”

“Wow! I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“I’d prefer it if I told him myself,” replied Stampy.

“Got it, got it.”

The party came to an abrupt stop. Kel’s tail swayed from side to side as an exuberant smile formed on his face.

“Here it is!”

Chapter Text

Only one other member was present; a skeleton with short curly hair holding a mushroom parasol. The skeleton was around Kel’s age and seemed to be missing one of his legs. Vines were wrapped around his bones. Blossoming flowers poked through his t-shirt. Illustrations of fungi were painted on his face.

On that very face sprouted a joy he hadn’t felt since days of yore, back when he was a living creature who walked a populated world of tieflings and fungi and mosses and berries. For the first time in over a year, something mattered.

Using a branch as a walking stick for his absent leg, the skeleton ambled over to the cat in disbelief. Kel smiled proudly. Breadstick waved.

“Is that Stampy Cat?” the skeleton beamed.

Stampy waved. “Hello!”

“Oh. My. Gosh! Kel, this is like a dream! It’s the real Stampy Cat!”

Kel looked around, then back to his friend.

“Where’s Rayray? He hasn’t gone back home already, has he?”

“Nah, he’s fine, he’s just looking for something,” replied the skeleton.

Stampy piped up. “Is Rayray another member?”

“He’s not just a member,” clarified Kel. “He’s the founder.”

“And president!”

Stampy whistled.

Cal leaned forward. “So, who’s your friend over there?”

Kel pointed to the skeleton. “Him?”

“Yeah, who’s that?”

“That’s Littlewood.”

Littlewood put his crutch in his inventory and started waving really fast.

Stampy waved back. “Hello Littlewood! I’d just like to say, thank you for the art, it looks really nice. You’re wonderful at drawing!”

“Oh my gosh, really??? Wow! Thank you, Mr. Stampy Cat!”

“The pleasure is mine!”

Littlewood turned to Kel. “We need to get Rayray over here, like, right this second. He is going to be all super mega stoked to see this.”

Kel nodded. “Let's find him, let’s find him. Everybody! We will be right back! Please do not leave, or else we will be very sad about it.”

The two young boys ran off, leaving the party of six with the company of themselves.

Longbow spoke up. “I know you guys can’t tell, but I have the biggest smile on my face right now. Thought you all might like to know that.”

Cal leaned forward. “This isn’t, like, an ironic thing, is it? Like these kids are genuinely fans of you guys?”

“Seems genuine to me,” shrugged Breadstick.

“Yeah, I doubt any of these kids even know what the word irony means,” Longbow joked.

While the party continued chatting, Kel and Littlewood were walking back, accompanied by a young zombie with pointy ears and horns. Red shirt, black sweater, beige pants. He held a cake themed parasol, and spoke in a squeaky American accent. They too were conversing with one another.

“So, you said Craig is gonna be here? Craig and Longbow?” Rayray asked.

Kel gave a thumbs up. “Breadstick is going to be there also.”

“That. Is. AWESOME!!!” shouted Rayray. “Do you think Stampy is going to be there too? I want to meet Stampy!”

Stampy smiled.

“You’re speaking to him right now.”

Rayray gasped.

“HOLY CRAP, IT’S STAMPY CAT! GUYS! GUYS!!!”

The excitement level in the gaggle of googlies multiplied as Rayray’s enthusiasm spread over to his friends.

“You must be Rayray, right?” asked Stampy.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Did you guys introduce him to me? You’re all amazing, this is like a dream! This is like if a dream was real, it’s like my head is exploding right now.”

It was almost jarring, thinking about Phorjay’s warnings as he watched these children jumping for joy, uplifting one another with their smiles.

Craig knelt down to their height. “So, I heard you’re the founder, what’s the story? How did this club get started?”

Rayray rubbed his hands together. “You see, it all started, like, a month or so ago, when my friend Littlewood told me about someone who was building a house that looked super sweet. And so we started hanging out and watching it together!”

Stampy nodded. “Ah, so you’ve just been watching us build?”

“And then I found out about Gregory, which was so sad. He got shot in the face by a skeleton and now he’s buried in front of your house. I like how you have dogs. They’ll eat me if I go near them but I still wish I could pet them. Especially Cedric and Barnaby, those are my favorites.”

“Aw,” purred Stampy.

“Then I told Kel all about it, and we formed this club so we could talk about it better. So, um, yeah, that is the story of the Stampy Cat Fanclub.”

Kel started clapping. “Well said.”

Dusting the dirt off his knees, Craig rose from the grass. “There’s- I’m not trying to burst your bubble here, but what is it about watching people build stuff that catches your eye?”

Rayray shrugged. “Dunno. There hasn’t been much else for kids my age to do other than hopscotch and four square.”

Kel nodded. “We weren’t allowed to watch TV for months because all the televisions were destroyed.”

Littlewood held his stick. “I just came back from being dead and now I’m homeless.”

“Goodness!” mewed Stampy. “That sounds horrible!”

“It’s not all bad,” replied Kel. “I met a new friend!”

“And I’m in the Love Garden!” Littlewood cheered.

“And I finally got to meet you,” added Rayray, with a jovial smile.

Suddenly, Stampy had an idea.

“Rayray, would you like to come to my town? I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“AWESOME! I get to tour Stampy’s Lovely Town! Um, what time is it?”

Longbow shrugged. “It’s like, five PM I think.”

“Oh shoot. I have to go now, it’s family movie night so I can’t tour.”

“Well in that case, I won’t hold you up,” remarked Stampy.

“I’ll stop by again as soon as I can! Hopefully no later than eleven AM tomorrow. Thank you Stampy Cat! Bye!”

“Byeeeeeeeee!”

Rayray nearly slipped on a rock while running off into the distance.

Breadstick turned to Kel. “You said you wanted to be an architect when you grow up, right?”

“Mmhmm!” nodded Kel.

He handed Kel a spare blueprint.

“How would you like some hands-on experience, young man?”

Chapter Text

Your friend FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has joined the lobby!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> BILLY

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I DID IT

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> They said it couldn’t be done

<billythebeaver> What happened

<billythebeaver> Did you finally tame a wild llama?

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> no i still have not done that one yet

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> maybe one day

<billythebeaver> I have never even seen a llama in real life.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> No way

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> You’ve NEVER SEEN ONE?????????????

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> That is utterly preposterous

<billythebeaver> My home world has no llamas.

<billythebeaver> It’s mostly just beavers like me and some fish.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> whatttttttttttttt

<billythebeaver> If I didn’t become a vagabond I probably would not even know what a lamblet looks like.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> that is simply unthinkable william

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> i am in SHOCK

<billythebeaver> Ha ha! :)

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> %V

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> That is my face right now.

<billythebeaver> :B

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> %P

<billythebeaver> :7

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> %O

<billythebeaver> :r

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> %g

<billythebeaver> What emotion is that supposed to convey

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> It is a new one that I just made up now for this conversation.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I call it gounk

<billythebeaver> Innovative! :g

<billythebeaver> So what was that thing you did

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> wat

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> OH

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Oh yeah the thingy! SO

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> BASICALLY

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> i became CHAMPION of HIDE AND SEEK

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> They said elephants could never become CHAMPIONs of HIDE AND SEEK but I proved them wrong! >%D

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t chain william

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<billythebeaver> Woot!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<billythebeaver> woot woot

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<billythebeaver> W00t

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> w00t!!!!!

<billythebeaver> Oh I need to harvest my carrots now

<billythebeaver> Req to join if you want. My island is open.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> why yes  I think I will do just that

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I don’t know why you made it request only though…

<billythebeaver> Allow friends option is bugged

<billythebeaver> It keeps letting randoms into my island

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has requested to visit your island!

Request approved!

FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has entered your island!

And quite the bodacious entrance it was. In all his years on the server, William had never witnessed anyone enter his island by falling from the sky riding a sled with shaken cola rocket boosters fastened onto its rear. With Fizzy, there was a first time for everything.

“I still cannot believe that you have never seen a llama.”

William plucked a carrot from out of the ground. “Describe.”

“They’re like horses if they had long necks and were also fluffy. I tried to talk to one once. It spit at me. Very rude! Also they’re like, super duper similar to alpacas. You can put chests on them and ride them off into the sunset. Sometimes they are brown. Or white. Or whitish-brown I think? I remember seeing one that was kind of yellow once. Did I mention they have wool? I know I said they’re like horses but they’re more like a cross between a horse, a sheep, and a giraffe, with the hubris of sapient man. I have pictures.”

The beaver eyed Fizzy’s phone as they pulled up their camera roll. Fizzy swiped and swiped past pictures of unusual gemstones until they stumbled across a photo of a llama.

“Yeah, does look similar,” chuckled William.

“Have you ever seen an alpaca in real life?”

“No.”

Fizzy covered their mouth with their arms as they let out a comically long gasp. “That is bizarre! Completely bizarre! I will be most displeased when I hear about this.”

“Said earlier. Not common at home. Only pictures.”

“You, my good sir, are gasting my flabbers here. Never once? In your whole entire life, you’re saying you have never laid eyes upon the glorious alpaca?”

“Little else to say.”

“And this is your first time seeing a llama in picture form?”

William simply nodded. Following this was a grimace from Fizzy enacted so quickly, it was as if it were an involuntary response to the preceding information.

“Oh, my good friend Billiam Beavings, I am at a loss for words. You have left me at a loss for words. Somebody is taking my words, and I am beginning to suspect that you are the culprit!”

“Not me. Words hard. No space for yours.”

“Tell that to the mods. I am reporting you for being uncultured.”

“Did you make up llamas?”

“I’m reporting you for SLANDER, Wouldiwas Beaved! Which is what your name will be when I put you in the past tense. Because you are going to carrot farmer JAIL and will NEVER be seen again.”

“Easy yes or no.”

“Llamas exist,” asserted Fizzy. “Ask anyone.”

William spoke in an exaggerated high-pitched voice. “Hello stranger, friend possibly invented fake animal, what is llama?”

“Okay, then I’ll ask instead.”

He mimicked Fizzy’s voice. “Hi random! Friend think I invented llama, tell him if one exists.”

“I see no issue with that.”

“Track record, Fizzy. Many fake animals made by you.”

“This is completely different. Llamas are real.”

“Bring llama.”

Fizzy paused. “What?”

“If they are so ‘real’, bring llama.”

“Bring llama?”

“Bring llama.”

“To you?”

“Wanna see.”

“Bring llama?”

William nodded. “Bring llama.”

“Challenge accepted,” announced Fizzy.

Their departure was equally as intricate as their entrance, bestowing upon the beaver a truly unique sight. Several hours passed. No word from Fizzy.

Until he heard the striking tones of a notification.

Your friend FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has joined the lobby!

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> i just won a riding mower

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> This is awesome

<billythebeaver> Llama status?

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> OH

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> no i still have not tamed one but they are real

<billythebeaver> I mean have you brought one yet

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> Willyouare Beaver you must understand

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> These are wild animals.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> if i wish to bring you llama i must become one with llama

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> MY LIFELONG QUEST (as of a few months ago or something i think)

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I REFUSSSEEEEE TO FAIL YOUUUUU

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> i must continue my search wiam.

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> I AM OFF. ON THE RIDING MOWER OF DESTINY

<billythebeaver> Okay have fun :B

<billythebeaver> Bye

<FiZzY_FiReWoRkS> baiiiiiiiiiiii

Your friend FiZzY_FiReWoRkS has left the lobby!

Chapter Text

Alone she sat.

Her feet dangled off the edge of the island. She swayed them in the air, back and forth.

She hadn’t changed her clothes since Christmas. Her striped shirt was stained with earth and mud, her jeans scuffed, her ponytail loose. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Wink. Everest. Tucker. Basil. Addison. Noah.

They’d been rotting for a week and a half by the time she found them. Wilting and abandoned like corn in a drought. No scavengers left for their carcasses. No fungi left for decomposition. The sun shone on. The wind blew. Nothing ever moved. Nothing ever changed. Their fur was cold.

She stood to water the chorus fruit. Chewing at her boots were a swarm of endermites, tiny and merciless, small and unwavering. She missed ants. She missed bees. She missed wasps. She missed the ecosystem.

A conglomerate of acquaintances accompanied her. They sat beneath her in an infinite expanse, breathing a fog black as night in her general direction.

Phorjay scowled every time she relayed the words they spoke to her. Though the contempt for this act never vanished, she found he preferred her to listen in silence rather than shout sermons unto his deaf ears. As days turned to weeks, she found this method of absorption preferable as well.

Wordlessly, she asked the ever-expansive friend below her, what caused these lands to become so barren, confined to a single monoculture, nearly devoid of life? And the friend laughed. The friend sobbed. The friend sighed. The friend felt. And in a hundred ways, the friend told the same story.

And in this friend she saw a librarian. A ramlet. Betrayed by her kin, betrayed by her lover, betrayed by herself. Absorbed into a collective. A living dead, fragmented and whole. Choking out remnants of a life it could never convey in its faithful glory. Yet still, it tried.

It spoke of iridescent oceans and kaleidoscopic skies, of soapy clouds, of little flying bugs soaring through the air. Of giant flowers, of tiny trees, enormous mushrooms, of leaves of mauve. And at its heart, a fountain, where tiny dragons flew. Shulkers guarded a gem of mystic power that rested beneath it. A power this friend had studied in tomes. A power this friend harnessed. A power this friend taught to a lone soul; her partner in life.

Josephine. Dearest Josephine, never could she have thought a fellow ramlet to be capable of such sympathy for her many pains until she met him. The contemptuous looks upon every passing face never faded, but in his arms there was a sacred solidarity. Josephine loved her. And his love with hers weaved a web of tales she adored with every ounce of her heart.

She long thought him to be a righteous man. Though he was far more secular than herself, he oft preached the pointlessness in division between ramlets and lamblets. A self-described centrist, believer in varying shades of gray. But she soon learned his adherence to the morals he preached came in varied shades as well.

The hatred that slept inside of him for decades had consumed him alive upon his acquisition of a gem. By then, it was far too late to stop him.

Josephine. Dearest Josephine, died on the platform where he built his castle. Perhaps he had never lived. Perhaps he had never existed. In the place where she once saw him, there stood a vengeful man, far strewn from the ideals that bound them together. In the place where she once saw him, there stood Illusioner Phorjay, godless and loveless.

He used her tomes to harness the power of command gems. He channeled this power through destruction. Each day, he would get high off of his unwieldy power, decimating the end as he prodded in strings of experimental commands. He was an Operator. She had enabled his sacrilege.

And once he drenched the islands in the dearest friend of all, she leapt, conscious and knowing, into their petrochemical arms. And they held her. They absorbed her. She was them and they were her. And they breathed their stories to her as she wondered how she could have ever been so blind.

Today, their audience was grieving a loss. Watering chorus fruits.

The ever-expansive friend held their arms out for her. She peered into the great fog below and respectfully declined.

She’d accepted before. It didn’t work as she had intended. In lieu of assimilation, she and the friend had taken to embracing in less conventional ways. Over the weeks, she had begun to notice changes. The tips of her ears glowed violet. Her paws had turned a deeper black. She no longer needed her glasses, as the friend was correcting her bad eye.

A door swayed open. Holding a purpur plate in his hand, Phorjay made his way to her. She acknowledged his presence with a passing glance, then sat knees-to-chest on the endstone. The mites scattered. Phorjay knelt down and set the plate next to her, commenting on the lack of gluten in the bread.

Without looking, she reached for its contents and took a large bite. It was a peanut butter cheese and lettuce sandwich, with cheddar cheese grown on an economy server’s farm, and lettuce synthesized by a command gem.

No comment from her on the sandwich. The ramlet stood, silent, watching her eat.

She hadn’t been much of a talker since she learned of the fate of her homeworld. Even when she wanted to talk, she wasn’t keen on speaking to the man who ended the lives of so many great thinkers. Yet, she had an inclination. A drive to wonder. She asked if Phorjay had married the woman, back when she was still alive.

Phorjay paused, somewhat shaken by the question, but not to the point of disorientation. Following a few long seconds, he walked into her line of sight, floating above the void in front of her while flapping his wings to imitate flying.

(She knew it to be a ruse, though. He couldn’t fly. His real wings hadn’t even grown yet.)

With his hands, he gestured for her to rise onto her feet. She obliged, grabbing her sandwich, but still refusing to look him in the eyes as always. He floated above the stone and said, follow, and she followed him inside the castle she had cooped herself up in for days on end.

Up flights of stairs, down hallways and corridors, through hidden passageways and secret doors, there was a room. Another library. Only, the books in this one were exclusively homemade, and the walls were lined with items of little extrinsic value. Many dyed boxes made of the shells of shulkers were placed neatly on the floor. He stood atop one to reach a picture frame, which he dismounted off the wall.

Certificate of Marriage

On the 10th of October, Two-Thousand Four,

in the abandoned village of Woodland Pines

Josephine and Becquerel

were united in marriage

under the surname Starfall

under the witness of

one cow and three chickens.

Signed,

⌘ Josephine Starfall ⌘ & ☆ Becquerel Starfall ☆

Any and all objections to this union may be shoved six meters up your arse

The paper was made from sugar cane. Pencil illustrations of stars and flowers garnished the perimeter. Nothing was typed. All handmade. The document was not legally binding. The union was not recognized by any wayfaring souls, nor was it recognized by any governmental entity.

Twas merely a remnant of a love long lost.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t think you would be up this late.”

Squid turned to Stampy, the slippery fellow sitting upright in his sleeping bag. The two idled in place.

“Been havin’ some trouble with it lately. Sleeping, that is.” Squid replied, in a low whisper.

Stampy knelt down to his height. “You have?”

“Yeh. A li’l.”

“Mmkay, well, I don’t imagine that wig of yours is making it any less of a challenge.”

Squid pocketed the wig.

“Forgot I was still wearin’ that.”

Stampy stifled his laughter. “All day you were talking about how the hair strands kept getting in your mouth, you try to go to bed, and suddenly you forget you were even wearing it at all.”

“S’pose I just got used to eating all the hair,” he joked.

He then pretended to cough out a strand, making an offhand comment about it. The two smiled about it for a moment, then he felt the cat tapping on his shoulder.

“Do you feel different?”

Squid tilted his head. “Hm?”

“Like, does- does dressing up like that- because whenever I feel like, if ever I’m in like, any kind of costume, you know, like, if you’re just doing fancy dress, and you dress up, don’t you sort of feel and act different just because you look different?”

He tilted his head back into its regular position.

“Well, sort of. Sometimes I’m wearing somethin’ and I get really in character, like on Halloween one year I went as a pirate and I sorta just assumed that role, started talking like one, swinging my sword around-”

“Pillaging people,” mused Stampy.

“Mm, yeah, lots of pillaging of course. Walked up to a kid ‘n’ took all their candy in a pirate duel!”

“I had to bail you out of jail for that. Drained my whole college fund, but it was worth it.”

“Worth it for me too, that was the best candy I’d ever eaten in my life.”

“Spoken like a true swashbuckler.”

“I am a man of the sea, Stamps, it’s what I do.”

“To your point though, okay, like, to your point, what about now. Do you feel that way now, dressed as a lady?”

Squid shrugged. “Not really, to be honest. I still just feel like me.”

Stampy nodded. Squid adjusted the straps of his dress.

“Anyway, what brings you out here? You been havin’ trouble sleeping as well?”

“Nnnyeah, a little,” replied the cat. “I dunno. I really thought it would be more fun sleeping out here, change of scenery and all, but it’s just all… it just feels weird.”

Squid slouched down into its sleeping bag.

“It’s… it’s ‘cause I killed Agatha, isn’t it?”

“What-? No, no no no no, it’s not that, it isn’t that, I promise! This has nothing to do with that. And you didn’t kill her, that’s misleading.”

“So that cake I gave her seconds before she exploded had nothing to do with it,” intoned Squid.

“Well- I- you couldn’t have known it would cause her to blow up. None of us did! If we did, we wouldn’t have given her cake at all.”

“But… she’s still dead.”

“Yeah,” mewed Stampy.

“And she wouldn’t be dead if-”

“Squid. Squid, listen, it’s not your fault. And even if it was somehow on you, it would be hypocritical of me to hold you to it.”

“Hypocritical how?”

Silence.

“Oh,” whispered Squid. “Right, right.”

“We’re far from breaking even,” Stampy joked. “I’m still not off the hook yet.”

There was a tap on the door.

“Come in,” remarked Stampy. “Or, come out, rather.”

The speaker cleared his throat. “I’m gay.”

“Out the door, Craig, we already knew that.”

Someone else shouted from inside. “I know from experience!”

“You wish you did,” sniggered Craig.

Stampy spoke at his usual volume. “Breadstick’s up too?”

“Hi Stampy!”

Stampy snickered. Craig joined the others on the balcony.

“So we’re all just awake now, mkay,” remarked Stampy.

“Not all of us,” corrected Craig. “Sqaish’s still asleep.”

“No I’m not.”

Sqaishey leapt out of their sleeping bag as soon as the Wonderbergers turned their way.

“This sleepover idea did not work out the way I’d hoped it would,” Stampy sighed.

“Also, I heard everything you two said.”

“How wonderful,” drawled the cat.

“I won’t ask.”

“Thank you, please don’t.”

Craig leaned in. “I will.”

“Great, now we’ve roped Craig into this, amazing work Sqaishey.”

Sqaishey started laughing. Stampy joined in.

“This is the worst sleepover ever,” Stampy mused.

“Zero stars,” chuckled Craig.

Squid rose from its sleeping bag. “Whaddya mean ‘zero stars’, there’s at least three up there in the sky.”

Stampy’s tail swayed. “Squid, I think you’re off by a few.”

“No, it’s right,” Sqaishey began. “It said at least three, and there’s more than three.”

Breadstick stepped onto the balcony. “I can change that, for the low low price of 35 grand.”

Stampy grinned. “Please don’t.”

“I’ll hear you out, Bread,” Craig smirked.

“I need the 35 grand upfront, in cash.”

Craig pulled a slip of paper out his inventory. “Will an IOU work?”

“No. Perish.”

Breadstick casted a kill spell and fucking murdered Craig instantly. Stampy Cat was not pleased.

“Great, now he’s all the way back at my place, gonna have to run all the way over there to give him his stuff again.”

“Have you considered the fact that homicide is objectively hilarious?”

“It literally isn’t, stop killing people who mildly inconvenience you. It’s getting to become a pr-”

Stampy woke up in his bed with an empty inventory. More annoyed than pained, he went over to Craig’s room to check on him. Craig was sitting on his bed wearing the same pair of pajamas.

“See, Craig, this is what happens when you enable him. Don’t do that.”

“I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Sqaishey appeared on the sensory swing.

“He’s been stealing your guyses stuff, by the way,” Sqaishey remarked.

“Someone should kill him,” joked Craig.

“What a great way to end a slumber party, plotting a murder,” Stampy mused.

“Party’s still on,” Craig insisted. “We could head to your room, have a little dance, jump on the bed to really stick it to the man.”

“Why don’t we just stay here and jump on yours?” asked Stampy.

“Yours is bouncier.”

“Fair enough, we’re heading to my room then.”

Stampy pressed play on his CD player, and the euphonious melody of C418’s Chirp emitted from its speakers. Everybody danced until they were tuckered out. Squid was insistent on sleeping in Stampy’s bed for whatever reason. Which Stampy was fine with, because at some point while he was at work, Hit The Target had placed a sign that read “loser” above it.

Something he was considerably less fine with was Squid managing to kick him out of his own room somehow. Since Sqaishey was adamant about sleeping on the sensory swing, Stampy was without a bed.

“Don’t worry, Stamps,” Craig grinned. “I have a spare.”

“Craig, if this is the cat bed, I swear.”

“...”

“It’s the cat bed, isn’t it.”

Craig’s grin grew wider. In spite of his annoyance, Stampy couldn’t help but smile as well.

“You really are a little joker, aren’t you.”

Chapter Text

All was well in Stampy’s Lovely Home.

Stampy, Sqaishey, Squid, and Craig were all seated at a table under the skylight of the clubhouse. Rays of golden bronze sunlight graced the seated residents, each of whom were enjoying a warm, freshly baked breakfast, courtesy of their very own Sqaishey Quack.

Pumpkin pie. Extra cinnamon.

“Kind of wish Stacy was here,” the duck remarked. “She’d love this, she loves pumpkin pie. And like, yeah, she’s sad, but- but I think maybe this could, you know, fix that.”

Stampy nodded. “It’s definitely working for me, that much I’m certain of. Like, seriously, how long’s it been since the four of us were all talking like this?”

 One of Squid’s tentacles was raised up like a pointer finger. “S’that an actual question?”

“I mean… I’m not fully sure. I have a guess, but like, it might be off, I’m not sure how much was taken out of my memory. I’m thinking like, right after, um… right after New Years, was it? January, last year.”

Craig set his fork down. “That’s actually like, spot on.”

“Actually, it might- no, wait, that doesn’t line up.”

“Hm?” The cephalopod tilted its head.

“See, I was thinking it might have been exactly one year ago, but that’s not possible.” Stampy turned to Craig. “By this time last year you were already off elsewhere.”

“Didn’t realize we were dealing in exacts,” Craig retorted.

“It is the fourteenth now, right? Fourteenth of January?”

The friends all exchanged glances, ultimately culminating in Squid giving his feline friend a marginal shrug. Stampy squinted at them.

“Has nobody else been keeping track of- why am I the only one here who knows it’s the fourteenth? Do you guys just like, not even keep track of what day it is? Do none of you have calendars?”

“If I wanted to know, I would ask you,” replied the duck. “You’re always on top of that sort of thing anyway, so-”

“Yeah, but like, what if I like, forgot, and needed to cross-reference with someone else? That’d be a disaster if nobody else was so much as carrying a calendar with them.”

“Okay, but that wouldn’t happen.”

“That wouldn’t- what exactly did you mean by that.”

Sqaishey started giggling. Stampy cracked a smile.

“Sqaishey, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully,” the cat remarked.

“Where do I even begin,” bantered Sqaishey.

Stampy leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand and holding a slice of pumpkin pie with the other. Steam was still rising out from the surface.

“Like, first off, you’ve consistently woken up at seven sharp in the morning, every day, including weekends, since you were eight or nine years old.”

“And? That just means I’m punctual.”

“What’s a nine year old have to do at seven-thirty in the morning on a Saturday?”

“It- ha! It’s my, uh- I assume I just really liked watching the sunrise or something, I can’t be sure. That’s my best guess.”

Squid chimed in. “I remember you tellin’ me a bunch that it was for your schedule.”

“Exactly,” beamed Sqaishey. “You have your days planned weeks in advance.”

“I like planning ahead,” the cat asserted. “It’s not unreasonable to want to plan ahead, this is a non-issue.”

“I’m not saying it’s an issue, Stamps, what I’m saying is that you wouldn’t need anyone else to have a schedule, you just- you’d simply just never lose track of yours because of how important it is to you.”

“This isn’t even a proper debate, you’re just- you’re just attacking my character.”

Sqaishey started to giggle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I know what this is. You know what this is?”

“What is it?”

“You know what this is, I’ll tell you what this is. This is ad domino, it’s outright character assassin-”

“Ad domino,” they dittoed.

A pause.

Stampy failed to contain his laughter. “Ad domino, this is- this is ad domino right here. It all just topples before your feet.”

Swallowing a bite of pumpkin pie, Craig smirked. “Gotta be my favorite logical fallacy.”

“The ad domino effect,” proclaimed Squid.

“The ad domino effect,” Stampy wheezed.

“It’s like, when one judgin’ of someone’s character to win an argument leads to another, and it just gets bigger and bigger, like, until you got yourself an entirely new person who you’re not even- they don’t even resemble the uh, the person you were arguin’ against.”

“Isn’t that already a thing though? Like, isn’t that just a strawman?” proposed the duck.

Craig shook his head. “Completely different. You obviously don’t understand logical fallacies and therefore you are stupid and dumb and need to take a wash. Clearly.”

Sqaishey let out a comically overemphasized scoff. “That was so mean, how dare you.”

“Appeal to emotion, try again.” Craig could barely get a word in between all his snickering.

Stampy chimed in again. “We’re just combining logical fallacies now, fantastic.”

“Buy one get one free,” quipped Craig.

“See, this is the most efficient way to argue. Just combine all your logical fallacies into one and use it to win any argument you get into.”

“We have discovered a new strat, we can- we can speedrun arguments now.”

“Now I’m imagining, like, this guy, right, and he’s like, an evil scientist trying to merge every logical fallacy together to make a new logical fallacy like Frankenstein’s monster-”

Sqaishey cut in. “So you’re making up an imaginary guy to get your point across, right? That- does that sound familiar to anyone? Anyone at all?”

The cat gasped. “I see what’s going on here, you’re trying to discredit me by making a hasty generalization about my argument to say something about my character! You’re trying to create the ultimate logical fallacy!”

“Oh no, my master plan! It’s been foiled!”

Squid leaned forward. “Y’know, this kind of reminds me of somethin’ you’d see on them edutainment shows back in Wonderberg. Like, what if there’s a group of superheroes and one of them is like, all logical and stuff, and they take down their villain by pointing out all the logical fallacies in their argument. That sounds like somethin’ you’d actually see back home.”

“Wait, it actually does,” professed Sqaishey.

All eyes turned to Stampy as he stood up and got into a dramatic pose, one foot on the chair. “You may have stopped me this time,” he announced, in a nasally camp-villain voice, “but this isn’t the last you’ll see of Ad Dominus! Away, my mighty band-wagon!”

Squid and Craig couldn’t get a word in edgeways between their own laughter. The duck took a moment to adjust their scarf.

“Do you think Ad Dominus plays with Ad Dominoes?”

Stampy shook his head. “See, that’s his special attack. He throws Ad Dominoes and they turn into personal attacks against someone else’s traits.”

“But does he play with them, that’s the question.”

“He could if he wanted to, I suppose. But it’d be like the equivalent of mucking about with a batch of landmines.”

Sqaishey pointed to Squid. “Or playing with a rocket launcher.”

“Ha! Yeah, pretty much.”

The cat looked up through the skylight, then back at Sqaishey.

“No clue why I’ve just done that, I have no idea how to tell time just by looking at the sky.”

“Have you tried using a watch?”

“Wow, that’s brilliant,” Stampy intoned. “I’d’ve never even- I would have never thought of that if not for you.”

“It’s because I’m like, super smart and everything. I have genius level intelligence. Have you thought to check your inventory, by the way?”

“I didn’t even consider the possibility of having a watch in my inventory,” he replied, having just pulled a watch out of his inventory.

“I’m starting to think the only reason you’re my friend is because I’m so wise and insightful all the time.”

“That may very well be the case. This whole thing could’ve just been a ruse to steal your advanced thinking techniques, you ever think of that?”

“Of course I’ve thought of that. I’m like, an expert at thinking. I’ve thought of everything.”

“Everything,” remarked Stampy.

“Yes, everything. Anything you’ve ever thought of, I already thought of it first, way before you did. What do you need the time for, by the way?”

“Oh, well you would know, wouldn’t you? Seeing as you’re the superior thinker.”

“No, because you see, I already know. I want to know if you know. I’m testing you.”

“Ah, I see, very clever, only a genius could come up with something so intelligent. Right, um, I just needed to check the time because I’m supposed to be giving a tour in like, twenty minutes.”

Craig nodded. “Always on top of these sorts of things.”

“I- you know what, I can’t even argue with that one.”

Squid chimed in once more. “Hold on, this is the first I’m hearing of a tour.”

“Did I not tell you?”

Both Sqaishey and Squid shook their heads. Stampy fastened his wristwatch on his wrist and accented his words with arm motions.

“Right, so you know the zombies, right? A few of the little ones have gone out and formed some kind of fanclub. Which is a bit odd, but they seem really really excited about it. And, um, I agreed to give them a tour, and I’m going to surprise them by adding them to the Love Garden. Like I said, I’m thinking twenty minutes, give or take, they’ll be over.”

“You got a fanclub?” exclaimed Squid.

“Yeah! Granted, it’s full of seven year olds who are also, um, undead, but you take what you can get.”

“Wow.”

“Wow’s right, Squid, I’m famous.”

“You know, Stamps, this has me thinkin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe this curse thing isn’t so bad for us.”

Stampy looked up toward the clouds.

“Maybe.”

Chapter Text

A skeleton stood outside a purpur palace, holding only her scythe and a cup of crimson sap.

No tiefling had ever set foot in this land uninvited. Few even knew of its existence. This was no error. She stood there with that jovial, bubbly smile of hers, knocking on the door as if she were greeting a friend.

Following a minute’s delay, Phorjay graciously opened his door, before stumbling backward in fear and equipping his bow.

Bubbachub snickered. “Slow your roll, Copernicus! I’m not gonna hurt’cha! I don’t bite!”

He drew his strings back, fury in his eyes.

“Hey, hey. We both know that’s not going to do anything. You shoot me, Buckley’s chance I won’t turn up again in a few some-odd hours.”

He didn’t budge. “Who told you about this place?”

“I’ll tell you. I will tell you, and I won’t say a word about your little overworld hidey hole to another soul if you give me one thing, one teensy-weensy little thing in return.”

“I’m not giving you the cure.”

“I’m not looking for a cure.”

“Then that makes you a traitor against your people.”

She laughed. “The house is glass! Only difference between us is that I’m in it for fun, not glory. With that being said, my sole request is to be given the gift of prophecy, but like, exclusively for death.”

Phorjay blinked.

“There’s at least- there has to be at least hundreds of thousands of tales explaining why that is a terrible idea.”

“I know,” smiled Bubbachub, “and I am undeterred. If I want to be self-sufficient, I have to seek out entertainment without having to interpret someone else’s visions.”

“You’re an interpreter of visions, and you still want to go through with this.”

“Been one my whole life. I know what I’m asking for. I want to know all the possible scenarios in which death may occur, piece together the most vivid and frequent visions, and watch the entropy unfold live. On a nice folding chair. With a bag of popcorn.”

At a loss for words, he pocketed his bow.

Her eye sockets were black and hollow. “As we fell to the floor plagued, I saw beauty in the most horrible of things. You took everything from us. How can you act surprised that we have nothing left to lose?”

Phorjay cracked his knuckles.

“I’m not surprised at all.”

Bubbachub leaned closer.

“What has you so quiet then, dearie?”

Phorjay rolled up his sleeves.

“You have hit rock bottom, and you come to me to ask for a shovel.”

Slow nod.

Wide grin.

Open arms.

Empty eyes.

Willing victim.

“I suppose I have no reason to deny you something that works within my interest,” he conceded.

Bubba tipped her hat. “Fantastic. As for the fellow who told me all this-”

“It was Breadstick, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, it was Breadstick. Gave ‘im a little spook, and he told me how to make an Eye of Ender.”

“Figures as much. That little rascal boy has been nothing but trouble since the day we met.”

Phorjay welcomed the skeleton inside his castle.

“This stays between us, understood?”

Bubba nodded. “Didn’t come all this way just to dob on ya. Whaddya take me for?”

“Excellent. There’s a room upstairs that suits your purpose. I have tomes in my library which contain what you seek. I estimate that, with my occasional assistance, you will be proficient in channeling these visions by month two. You are not to disturb my guests during your stay here, especially Stampy Cat. When your stay is complete, you are not to give coordinates of my stronghold to anyone for any reason. You are not to give the recipe for an Eye of Ender to anyone for any reason. Above all, you are never to mention our meeting to a single soul.”

“What will you do about Breadstick?”

Phorjay paused.

“I will deal with him.”

Down at the Creeper Coaster, the helpers were hard at work. Progress was very speedy on account of Breadstick’s use of magic. He was summoning support beams as Ank laid the rail mechanisms. Amy and Longbow were doing safety inspections. Rosie and Froggy were painting. Everybody had a job to do, and they were doing it well.

Birds were tweeting their morning songs, and the people were taking turns telling stories. Amy was wrapping her tale up.

“…and then, when she opened her lunch box, she realized that I had filled it with roe while she was asleep! She never bothered me again after that.”

The helpers found this to be hilarious.

“Alright, my turn,” Longbow began. “I’m going to tell you all how I became a DJ.”

Intrigued, Breadstick paused everything he was doing to listen.

“I was eight years old, eating barbeque chicken wings at a hair salon. Completely unsupervised, by the way. Paid for them w▒▒h a debit ▒▒▒d I fo▒nd on the fl▒or a w▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒ at a We▒dy’s.”

Breadstick leaned closer. “What?”

“I sa▒d I f▒▒▒▒ ▒t a week pr▒or at a ▒▒ndy’s▒”

Staring a thousand yards forward, it dawned on Breadstick what was happening.

“You d▒▒n▒ ▒▒ay, ▒▒▒▒? ▒ou s▒▒m ▒ ▒▒t d▒▒tre▒▒▒d, ▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒?”

He took a step back, unusually grounded.

“He▒▒o?” called ▒▒▒▒▒. “▒▒▒ads▒▒▒k?”

“I have to leave.”

“▒▒▒▒?”

He backed off into the forest.

“▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒”

“▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒ ▒▒▒▒”

“▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒ ▒▒▒”

He ran. He ran and ran and ran into the clearing. The grass was drying. Golden grass. The sky was noisy. White noise. The trees were turning purple and the land was fragmenting into islands. A rock lay ahead. The more he looked, the less it looked like a rock, and the more it looked like a fountain.

One blink.

There he was.

Standing at the foot of a bedrock fountain. Cream yellow stone beneath his feet. Deep sky coating him. The noise quieted.

He could feel someone looming over him. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. There wasn’t anyone else it could be. He could hear it. Footsteps. Footsteps on the pavement. They panned from his right to directly in front of him. He squinted his eyes open ever so slightly, then shut them tight once more. The operator was sitting in front of him, on the deep gray fountain of deep gray stone.

Breadstick could feel the set of eyes staring straight into his soul. It brought a pain to his chest. And he couldn’t stop himself from tearing up as the operator’s words made their way into his ears.

“You know why you’re here.”

Chapter Text

The scarcity of surviving biota made the static ring that much louder.

Shifting speckled dots twinkled in the big black ink above. White noise permeated throughout the End’s vast landscape, with the cadence of a whisper from an infantile snake. It hissed for the sake of hissing. There was nothing to drown it out.

His eyelids felt heavy. Breadstick suppressed the urge to shut them, diverting his focus to that pit in his stomach, that onerous ache that always seemed to come around too late. A deep shame washed over him. Its tides muddied his thoughts.

Not a word between the two. That dour stare, a stare he dared not return, haunted him. The lamblet couldn’t meet those eyes in any state, much less the state beset upon him in that moment.

Phorjay retrieved a small snack from his inventory. Bite sized portion of shortbread. Topped with jam, family recipe.

Breadstick wasn’t breathing right. He suffered as quietly as he could manage, hoping in vain not to disturb the noisy silence that engulfed the entire End. Stray gasps escaped him. With every sound he made, he could feel that piercing stare on his skin a little bit more.

He heard a swallow, then a hefty sigh. Cloth of the operator’s cloak brushed against the rock of the empty fountain, eliciting a slight woosh as it did so.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to understand your thought process.”

Breadstick nodded. Phorjay flinched.

“Don’t you nod at me like that. Don’t nod at me like you understand how it feels to be hurt by you like this, over and over again. Because you obviously have no idea. You haven’t the faintest clue.”

“Hurt…?”

“Yes, hurt. I don’t ask much more of you than I would anyone else, and somehow you still manage to… to mess up, every step of the way. It’s almost as if you’re doing this on purpose!”

“I’m not,” choked Breadstick, with an insistent swiftness. “I’m not, I promise, I’m not, I’m not!”

“If I take you at your word, you know that doesn’t reflect well on you. Arguably, it’s worse on you. You know this. You know this, I’ve told you before, we’ve- we have had this conversation time and time again, how is it that you don’t understand? What is so difficult about considering other people’s feelings? To the point that you manage to hurt me, again and again and again.”

“There’s- there’s something wrong with me, I don’t know what it is, but there’s something wrong with me as a person.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, I-!”

“You’re not sorry.”

“I am!”

A purple glow fell upon him. “Do not raise your voice at me, that is unacceptable. If you think what you’re pulling right now is helping your case at all, it’s not. You know it’s not.”

Breadstick shut his eyes, and the tears began to flow. Phorjay put a hand to his own temple.

“You’re like an ungrateful dog, I take care of you and clean up after your messes, and you repay me like this? I need to make you comprehend how tiring that is. How tiring it is to entertain the presence of someone like you.”

Even knowing it to be a futile endeavor, Breadstick cried his objections. Phorjay was unrelenting.

“You always do this. Every time, without fail. You constantly get in my way. And every time I reprimand you for being a nuisance, you weep crocodile tears and moan about how horrible you feel. Eventually, out of some guttural instinct, be it pity or annoyance, I give you a second chance. And what do you do? You fumble that second chance. Every. Single. Time. If not for Becky, I- I don’t even know what to say to you at this point.”

Phorjay stood up.

“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t do any of this, you wouldn’t hurt me over and over again. Because yes, what you’ve done right here? It hurt me, and it still hurts. You brought a tiefling into my domain. Do you understand how disastrous it would be if she brought reinforcements? If she wasn’t looking out for her own selfish gain? Certainly you would know a thing or two about looking out for your own self-interests, seeing as those are the only interests occupying your mind.”

“I didn’t want this to happen!”

“What did you think would happen?!”

“I don’t know! There’s something so- so wrong with me, I don’t know what it is.”

“You don’t get to simply do things and not think about the consequences. That isn’t how the world works. You’re not exempt from the rules just because there’s ‘something wrong with you’. You’re using that as an excuse. You are no different from anybody else.”

Tears were streaming down his face. “Dad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

And his voice cut out.

He couldn’t hear the sound of his own breathing. His hapless gasps for air remained unheard. The smell of warm bread and jam escaped him. He couldn’t make out the difference between one scent and another. Everything was blending together in a hazy blur, and he knew that somehow, someway, he made a mistake.

Phorjay sat back down.

“It’s like I’m speaking to a wall.”

Breadstick tried to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know what she saw in you. I doubt I ever will. I had to- to take measures, to make people wouldn’t take you as seriously, because you are such a danger to yourself, to me, and to everyone around you… and yet, you somehow manage to slip through the cracks, and give the means to finding my address to someone who very well could have been a murderer.”

A pause.

“What about this is so… so difficult for you to wrap your head around? I have to have told you dozens of times by now. You don’t get to call me that.”

The static continued.

“You are not my son. You never were, never will be. Behind all those empty promises and pleas, you’re more of a liability to me than anything else. I’d ask you if you understand but I know you never will. Chances are, you’re not even listening to what I’m saying, you’re not even looking me in the eyes.”

I can’t, he mouthed. It went unseen.

“Do you think I wanted someone like you in my life? Do you think I would have ever let you step foot in my home if not for Becky’s insistence upon it? Not to speak ill of the dead, but she let you ruin our lives. All your games of manipulation… and we fell for all of them, didn’t we? Are you proud? Breadstick, are you proud of yourself? You’ve made it this far.”

One lone breath.

“But I won’t let this continue. I won’t let her memory cloud my judgment any longer, I warned you this would happen, and you didn’t listen. You’re going to have to face reality now. My… measures, they’re not going to be in place from this point forward. And you will not be seeing me.”

Breadstick froze in place.

“It brings me no joy to tell you this.”

The ramlet retrieved a gem.

“But… it does bring me some relief.”

Stampy casted his rod into the lake. A pile of salmon laid unmoving inside of a little gray bucket. Their scales shimmered in the sunlight.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it. Footsteps crept closer, drawing his eyes away from the water. He gave the guest a wave.

Breadstick waved back, taking it upon himself to join the cat on the bench.

“You know, Longbow’s been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”

The lamblet pointed to his neck.

“Yeah, you.”

He pointed again, moving his finger back and forth.

“Oh, did I not- oh! I’m so sorry about that, I forgot to unmute you! Here, let me just go and fix that real quick, how- how long were you…? Right, if this happens again, be sure to tell someone to relay the message to me, I’ll probably forget again otherwise.”

“…what were you saying about Longbow earlier?” Breadstick’s volume remained just above a whisper.

“Pardon?”

“You said he was out, um, looking for… me?”

“Who, Longbow? Yeah. He’s like, really worried about you, he told me you just ran off and disappeared. Where were you?”

Breadstick forced a smile. “Ah, y’know… places. Had a word with the operator.”

“Phorjay? You know him?”

“Mmhmm! I- I know him, yeah! Known him for years. He checks in with me from time to time. Very considerate of him, he’s… you know him, you know he’s a considerate guy and all.”

“Considerate guy,” he nodded.

“He… he is nice to you, right?”

Stampy laughed. “That’s one way to put it. He, uh, he… he gives me a lot of gifts, which is nice, and he’s been nothing but kind to me since… even before I came here, actually.”

“Cool.” Breadstick’s voice faltered.

“…is everything okay? Is he not nice to you?”

“No, he’s super nice,” he insisted, speech speeding up rapidly. “That’s not an issue, this is- this is unrelated.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I just- I… slipped and fell on my way back, and-”

“Oh dear.”

“…it- I can still feel it, that’s all.”

“Well, if you’re hurt, I’ve got potions upstairs.” He casted his rod into the lake.

“Where upstairs? Your house is like, super confusing.”

“I do not have a confusing house,” teased Stampy. “I can get around it just fine. Then again, I’m the one who built it. Uh, right, instructions, um… yeah, just cut through the farm and go over to the Love Garden, there’s a work room made of cobblestone. If you go through the double doors, you’ll find my storeroom, and if you go up those ladders on the support beams, you’ll be in the brewing room.”

“So… farm, work room, storeroom, brewing room?”

“Yup! Simple, right?”

“Mmhmm. Thanks.”

“Try not to take everything!”

As Breadstick ventured into the house, the bobber dipped. Stampy reeled in his rod and caught a small salmon. Upon evaluating the fish, he noticed a shadow beside him. He turned to find a skeleton in a sun hat, countenance contemptuous and bones still.

“Good afternoon, Target!” greeted the cat.

Target stepped closer.

“Mind explaining why there’s a dead dog on my lawn?”

Chapter Text

“Yeah, so uh, in short, it was… not a good day for my dogs.”

The lake ebbed and flowed.

“So, let me get this straight,” Target began. “You took your pack of dogs into your nether portal room, and two of them burned to death in a pool of lava.”

Stampy nodded. “I was never too fond of either of them anyway, so…”

“And then your dog Benton got a leg injury after he was pushed off the roof of your house.”

“You’re saying that like it was done on purpose, it was an accident, and he was fine! He just needed some bandaging and some pork chops.”

“Then, after all of that, a third dog died of infection in my yard after being… presumably pricked by a cactus while you were touring?!”

“Frankly, I’m just glad it wasn’t one of my named dogs.”

Target was beyond words.

Stampy fidgeted with his vest. “Really is a shame, to be honest. Because, like, it was a good day if you- if you look past the fact that I had three dog deaths and an injury.”

He stepped closer to Stampy.

“You are the worst fucking dog owner I have ever met in my life.”

Stampy laughed. “I mean, yeah, I’m not- I’m not the best in the world-”

“Do you even care about them?! Do you even care about your dogs, do you value their lives at all?”

“Well, yeah, of course I do! Who doesn’t value the lives of their dogs?! I love Barnaby, I love Cedric, I love, uh… I love Benton and all the others. I walk them every day and I feed them too, and they join me on adventures and accompany me when I’m mining.”

“You take your dogs into the mines?!”

“Yes, of course I do, who doesn’t? It’s enriching! Duncan’s actually quite good at sniffing out the ores and such.”

Target scoffed. “This- this is downright negligent, why do you even have this many dogs if you’re not going to take care of them properly? You didn’t even bury the dog on my lawn! He’s just lying there!”

“Why don’t you bury him then, if you’re so pressed about this?”

“It’s your dog, mate! You just told me you value your dogs, yeah? Well, where is it? Where’s all the care you claim to have for your dogs, because I’m having a hard time noticing it. Blatantly disrespecting your own pets by leaving them out in the open, not even bothering to dig a grave-”

Stampy bared his claws. “Maybe I’m getting sick of digging graves!”

Target leaned to the side. The cat began to accent his speech with his paws.

“It’s been a month, Target. One month, and do you know how many graves I’ve had to dig? I had to bury my first dog Gregory within a week of getting him, because he was shot. Goodnose was pushed off a ledge, Porky was crushed by a piston door, Snowy ate hot wax, Chicken got sick, Agatha the Creeper blew up in front of me, and now three dogs pass on in one day. Do you even fathom how… how… um…”

Stampy could feel his stomach sinking.

“I, uh… well, I guess you… you probably could fathom, now I- now that I think about it.”

Target just kept staring and staring.

“You… probably had to bury a lot of people as well.”

“I couldn’t bury them. They were diseased, Stampy, and we didn’t know whether it was still contagious after they died or not.”

“Oh my god,” murmured Stampy.

“And you know the way dogs are, of course. They’re loyal. Sometimes you would stumble across a body as you were foraging, and right next to it, there was a dead, lost, neglected dog, who stood beside their owner throughout all their adversity.”

There wasn’t anything he could say.

“Couldn’t bear the thought of my dog going out that way. Left him with Jacques before I…”

Stampy lowered his shoulders.

“…before you died?”

Target nodded, eyes darting to the floor. 

“How did you die?”

“…”

“…”

“…I went the same way I lived.”

The cat knew better than to press any further. He stood wordlessly in place as Target glanced into his eyes once more.

“Give your dead fucking neglected dog the grace that the others couldn’t have.”

With that, he vanished.

Stampy dug an unmarked grave near his clubhouse. He placed the unnamed dog into the hole and covered it back up with dirt. As he finished, he saw Sqaishey walking up to him, holding a plate of baked potatoes.

He turned their way. “Hi Sqaishey!”

“Hello! Did you catch that fish yet?”

“Yep!” replied Stampy, proudly presenting the salmon in his inventory.

“Delightful! Craig wanted to eat down in the Love Garden, so if you want to join in, we could have lunch and play games!”

Stampy smiled. “There is nothing in the world I’d like to do more than that.”

Sqaishey grabbed his paw and led the way, only to catch a glimpse of what Stampy had been working on. They stopped in their tracks.

“Did… did someone die?”

“Yeah,” nodded Stampy, “I lost a dog today.”

“Oh.”

“But not to worry! Today has been a great day, and I won’t let a dead dog- or, three dead dogs, actually, ruin my mood.”

Sqaishey tilted their head.

“When Agatha died, I actually remembered something you told me, kind of. It just- it sort of unfogged itself, if that makes sense. It was that thing you said, about how to deal with being sad; a quack or two will see you through!”

With a gasp, Sqaishey started flapping their arms. “You do remember!”

“Mmhmm! Just put a smile on your face, and don’t even worry about it. That’s your secret to being so positive all the time!”

The two of them started jumping excitedly.

“Exactly!” Sqaishey chirped. “There’s no reason to let bad feelings linger and eat you up. If you ever feel sad, all you have to do is push it deep deep down until it doesn’t bother you anymore at all!”

“And then it won’t be a problem!”

“See? It feels obvious when you put it like that!”

“The town taught you well, Sqaish. You’re one of the best thinkers I know.”

“Aw, thank you, kittycake!”

Stampy exaggerated his accent. “Shall we dine then?”

“Indeed we shall!”

And off they were to the Love Garden.

Chapter Text

Target had done some expansion since Jacques first moved in.

There was a dining room to the right of the kitchen, capable of seating up to six people. The unnamed room to the right of the armory had been expanded, and shelves and chests were placed liberally throughout. Upon the shelves rested mounts of varying shapes and sizes. A great deal of them were dolled up rodents. A single mattress and a lantern sat against the leftmost wall. Vines grew from carved crevices. In a corner, a spiderweb had been weaved.

Jacques sat, not in this room, but in the room next to it. Joined by him was Target, seated on his bed, accompanied by Toby and Callie. Both dogs were being petted affectionately.

The silence that pervaded the room was broken by Target’s lone remark.

“You did a good job back then.”

His friend turned his way.

“Keeping Toby alive and all, during all of… that.”

Jacques smiled faintly. “You’d have done the same for me, I’m sure.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

The smile faded into a tiny, guilty nod.

Target took his hands off his dogs and placed them on his knees. “I wish I could say it was, but it’s not. I wouldn’t have borne your burdens if you had asked me to do so. I couldn’t even stay alive for you. I wasn’t selfless. You were, you still are, but I never have been.”

“…you think I’m selfless?”

“I’d go as far as to say you’re beyond selfless, Jacques. You looked after him, expecting nothing in return, even continuing under the impression that you would never get anything in return. I didn’t die knowing I would be revived. We didn’t know. None of us knew, none of us could have known.”

Jacques rested his hand on Callie’s head.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmured.

Target blinked. “I… sure, I suppose.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Toby breathed softly. In and out.

“Not for the most part, anyway. I know there was somewhere, lodged away deep inside me, that took care of Toby as a way to honor a dead friend’s final wish. And I wanted that to be the forefront of my motivation… I sure acted like it was, but it never was. I did it for me.”

He then locked eyes with his undead friend.

“We don’t need to lie to ourselves.”

“Jacques.”

“…”

“Again, I-”

Target tensed up.

“I’m sorry that I did it.”

Silence.

“Killing myself.”

He lowered his shoulders.

“I made the wrong choice.”

No tears were shed. They were in each other's arms, eyes shut, quiet as lazy tides on a hot summer’s night. Locked like this for several minutes. In that moment, the world was only them, all that mattered was the present moment. 

They tasted living again, in their mutual embrace.

When they withdrew, Target dug through a chest and pulled out a CD. It was his old Quebec album.

“Fuck it, let’s put it on.”

An affirmative nod from Jacques. “I’ll slip into something more comfortable.”

“Same here.”

Jacques went to the mossy guest room and got redressed. Red plaid t-shirt, medium length black shorts, high stockings, and his hair tied in his usual low ponytail. He donned a headband with two synthetic horns, greenish white, like his bones.

Target was already upstairs with his CD player by the time Jacques was done. He was wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt and some sweatpants, which was an interesting combination for sure.

“When did you even get that? I’ve never seen you wear that shirt before.”

Target shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. It just appeared in my house one day.”

“Shirt’s haunted,” Jacques laughed.

“Shirt’s haunted,” echoed Target, same intonation.

“Alright, let’s get this road on the show, put the disc in.”

The next 40 minutes were spent lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, completely spaced out.

“It’s just as good as I remember,” opined Target.

The sun was beginning to set. Way out in the distance, he could faintly hear the sound of someone singing.

He grabbed his sun hat, and Jacques grabbed his parasol. The two of them stepped outside, and soon found the source in Stampy’s Love Garden.

Sqaishey was singing Octopus’s Garden for Amy and Rosie, strumming the chords on guitar. Craig, Stampy, and Squid were present, and they were joined by Cedric and a new dog.

The cat turned to Target.

“I’d like to apologize,” stated Target. “I overreacted, I shouldn’t have told you off like that, especially considering how you were grieving and all.”

Stampy smiled. “No worries, mate. I’m sorry that you had to start your afternoon with a dog corpse on your lawn in the first place.”

“It’s ok. So, um… are we good now?”

“Yeah!” beamed Stampy.

Target sat on the grass, next to Jacques.

“Who’s the new dog?” asked Target.

“I’m still thinking about what to name her.”

Jacques offered a suggestion. “You should call her Teacup.”

“Tikka? Oh, that’s fun to say. Tikka Tikka Tikka!”

“No, I said Teacup, because she’s really tiny.”

“…I like Tikka more, it really rolls off the tongue.”

“Tikka, Tikka Tikka… hm, you’re right, it kind of does!” snickered Jacques.

Sqaishey finished their performance, and the audience clapped. They set their guitar down and waved to the new guests.

“Hello Target! Hello Target’s other friend who I really hope isn’t going to try and shoot us!”

Target waved back. “Hi Sqaishey. I didn’t know you played music, you’re pretty good.”

“Thank you! I love playing the guitar, I actually make my own songs sometimes too. Here, I’ll play one now.”

And the sun set upon the Love Garden.

Chapter Text

Longbow walked into his den, and Breadstick was there, facing a wall.

“Hey man,” waved Longbow. “What’s up?”

Breadstick wiped his face with his sleeves before springing to his feet with a mirth that bordered on mania. He immediately ran up to Longbow and began twaddling on with greetings and affirmative words.

“You… uh… good to see you too, Breadstick. So uh, what was- earlier today, what was that about?”

“Oh, that? Well, you see, it’s funny you mention that, how about- let’s stop at your place and we could have a chat there, over a spot of… um… lengthy baguette! Lengthy baguette is still funny, right?”

Longbow paused. “We’re… already at my place though.”

“Not here, silly! Your world! Why don’t you take me to your world? It’s much more private in your world, or at least I would imagine that to be the case.”

“How’d you know I have a world?”

“You’re a well versed vagabond with a very humble house, I imagine you’ve won the ownership of something one way or another! If I had to guess, you probably have a couple worlds under your name.”

Longbow clicked his tongue. “That is true. I do have a couple. Here, watch.”

He took a device with a big red button out of his pocket. Pointing it at the wall, he pressed the button, and a secret room was revealed. There were around a dozen LAN doors, each labeled with a world name.

The man in the mask ran over to the one in the center.

Stagger Gob 2

“This one is my favorite.”

“Nice. Anyway, uh, time is of the essence, we should go through the door. Immediately. No further delays.”

“I- sure, I guess, here, just… let me check real quick.”

Longbow stepped through, then back out.

“Okay, good, it’s on. I didn’t set up a queue, so you can just step inside and you’ll show up in my house.”

Breadstick did not hesitate to charge through the entrance. Longbow pressed a button on the inside of the room, shutting the hidden door, then went into his world.

They emerged on a wooden platform in a giant jungle treehouse, and were immediately greeted by a little white dog with curly hair.

“Hello, Waffles, have you been a good boy?”

Waffles barked affirmatively.

“That is so good to hear.”

The little white dog teleported off somewhere, likely to the other side of his house, where the other resident spent his days. Longbow led Breadstick into the dining room, where Breadstick summoned two comically long baguettes. They sat on the table furthest to the left, right across from one another.

Longbow removed his mask.

“Be real with me for a second. Is this a bit, or should I like, start getting worried? Because I am already starting to get worried.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

He nodded.

Breadstick’s breath was shaky. “I think I might be in danger.”

“…I see,” murmured Longbow.

“Has anyone ever mentioned the operator by name? Illusioner Phorjay?”

Longbow paused. “Maybe… maybe once or twice in passing, but I can’t think of anything specific.”

“Me and him, we uh- we were, you know, we know each other. Very well, I might add.”

Parrots cooed in the far distance as vines rustled and swayed. Following a pregnant pause, Breadstick clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can explain this any further without getting into it, it’s- it’s a weird situation. I know the operator, he gave me some gifts that he took away recently, and yeah, the biggest thing with that is that I’m able to die now, that’s something I wasn’t able to do before. And he’s a powerful man. Like, he used to program arcade cabinets or something, so he had experience in assembly. Which, apparently, helped him learn Molang.”

“He works with command gems?”

“Scary, right?”

“I was going to say ‘impressive’, but yeah, definitely scary. I can’t even begin to understand that sort of, like, magic trickery and whatnot.”

“Neither can I, it’s all just garbled nonsense to me.”

On the other side of the treehouse, another resident could be heard, playing with the little white dog.

Breadstick bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darting to Longbow. “I take it he lives here as well, yeah?”

“That’s my buddy Longshot, he’s been looking after this place on the side while I’ve been out.”

The lamblet let out a chuckle. “Longshot, Longbow, how many other longs are there?”

“Just us, we’re the Long Longs.”

“That’s fun.”

“If you don’t already have one, you have got to get yourself a friend group with matching nicknames. It will make life so much better.”

“Mm, yeah, I’ve got one of those. We’re The Council of Silly Mages Who Are Named After Foodstuffs.”

“I can only guess as to how one goes about joining such a, uh, specific council.”

Breadstick leaned forward. “You a mage?”

“Nah.”

“Named after a foodstuff?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe if someone’s eaten a longbow, it’d count.”

“I’m yet to hear about such an incident. Last question, are you silly?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Well then, you’re already a third of the way there.”

Longbow cracked his knuckles with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair. Not long afterward, he noticed a shift in his friend’s countenance.

“Something up?” he asked.

“Still a bit hung up over the whole… thing, y’know?” Breadstick crossed his arms.

“Believe me, whoever that operator is, he’s not gonna think to look here.”

“That’s not what I’m…”

The lamblet let out a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry, I just- I have to get into it now, I can’t just- Longbow, you already know that I am not normal in the slightest.”

Longbow balled his hands together. “Yeah? What about it?”

“That’s going to become very apparent the more I get into this, fair warning.”

“Uh… okay?”

“And I’m not asking you to keep the rest of this between us, I’m well aware that this is a lot. I- I just need to tell someone about this, someone, anyone at all, and if this goes farther than you, good on whoever else you told it to for… like, y’know, listening to my ramblings.”

“Right, yeah, uh, sure.”

Breadstick leaned back into his chair, his eyes darting all around the jungle as he went on.

“So I was sort of… informally adopted, around a decade or so ago. Becky, who, for all intents and purposes, is my mom, was kind enough to take me in and put up with me. And she was- she was with someone, I was there in ‘04 to see them get married, she loved him so much. So because she was my mom, he was supposed to be my dad.”

Longbow furrowed his eyebrows. “And he… what happened?”

“He didn’t… like… me, he didn’t like me very much. I don’t act like a normal person, so I guess I can kind of see why, but it still, y’know, it hurt. Mom tried to get him to play along. He only ever really, like, went into it when she was around, because he loved her too. I thought if I made him proud of me, he’d like me more, so I tried and tried. Obviously, that didn’t work.”

Nodding, Longbow rested his elbows on the table. Breadstick continued.

“They were building this big underground bunker beneath their house, I’m sure I’d die right here and now if I told you where it was, but… where was I going with this… uh, big bunker, right beneath our house, and it was like a second, um, house. Because they wanted to harness the power of command gems. And my… dad, he made himself an operator.”

“…Oh.”

“And when mom…”

Breadstick froze.

Longbow was already beyond words.

Night fell after hours and hours. Nothing more was said. It was understood.

Chapter Text

A small crowd was gathered near the ocean. The sun was barely above the horizon, yet everyone was already hard at work. Craig ran down to investigate, and was greeted by Stampy and the people of Crimcity.

Nutrat seemed especially excited. Their pointy ears were perking up, and there was a newfound spring in their step with every motion they made.

“You seem happy,” noted Craig. “Did you buy some weird seeds at an auction or something?”

Nutrat shook their head. “Wish that was the case, but no. I’m just feeling good right now. I have some very big plans for Crimcity. I want to revamp the place, make it look pretty, put up some houses and all.”

“Upgrading from Crimcity to Crimsville,” Craig remarked.

“Mmhmm! I hope you stop by and visit when you have the chance.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where you of all people would settle down, Ratsbane.”

“Weather’s nice there,” they smiled.

Craig turned to the work-in-progress that the others seemed to be busying themselves with.

“Boat?” asked Craig.

“Yeah, boat. Cal saw how awesome our boat was and suggested we help you guys build one for yourselves. Admittedly, it’s a little bit of a stumpy looking boat, but nevertheless.”

Nearly everyone had assembled to assemble this boat. Each person played a very important role in its construction. Breadstick was lifting heavy objects with magic. Amy was testing the wood solubility. Froggy was cleaning and sanitizing the materials. Rosie and Ank were crafting things. Sqaishey was collecting books for the interior. Dan was working on the cannon mechanisms. Kyle was building the mast. Cal was building the anchor. Longbow was building giraffes. Nutrat was installing the windows. Squid was building a completely unrelated boat made entirely of watermelon, for some reason. Holding the entire project together was Stampy Cat, who built the ship while also supervising the others to prevent them from goofing off.

The ginger walked up to Stampy and requested to help with the creation of the sails. Stampy approved this, and with that, Craig was hard at work as well.

With thirteen people on the project at once, construction was swift-paced, but not uneventful. There were many people present who had not met one another prior. As much as Stampy tried to keep his helpers on-task, there was no shortage of goofoffery in the slightest.

Once Squid had completed his melon boat, he walked up to Kyle to have a chat, one squid to another.

“Aye mate.”

Kyle waved. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, who might you be?”

“First name Kyle, last name Exesketch. You can just call me Kyle though. Or X. Or Sketch. I have no preference.”

Squid put his hand on his chin. “Sketch has a nice ring to it.”

“Please stop touching my chin.”

“Sorry mate,” he laughed.

“All good. How about you, what’s your name?”

“Name’s Squid, I’ve been told I’m quite the slippery fellow.”

“That’s an incredible quality to have. My New Year's resolution is actually to become more slippery, you think you could help with that?”

“Oh, absolutely. C’mere, let’s brainstorm. I know a great thinking spot.”

The pair of squids slipped down to the beach. Meanwhile, Dan and Breadstick were making great conversation.

“…and yeah, I’ve just been really into pistons lately.”

“Redstone powered?” asked Breadstick.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

“Hell yeah.”

Dan flapped his wings. “Hell yeah is right. I engineered an entire toaster from scratch last week.”

“Oh that is wicked, you have got to show me.”

Swinging his tail back and forth, the dragon retrieved his toaster from his inventory. Breadstick took a piece of bread and slotted it inside, and toasted it to perfection.

“Rock on, man!” Breadstick exclaimed, muffled by chewing.

“How about you, have you been engineering anything lately?”

“I modified a Furby, if that counts.”

“What?”

Breadstick pulled an oddbody Furby with six plastic Barbie legs attached to its sides.

“Most of the mods are cosmetic, but since it’s a redstone Furby instead of an electric one, I was able to do one nifty thing with the circuitry. Look what happens when I press the inside of its ear.”

With one press, the Furby began spinning as a bitcrushed version of Butterfly by smile.dk played out of its speakers.

Dan did not move a muscle. “That is both immensely horrifying and technologically impressive. I don’t know how to feel about this.”

“Her name is Feta Cheese and I found her in an abandoned hospital seventeen years ago.”

“She looks like she’s going to eat my heart.”

“Feta Cheese has looked into the eyes of God and was unimpressed.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“She screams with the cicadas whenever they emerge.”

Stampy Cat ran right between them. The dragon and the lamblet turned in confusion, only to find that he was just running to the pair of squids.

“Squid! What are you doing lazing ‘round on the beach?! Come back!”

Squid crossed his arms. “This is my thinking spot.”

“You’ve just been standing on the beach, talking to people-”

“Hey. I did my job, I built the melon boat.”

“That- no, Squid, that’s not your job. That’s not even close to your job.”

Kyle chimed in. “We’re unionizing.”

Waves of water ebbed.

“Pardon?” inflected Stampy.

“That’s right,” retorted Squid. “We’re unionizin’ against you. We are forming a workers union.”

“Okay, you two have fun with that,” dismissed Stampy, returning to work.

The project was finished within a week, helped in part by contributions from the growing Stampy Cat fanclub. Numerous names were added to the garden, with a few being updated as well.

Crimson Azoth
ANK
Agent Cal
Squid

Longbow
Dan
Kyle Exesketch
Nutrat

Stanta
Agatha
Breadstick
Littlewood (mostly harmless)

Froggy Robin
Craztol Robin
Amy Lee the 33rd
Rosie Penguin

Sqaishey Quack
Rayray
Cpt. Kel
Pixie Abbs

Ceaser
Ash Luv
Laura Luv
Hazel Godzed

Hit The Target

It was becoming quite a sizable garden.

Chapter Text

January 22nd, 2012.

The winds were strong. The tides were mighty. The ship was ready to set sail, with Captain Stampy and his merry band of helpers on board. Today was the day where the people of Lovely World would venture out for pirate booty.

Residents of Crimsville declined the offer to join their expedition across the seas, Squid was busy, and the girls chose to do other sea-related endeavors, but all others were accounted for.

Ank was placed on lookout duty. Being at the highest point of the ship, he knew he had to go full on in high fashion. His hair was wrapped up in a kerchief and he had his sunglasses on.

“Coast is clear, Captain Stampy!”

Stampy turned to his crew. “Gentlemen and Sqaishey Quack, are we ready to set sail on an adventure?”

The crew shouted in unison, “Aye aye!”

“Off we shall go then! Onward, crew! Time to set- to set sail!”

Stampy paused.

“Okay, um, I don’t actually… remember how to pilot a boat. Assuming I ever knew at all how to do that. If- if there’s someone who could maybe help me out, that would be great.”

Longbow cackled. “You were so psyched about being the captain, and you can’t even drive a boat? Maybe you should have thought this through.”

“This is a judgment free zone, Longbow. We’re all crew here. Me, you, the helpers, all the giraffes, my dog who you have decided to name The Arbiter, we are all part of the S.S. Stumpy crew.”

“What kind of pirate can’t sail a ship?!”

The cat scowled and walked closer.

“Escort yourself to the plank, matey.”

Captain Stampy’s executive power was too strong. Longbow walked the plank and swam onto an island. He then constructed a small SOS sign out of dirt.

“I almost feel bad for the poor guy.”

Breadstick nodded. “Yeah. You should. You just sent an innocent- well, okay, dubiously innocent man off to die at sea!”

“Maybe I should get him something to eat. Like, a last meal type of situation. Ank, what’s a good human person food?”

“I had a sandwich last week, maybe if you gave him a loaf of bread or something, he’ll be able to make it,” shouted Ank, from the crow’s nest.

Stampy smiled. “Thank you, Ank. I think that’s a great idea. Breadstick, do you have any- oh, I- I suppose I didn’t have to ask you twice! Here, I’ll deliver it right his way.”

Protracting his wings, Stampy soared down to the island and gave Longbow a loaf of white bread. Though still finicky, the cat managed to take to the skies and score a mildly efficient landing.

“Right, so, uh… there’s still the problem of ‘who will help me drive this boat’, so if anyone has any driving experience, please let me know.”

Cold winds blew.

“Anyone? Anyone at all? Does anybody know anything about driving boats?”

Not a word.

“Come on, guys, we spent like, what, a week building this boat, and nobody knows how to use it? Sqaishey, you could probably figure it out.”

Sqaishey shook their head. “It seems a bit risky driving this big a boat on my first go.”

“What about- where… where is Craig, actually? Where’s he gone off to?”

“He’s in the sleeping quarters right now.”

“He’s supposed to be swabbing the deck with Breadstick,” the cat jokingly muttered, making his way downstairs.

Craig was sitting alone, on a bottom bunk, facing the wall, far away from a ladder. He was leaning into himself, seeming to shield something with his ruby red overcoat.

“Do you have any driving experience? Any experience driving boats? I need some help, and you’re a smart guy. If anyone could figure it out, it’s you.”

“Oh, I did- I didn’t expect to see that… you would be here,” muttered Craig.

“…what’s with you?”

Craig slurred his words “I can assure you. I am perfectly fine. All I am, is just, it’s- I am surprised to see you. Don’t make this about- out to be like something it’s not. Don’t be overdramatic, is what I’m saying, Stamps.”

Stampy sniffed the air.

“I can practically taste the wine in your breath, Craig. You’ve had way too much.”

“No I haven’t,” hiccuped Craig. “I am perfectly fine. There’s, there is nothing wrong with taking the edge off, which is what I… was doing before you came here.”

“This isn’t ‘taking the edge off’, you are fully drunk.”

“I didn’t have that much.”

“Walk in a straight line for me then.”

Upon getting up from the bed, Craig tripped over his own overcoat and stumbled to the floor.

“Okay,” sighed Craig, “I might- I admit. I admit, that I might have had a little bit to drink, but it’s fine. I’m not-”

“How much.”

“What?”

“How much did you have, then? How much did you have to drink?”

“Come on, Stamps, don’t do this,” he groaned.

“Answer the question.”

“Staaaaaamps.”

“Craig.”

“Don’t be like this.”

“Craig.”

“Fine, I- fine, look, here’s the… how much I had, there. It’s out of my inventory. I took some, out of the wine I brought. Poured myself a few glasses. It’s literally fine.”

Stampy’s tail shot up. “Was that bottle full when- Craig, that was a full thing of wine yesterday.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“It was not~ a full bottle of wine. Why are you making this out to be worse than it is, it’s not even a big deal.”

Stampy pocketed the bottle in his inventory.

“I’m cutting you off.”

Chapter Text

Craig scoffed.

“I’m not— Stamps. This is, you’re being so… wow!”

“This isn’t how you deal with having problems,” asserted Stampy. “You can’t just get wasted at five, six in the morning, just because you’re sad.”

Laughing breathily, Craig put his hand on Stampy’s shoulder and leaned in.

“You’re— what’s with you?! People drink sometimes. Okay? People fucking drink, and you just need to accept that! It’s not like— it’s not like I’m going out every night, stumbling home every night.”

“Wow, forgive me for wanting you to be sober on what was supposed to be our big, fun day, where we finally went sailing on our finished boat.”

“Why— Stamps. Why are you talking to me like, like this is some sort of reoccurring, recurring issue that I always have. I counted the times, I have counted, on my fingers, how many times since I arrived here—”

“That’s irrelevant, that’s not what I—”

“—that I have even had a single drink of anything. And I can count it on my fingers now! It’s three, it is three times, of all the times, where I have been anything short of sober.”

“But—”

“Not done. On New Years, I had a little bit to drink, because everyone else did too. I had a shot. One shot of alcohol, and it wasn’t even that strong. Christmas Eve, I had a little bit to ease my mind, but it was late at night so you wouldn’t have even known if I didn't tell you. And today—”

“That is irrelevant. It’s not about how—”

“—I’m talking. Today—”

“I’m talking!” shouted Stampy. “You’re interrupting me!”

“TODAY, I had more than I planned, and now you’re getting on my case about it. When it makes no sense. You have drank more times than me—”

“But that’s irrelevant!”

“How is that fucking ‘irrelevant’?! How is that not relevant, answer me.”

“I—”

“How is that not relevant?”

“Let me answer, and I—”

“Because—”

Stampy hissed and stomped his foot.

“It is irrelevant, because that isn’t the point I was making! You’re putting words into my mouth. The problem isn’t ‘you have been drinking too often’, my issue is that you’re shitfaced drunk at the crack of dawn on the day I specifically planned for us to have a fun, fulfilling day on the sea! It’s insulting!”

“Insulting how?”

“What do you- Craig, how are you not seeing how this is insulting?! I told you, time and time again, when this boat is done, I have a sea expedition planned. We’re gonna get on that boat, and enjoy each other’s company. And you said it sounded like a good idea. Only to pull this on the day of. Because apparently, our company isn’t enjoyable unless you’re drunk off your arse from the moment you wake up.”

“I never said that, and that’s not true.”

“Then why—”

“You’re making this about you, when it’s not about you, Stamps, it’s—”

“Okay, I have had it with your cutting-in.”

Stampy made some sort of motion with his hands, as if he were navigating a menu. As Craig tried to ask what he was doing, he found himself unable to make a sound.

“You aren’t listening to what I’m saying. This is a problem because you’re treating us, your friends, who miss you and want to spend time with you, like we’re fucking burdens that you’re forced to put up with. Because, and this isn’t just about alcohol, you’re constantly acting like you’re waiting for an opportunity to leave and go somewhere else. And here I am, trying to create a place that you can tolerate for more than three weeks, and you choose to get drunk so you can get away from us without physically leaving. That’s insulting. That is insulting, insulting to me, insulting to Squid, insulting to Sqaishey, insulting to all the people you’ve known your whole life. We want you to be present in our lives, at least give us that, okay? Don’t insult us.”

The ginger was still silent after the mute was lifted.

“Well?” pressed the cat.

Still nothing.

“You can speak now, I unmuted you.”

Not a word.

“You know what, fine, sure, give me the silent treatment. You still owe Sqaishey an apology. They’re going to be inside, with me. Because the boat trip? Canceled. None of us even know how to drive a bloody sailboat anyhow, what’s even the point of having one if we can’t use it.”

Stampy strode to the ladder and scaled his way to the top. Craig remained in his place, in the lowest cabin of the ship.

Sqaishey waved at the unamused cat.

“Everyone, I’m calling off the voyage. We’ll have to sail some other time, sorry.”

“What? Why?” asked Sqaishey.

“Nobody can drive, also I’m really just… not in the mood, I guess.”

“Aw, that’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” sighed Stampy. “It really is. Anyway, um, I’ll see you inside, Sqaish, I need to put my quest vest back on.”

He attempted to fly off, but tumbled into the water by mistake, much to his own dismay. Flight was a difficult art to master.

A quick shower and change of clothes later, he was lazing around on the couch with Squid and Sqaishey, watching television. The program was a cooking contest. Every contestant was abysmal at cooking.

“Hey Squid,” smirked Stampy.

“Yeh?”

“Just throwing this idea at the wall, what if we did this?”

Squid sat up. “A cooking contest?”

“Yeah. Neither of us know the first thing about food prep, it would be hilarious.”

“Hmm… yeah, I like that!”

“And what if we picked each other’s ingredients too? Like, Sqaishey takes us to some economy server, or a world with a supermarket, and we pick out each other’s ingredients, and we have to make a meal with that?”

“Ooh, and then we try each other's meals!”

Stampy beamed. “This is brilliant! Sqaish, you don’t have to worry about dinner plans tonight, we have this set.”

Sqaishey giggled.

Squid stood up. “So, when do we start, like, shopping?”

“We could go now, if you’re okay with that!” Sqaishey replied.

“Works for me.”

“And me,” mewed Stampy.

“Well,” Sqaishey smiled, “I guess we ought to get going then!”

That night, the most godawful food combinations known to man were birthed in Stampy’s kitchen.

Chapter Text

Bouts of noise accented the inky sky above like cosmic diacritics. Twinges of violet sparkled in a manner not dissimilar to that of moonlit champagne. 

The foot of the purpur castle’s door frame stood a few paces ahead. Through its crack, bossa nova jazz sept into Stampy’s ears. It was coming from that faux vintage music player Phorjay tended to use whenever the feline was visiting.

Were he not so shaken by the preceding afternoon, he’d have been so bold as to omit the knock on his door.

Phorjay, with a softness comparable to his white coat of wool, grasped the door handle and eased it open. As Stampy caught eye of his features, he couldn’t help but flinch.

The ramlet’s eyes had been that same mulberry hue for weeks, there was nothing atypical in that respect. His snout, however, appeared slightly larger than it was before. His hands had become clawlike, and a greater wingspan had emerged from his back.

His change in attire had almost slipped the cat’s mind upon first glance. That starry blue robe he previously donned was substituted for an aubergine one, with pastel yellow crescent moons patterned all round. 

It was a bit odd seeing him wear something else for a change.

Save for Phorjay’s brief greeting, not a word was spoken between the two until they were seated at the dining table, across from one another. Next to each of them was a glass of fruit blend juice and a packet of saltine crackers. Phorjay dipped his in the bowl of soup he’d prepared for himself prior.

“Bad day?”

Halfheartedly, Stampy began to laugh. “To put it lightly, yeah.”

Phorjay bit into his saltine cracker. “If you’re alright sharing, I’m all ears.”

“God, where do I even begin? So, like, I spend weeks upon weeks building this huge boat, right? Come to find out, nobody knows how to drive the bloody thing. Had to call the whole thing off. I was- I was supposed to be having fun out at sea, but I was in my living room, watching some telly with Squid and Sqaishey, not really even doing anything.”

He let out a breathy sigh.

“People always tell me I’m weird when I say this, but I don’t actually like watching television unless I’m with someone else. Like, at all. Every time I do it, my mind’s immediately like, I could be doing something else with my time, something far better than whatever this is. I’d never go out of my way to watch TV on my own, personally, but- oh, I’m rambling now, aren’t I? I’m rambling.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of rambling,” smiled Phorjay.

“I suppose that’s true. To my point, though, I had a schedule. There was a plan that I’d mentally set myself up for. I’m a cat of routine, I like my traditions, everyone who knows me knows this. I’m not- I’m just not very good with last minute changes. I was in… ‘sea-expedition mode’, I’ll put it like that, sea-expedition mode. And when something got in the way of that, I couldn’t just get out of sea-expedition mode.”

“Something got in the way? What happened?”

Stampy balled up his paws and set them on the table. He clicked his tongue in a most pithy manner.

“It’s complicated.”

“In what sense?”

“I don’t want to get into it, it’s… it’s entirely uninteresting.”

“I’ll listen,” the ramlet insisted. “You can tell me anything, this is a private space.”

Silence.

“No matter what, I will hold you in high regard. You are like a son to me.”

Stampy laughed. “I guess today’s the day we’re unpacking this.”

“Now’s as good a time as ever, I suppose.” He inflected his statement with the cadence of a question.

“Mmm, yeah, true.”

The cat rose from his seat and began pacing back and forth, ears perked intently, awaiting Phorjay’s word.

“There’s hundreds of thousands of different worlds out there. Millions, even. I could have picked anyone to be the heir to this place, but I chose you.”

Stampy nodded, continuing to pace. Sipping on a spoonful of soup, Phorjay went on.

“Wonderberg raised the greatest wonderers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I knew, out of every world that has ever existed, that the little town where your homeworld’s people lived would procure my heir. And I looked at the people of this world and I saw someone who reminded me of myself. A younger version of me.”

His ginger tail stood stiff as bone. Stampy came to a complete halt right then and there, turning his head with a great deal of intrigue.

“I used to work at an arcade. Doubled as a restaurant. I made some of the activities myself. Have you ever heard of Texas Wuggle?”

“No.”

“That’s because I invented it.”

Stampy’s mouth formed a little “o” shape. Phorjay fought a snicker.

“Tell you what, little heir. I’ll teach you how to play if you tell me what your day was like.”

Light bossa nova jazz filled the room in the absence of speech. As he paced back and forth, Stampy finangled with his paws. His tail swayed rhythmically. This continued for several minutes as he mused to himself.

Eventually, he raised his head with a nod. Phorjay rested his chin on his hands.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely proud of how I handled the situation. It could have been handled better in… in a lot of ways, yeah, it could have been handled much better. My friend, my good friend Craig, he’s- he’s great, of course. I love spending time with him. But I’ve been frustrated with how he’s been acting, how he’s been treating us.”

He stifled a laugh.

“And I tried to tell him that, but I got angry. I got angry and it came out all wrong. I think I hurt him. He’s been dealing with a lot, I know, and I- I made it worse. Why else would he be drinking? Obviously he’s not taking, y’know, everyone dying… very well. Not to hold that against him, though! Who would?! If I so much as was able to remember the names of the people back home, I’m sure I’d be crying at the thought. Clearly, this isn’t about me.”

His ears drooped down.

“The thing about Craig is… he’s not always… present. He’s my best friend, but I don’t see him that often anymore. It’s not been that long since he showed up, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time until he gets bored. You can’t tie him down, that’s the thing about him, he never stays in one place. It’s just not how he lives his life, and I can’t change that. I can’t just force him to be something he’s not.

“I wanna make a place where, like, it’s exciting enough for him to choose to stay. Or, at the very least, a place he can make his home. Seeing as his home is, uh, yeah. And I saw him today, and he was drinking, on the day I meticulously planned for us. He’s not- he wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. I don’t think he meant anything by it. But it hurt. It hurt a lot. It felt like everything I did and all the things I’ve done this month, none of it worked. Maybe it did, but it doesn’t feel that way.

“I’m probably talking myself in circles now. Talking helps a great deal. Hearing myself say these things- it- it helps out, if that makes any sense whatsoever. Does that make sense-? I hope that makes sense. Regardless, um, that was my day. I tried to gather everyone for a boat trip, it went disastrously, and then I made the worst cuisine this world has ever known. So yeah.”

As he dipped the pack’s final saltine cracker into his soup, Phorjay gazed ruefully into Stampy’s emerald eyes. His wings folded into themselves as Stampy turned his way.

“Does he consider you a friend in the same way that you regard him?”

“Of course he does,” insisted the feline. “He just- he doesn’t always… he does consider me his best friend, that much I’m certain of. I know him. I’ve known him for over a decade. When you’re that close to someone, you just know these things about them.”

There was a wistful quality in Phorjay’s eyes as he nodded along.

“I’ll apologize when I get the chance. I owe him that much, at least.”

Stampy halted his pacing at the end of his statement. His muscles relaxed as he meandered toward the nearest chair. His eyes fixed on the deck of cards in front of him.

Phorjay picked the deck up and carefully separated the Joker cards. The feline glanced at the patterns on the back of the deck and noticed a unique emblem. It looked a bit like a shuriken with a rotated square hole in the center. The illusioner picked up on his curiosity and stood up straighter.

“That was the logo of our little enterprise, before we were bought out. Jeremy designed it, Jacian helped us make it into an actual deck. Bless their little hearts, brilliant people, those two. You, uh, you don’t know who those people are, I know, I’ll tell you soon. Remind me later on.”

“Alright,” purred Stampy.

“So, would you like me to teach you how to play Texas Wuggle?”

Chapter Text

“Right then. If you’ve ever played Hold’em Poker, this might seem a bit familiar. I took a lot of inspiration from Texas Hold’em, this whole game is… sort of a hybrid, a merger between Texas Hold’em and another word game I made, Wuggle. You could play this by yourself, or have someone deal for you. Some folks have tried making versions for more than one player, but I’m yet to find an adaptation I’m satisfied with. But, I digress. Let’s get started, I’ve gone on long enough.

“First, I’m going to deal you two cards, face down. The hole cards, if you’re familiar with the terminology. When you make a bet, it’s going to be based on how confident you are in these cards forming a good hand. Next, the community cards are dealt, which I’ll flip after you make your bet. One, two, three, four, five. So now, there’s seven total cards out.

“Now, I’m not sure if you noticed, but when I sorted out the Jokers, I put them in a pile over here. These are sort of like your wild cards, or ‘bombs’ as I call them.

“You start out with three bombs, and you can use them to swap out an individual card. There’s some strategy involved here, because you can choose to use your bombs to improve an already valid hand, or you can save them for an invalid hand. Because if you get a hand that can’t at least create a two-pair, and you don’t have any bombs left, you have to fold. Which means you lose your bet, and the hand is re-dealt. Every new dealing gives you one extra bomb, but you can’t have more than three.

“The aim of this game is to form the best valid poker hands you can in order to win the most chips. The game ends after either ten hands are dealt, or you run out of money. Back at the arcade, we had a whole leaderboard for displaying high scores, but, um, it’s sort of lost to time now. So, um, yeah. That’s Texas Wuggle. Did I explain that well enough?”

Stampy blinked, blank faced. Light bossa nova jazz flowed through the silent air.

“I, uh,” he started, “I’m still a bit confused, but I think I’ll be able to pick it up as we go along.”

Phorjay’s eyes lit up. “You want to play a round?”

“Yeah! Yeah, this sounds really fun, I’d love to have a go.”

“Wonderful, I’ll go grab the chips. I’ll be right back. You stay put, little heir.”

And he was off.

He was off for a long while.

In his absence, Stampy leapt from chair to chair and began to pace around the table. Circular, patterned motion. His mind wandered. Within his head, he envisioned buildings, games, and other creations. It made him smile. He smiled, paying no mind to the way his expression might appear to others.

He wasn’t sure how long he was spaced out, but when he snapped back to reality, Phorjay was dressed much differently than he was before. Something far more formal than that aubergine cloak.

His curly gray horns were freshly polished, and his cream white wool was ever so slightly curled. A violet glow emanated from his eyes, and his deep black complexion was touched up with a nearly unnoticeable amount of makeup.

Complementing his enhanced form was his outfit of choice, an old work uniform that he modified to accommodate his wings. Some black full length tights. Two brown dress shoes. A pale white, long-sleeved button-up, complete with a collar and a black tie, situated beneath a button-up sleeveless vest. Ruby red, decorated with a nametag.

It simply read “Jo”, preceded by the very same logo present on the backsides of the cards.

“Apologies for the delay, I found some old stuff while looking for the chips, and I figured, might as well. Honestly, I didn’t realize I still had half the stuff in there. Like, this tablecloth, for instance.”

The ramlet pocketed the cards in his inventory before laying out the jade sheet atop the dining room table. That same emblem was embroidered on it. Atop the logo, he set the five cards face down. Stampy was dealt five chips.

“I couldn’t find that many chips, so we’re doing a modified scoring system. That being said, how much do you want to bet?”

He examined his cards. Two of clubs, eight of diamonds.

“I’ll… I’ll bet one token.”

The remaining five cards were flipped. Three of clubs, three of diamonds, five of diamonds, six of hearts, and ten of clubs.

“Remember,” the ramlet added, “single pairs are not allowed. The lowest rank you can play is a two pair.”

The cat squinted. “I don’t think I can play anything”

“Alright. You can either use one of your bombs, or you can fold. Though, speaking from experience, I think it would be best if you at least tried using a bomb, seeing as you’ll earn another one next hand.”

“I’ll just do that, then. Do I, uh, do I hand you the card I want replaced, or is it like, random?”

“You pick the card.”

“Ten of clubs.”

“Okay, I’ll just take that, and… looks like you drew a king of diamonds!”

“I still can’t play anything. I think I’ll just fold.”

“Bad luck, I see. Hand over your cards, I’ll shuffle them back into the deck, and I’ll be taking one of these-”

Phorjay slid a chip to his pile.

“…as well. Nine more hands left, here’s your bomb back. And… one, two, these are your cards. How much would you like to bet?”

Three of clubs, three of spades.

“You know what? Two chips, I’m feeling pretty good about this.”

“Very interesting. Right then, here are the five I’ve drawn.”

Three of diamonds, four of diamonds, five of hearts, nine of spades, jack of hearts.

“I can still use a bomb, right? I’d like to replace the jack of hearts, please.”

Two of diamonds.

“Could you replace the nine of spades as well?”

“Daring are we? You’ve got a hand right there in front of you, are you sure?”

Stampy nodded. Phorjay drew the three of hearts. Without a moment’s hesitation, the cat swiped all the threes as well as the two, and laid down a four of a kind. After a brief examination, Phorjay approved the hand and passed him six chips.

“You’re really getting the hang of this. Let’s do another hand.”

The two continued playing over the course of his stay, till morning sunbeams woke him again.

Chapter Text

Warm salmon skies greeted the ginger cat, beckoning him toward his balcony. It was becoming something of a routine for him to oblige.

It was early, even for him. Birdsongs were few and far between. At such an hour, Mother Nature’s choir was sung only by crickets and frogs. Running water whistled beneath his feet as delicate bouts of wind coursed through his fur.

The house was silent.

Floorboards creaked as he pressed his boots against the oak, gently striding to the room across from his. He peeked through the peepholes, half-expecting his friend to be off somewhere else.

Seeing him snug in his bed was a pleasant surprise.

He looked so comfortable. Stampy didn’t want to wake him.

The feline fastened the pins on his vest as he meandered to the kitchen for some leftovers. Two of his dogs were pawing at the locked door, to Stampy’s amusement.

“Good morning Barnaby!”

Following a twitch of his floppy black ears, Barnaby turned to his owner with a smile. Benton followed shortly after, flopping down on his back for some belly rubs. It was too cute to resist.

“Sorry, Benton. No stew today, we’re fresh out. Maybe tomorrow?”

Benton whined.

“I could heat up some pork chops if you’re hungry, we could- we could both have a bite to eat, how about that?”

Both Barnaby and Benton were receptive to the idea, barking with excitement at the thought. Stampy grabbed the fridge key and retrieved two foodstuffs, each wrapped in saran wrap. He popped the pork chop into the microwave, then unwrapped his half-eaten meal.

Two slices of white bread. One thinly cut slice of cheddar cheese. Snapped dry pasta. Whipped cream in the middle, topped with cinnamon and sprinkles. Cut into six triangles, three of which were missing.

He wasn’t fully certain what he was looking at. All he knew was that he had made it last night, and it tasted… well, it certainly tasted, to put it lightly.

The beep of his microwave brought him back to reality. The gray dog and the black dog gathered at his feet, awaiting their meal.

“Here you go, Benton, and here you go Barnaby. Eat up!”

Benton, like Stampy, was a rather loud eater. A quick one too, at that. Before Barnaby had even finished his portion, Benton had gone back to pawing at the fridge. Stampy stifled a laugh.

“Sorry, little buddy. That’s all you’re getting. Your buddies have to eat as well, y’know.”

Stampy turned to the living room.

“…speaking of your buddies…”

Minutes later, Stampy was in the doghouse, peering at a room of happy little mongrels. The few that were awake ran to surround him, toys in each of their maws. Stampy’s ears perked up.

“Who gave you these?”

Flippy dropped hers and let out an affirmative bark. The chew toy appeared to have undergone some light use. Another dog ran across the floor and laid next to a small box, wagging its tail with an outstretched tongue.

Stampy investigated the box. It was chock full of toys. Such a curious sight.

“Well, seeing as you guys are up…”

Five leashes were attached to the respective collars of the active pups. Barnaby, Benton, Cedric, Flippy, and Tikka. Stampy gripped the holster tightly as he strode. His mongrels followed close behind.

During his trek, the cat encountered a familiar face. His dogs seemed just as happy to see him as Stampy was.

Target was very receptive to the dogs’ affection, petting each one with a smile. Stampy leaned toward the skeleton, his ginger tail swaying gently back and forth.

“Surprised to see you here at this hour. Still getting that sleep schedule sorted?”

“With the state it’s in, I doubt you could call it a ‘schedule’ at all.”

“Oh dear,” Stampy laughed.

“At least I’ve got my dogs to keep me… somewhat on top of it, I suppose. They’ve kept me from sleeping through entire days, I’m sure that’s worth something.”

“Somebody’s got to walk them.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can’t skimp on that.”

“That’s true.”

Stampy put on a toothy grin, his eyes darting down to his dogs and back up to meet Target’s gaze. Target’s countenance turned impassive as Stampy subtly motioned to his own leashed mongrels.

“I like the fresh air time,” added Stampy.

“Are you expecting some sort of standing ovation or something?”

His whiskers perked outward rostrally. “No, it’s- ha-! I know it’s not much.”

“Congratulations,” snickered Target. “You’ve done the bare minimum, good for you.”

“I’m such a good dog owner. Wait ‘til you hear this, I even feed them, every single day.”

“Every day? How unthinkable. What’s next, you’re feeding them actual edible items instead of random stuff you picked up off the floor?”

“Well, let’s not go crazy here. I’m not excessive.”

“Right, right, of course. How silly of me to assume.”

“But seriously though, it’s- it’s better than nothing. If anything, I just want you to know, I’m hearing you out, and I’m at the very least trying to be better. I love my dogs. I want to make sure they stay alive.”

“Good for you.”

Stampy’s smile faltered for a moment. “I’d also, um, like to thank you for the little gift you gave my pack. They really like it.”

“What, the- the box? Of toys?”

“Yeah, that one- that was you, right?”

“Mmhmm, those were mine. Toby and Callie weren’t keen on a lot of them, and I couldn’t help but notice how empty your doghouse was. It would be unbecoming of me to let these perfectly good toys collect dust forever.”

“Well, again, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“And also, uh, by the way…”

Target raised his chest, eyes locking with Stampy’s. He tilted his head, as if to inquire, without saying a single word.

“I kind of- I feel like I didn’t really give a good enough apology earlier. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this at the time, but obviously you didn’t want to get into detail about whatever it was that… caused you to be dead. And I was sort of making you relive all that. That just- it outright was not a very good thing for me to do. It was inconsiderate. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

For a few stray moments, Target was speechless. He blinked a few times in silence, before reaching his hand out.

“Stampy. It’s fine. I can’t reasonably hold that against you, you weren’t there when it happened, you didn’t know. I was on edge, that’s why I was acting so weird, it wasn’t just you. Lots of bad memories at the forefront of my mind, I just needed a moment to decompress.”

“No, yeah, I get that. So, uh, we’re good now, right?”

“We’re good.”

Cedric began pawing at Stampy’s boots.

“Looks like the boys want a change of scenery. Nice talking to you-”

“Wait wait wait, one more thing, I just- it’ll be quick.”

“Hm?” Stampy raised an ear.

“I wanted to tell you this myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to be the bearer of bad news. So if you could just do me a favor and ask someone- a tiefling, of course- who brought the plague upon us, that would save me a lot of trouble. You of all people deserve to know the truth.”

“…they’re just going to say it was me though, right?”

“There’s someone else.”

“Is that so?”

“They’ll tell you if you ask. It won’t- they’re not going to freak out about it like I do.”

“I- sure, I’ll… I will consider that. I should probably get going now, so-”

“Right, right, of course. Been meaning to get some sleep anyhow, might as well.”

“See you later, then. Byeeeee!”

“Bye.”

And their paths diverged.

Birds were perched upon the signs in the Love Garden. Frogs croaked in the distance. A couple small bugs skittered away upon noticing the comparably large cat trodding down the oak path.

He knelt down to observe the fissures in the wood. Breadcrumbs were lodged within them. Someone must have been feeding the birds.

Of course, the birds weren’t the only ones interested in the snack. A large arachnid was situated in the corner, attempting to fish out the crumbs with its legs. Stampy found the sight to be quite amusing. Unfortunately, the dog accompanying him didn’t seem to agree.

“Guilty Bark, stay back,” ordered Stampy. “He’s more scared of you than you are of it.”

Guilty Bark continued growling. Birds dispersed across the vast sky to escape the mongrel. The spider soon followed suit. Turning its head to Stampy, Guilty Bark began to pant.

“I’m not giving you a pork chop for that, I told you not to mess with the spider. He was just minding his own business.”

The puppy whined.

“Not happening. Bad doggy.”

Stampy got off of his knees and sat down on one of the wooden paths separating the rows. Guilty Bark went up to him and nuzzled up against his chest.

Sighing heavily, Stampy stroked the dog’s fur. The sunlight refracted off his glasses, forming little rainbows in the corners. He allowed himself to become engrossed in the sight, letting out a soft purr as his mind wandered.

“You should really listen more. I love you, but you’re not doing a very good job of listening.”

Guilty Bark’s nose grazed the fur on Stampy’s chest.

“It’s- you know, it’s weird, because… you’re a dog. You’re supposed to be by my side when I need you to be, you’re not supposed to be running around, doing whatever you want all the time. Isn’t that, like, coded into your biology? That you’re supposed to be loyal to whatever feeds you?”

Stampy paused.

“Am I not doing enough?”

Guilty Bark’s ears flopped down.

“I dunno. Maybe you just need some time. Maybe you were some rugged wolf leader in the past, and you ran off from your pack or something, and maybe that’s why you’re like this. I guess I can see why you wouldn’t want to let that go.”

The dog leaned against him, resting his eyes.

“Can’t see myself living like that, that much I’m sure of.” 

Door hinges creaked in the near distance. Stampy flinched, but didn’t turn, hoping not to disturb Guilty Bark’s little nap. The mongrel was sound asleep, to his relief.

Someone sat next to him. A blurry silhouette eased into the edges of his field of vision. That ginger hair, hazy as it was, was unmistakable. Minutes passed. Neither turned the other’s way.

Craig leaned forward. His eyes flicked back and forth. He grasped the sleeves of his own cerulean sweater, tightening them around his wrists.

He took a deep breath in.

“Hey, so about last night…”

Chapter Text

As the words left his friend’s lips, Stampy could feel himself tensing up. His whiskers pressed against his face.

“…actually, uh, is this a bad time?” Craig turned to his feline friend.

“It’s fine,” protested Stampy. “I just- I’m listening, I promise, it might not look like it, but I’m… yeah.”

“You sure you’re good with this?”

Stampy turned his way, accenting his speech with hand motions. “Look, I know I messed up. You’ve been dealing with your own assortment of issues, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t…”

A restive sensation coursed into Craig’s shoulders. He could feel his face drop before he could stop himself.

Stampy sighed, his tail brushing against the grass. “I’m- I’ll just say it outright, I’m sorry for yelling at you. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, I feel downright awful about how I acted, and I need to know how I could make it up to you.”

A vacant stare befell the cat. Craig’s fingers curled, scrunching the sleeves of his sweater. And as he let out a breath, an uneasy snicker escaped him. An ever-so-faint smile revealed itself at the creases of his lips. He knew it wasn’t funny. He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t help himself.

And as he tried to choke out a response, another little laugh accented his speech.

“That- Stamps, I- holy shit, you-”

Stampy’s ears dropped. Craig extended out a hand.

“Jesus, man, sometimes I… sometimes you can be such a pushover. I haven’t even said anything yet!”

The feline lowered his shoulders. His breathing slowed while he idled in place. Craig stifled another laugh.

“No offense.”

“None taken,” replied Stampy, as a subtle solemn grin emerged on his face.

“God, I just- the reason I came down here in the first place was because I wanted to apologize. I know this isn’t just about the alcohol. There’s- there’s an underlying issue, regarding how I’ve been treating you.”

Stampy placed his paw on Craig’s hand. Their eyes locked.

“Friends are supposed to be there for each other. I sure as hell wasn’t. I can’t even blame you for assuming I was going to be out and about on your twenty-first birthday, because that’s exactly what happened last year. And for whatever reason, this year I thought it would be a good idea to put off visiting you until the stroke of midnight, day of. I guess I just… assumed there weren't going to be any connectivity issues? But of course, I wasn’t able to get in. I thought I’d just missed your birthday twice in a row, and I- fucking hell, I can’t believe this, but I almost- I nearly shrugged it off.

“I wasn’t even thinking about how you felt about all this, I was just miffed about the inconvenience. And it didn’t even click with me that you cared that much about me being there until, you know, last night. For some reason, I thought it was like, whatever, even though it’s clearly not ‘whatever’, you’ve known me since we were seven years old! And I wanted to be there. You’re my best friend, you- you mean everything to me. I never said it enough because I never saw you enough to bring it up when it mattered, when you needed someone to talk to and I was off doing… God, I can’t even remember, that’s how I know I was wasting my time.

“And I… I guess I didn’t realize that I was important. As fucked up as that sounds, I just- I thought you guys wouldn’t miss me. But like, look at this! You had someone personally go out and find me because of how much you wanted to see me, and- and this world you said you got as a birthday gift, you said you wanted to share it with me- looking back it seems so obvious, you’re not a bitter person, but I thought that you didn’t mind me being gone. That’s an insult to your character. I can’t think of you that way. You’re my friend.

“I’m going to settle down. I am so sorry that I wasn’t there for you back in Wonderberg, I promise you, I’m not gonna go run off to some world in the middle of nowhere unless we all run off to some world in the middle of nowhere. But- but something tells me you want to stay here. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to stay here with you.”

The birds returned to their perching positions, their ambient tweets decorating the sonorous choir of nature.

Stampy looked in his eyes.

Craig returned the gesture.

With a warm smile, Stampy stretched his arms out for a hug. Craig leaned in.

And they held each other in mutual embrace.

Chapter Text

Though many of his friends opted to spend the time indoors where it was safe, Stampy preferred watching his sunsets in the open arms of mother nature. His dog, Guilty Bark, was sitting to the left of him. His friend, Hit The Target, was sitting to his right.

“…and, surprisingly, I ended up winning that contest. I couldn’t even fathom having more than one bite of what he made, it tasted like actual dirt.”

Target blinked. “You’ve eaten dirt before?”

“No- well, okay, maybe I have, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t remember anything. So like… no, I guess? It- it tasted like what I imagine dirt would taste like.”

Stampy grabbed a handful of soil.

“Can’t say I’m not tempted to find out though.”

“Please don’t,” Target interjected. “That would be weird.”

The cat giggled. “Joking, I’m joking.”

“Okay, good,” snickered Target.

“Guilty Bark seems to like it though.”

Target watched as Stampy’s dog munched on a chunk of soil it placed in its maw.

“That’s Guilty Bark?” asked Target.

“Mmhmm. He’s the most utterly useless dog ever.”

Target scoffed. “That isn’t very nice of you to say.”

“He’s a dog, Target, he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. You can say anything to a dog if you use your happy voice.”

“Well, it’s still weird that you think any of your dogs are ‘utterly useless’, I have two dogs and they’re both the best doggies ever.”

“Okay, but you fail to consider that Guilty Bark is just another level of stupid,” laughed Stampy.

An arrow landed by the clubhouse door. Stampy jerked his head side to side.

“Who fired that?” called Stampy, equipping his bow.

Only frogs.

Stampy relaxed his muscles. “Right, so as I was-”

An arrow hit the cat’s knee, and he hissed in pain. Baring his claws, he re-equipped his bow and scouted the area more closely. That’s when he noticed two zombies approaching him.

“Guilty Bark!” commanded Stampy. “Get those zombies!”

After a few long moments of delay, Guilty Bark attempted to fend for himself, only to immediately surrender upon being touched, leading to his swift and prompt murder. Target shoved the zombies down the hill as payback for killing an innocent dog, then stared at the corpse of the fallen mongrel.

Completely nonchalant, Stampy turned to Target. “See? He was a bloody useless dog, I said he had a horrible name. Goes up against two zombies, and he bloody loses, and now he’s dead. This is your fault, Hit The Target, you gave him false hope when he should have just stuck to eating dirt.”

Target turned to Stampy at a snail’s pace, even more appalled by the comment than he was at the murder itself.

Stampy laughed. “And I was doing so well, too! Went a whole ten days without losing a dog. That’s got to be some kind of record. Gonna have to build a grave for Guilty Bark, this is ridiculous.”

The sound of shifting bones made their way into Stampy’s ears, as Target glared into the cat’s emerald eyes.

“If you’re not willing to treat your dogs with the respect and care they deserve, I would be more than happy to take them off your hands.”

The cat squinted. “They’re my dogs, and I love them. You can’t have them.”

“You love your dogs? You sure have a weird way of showing it.”

“Just- just because I’m making light of the situation doesn’t mean I don’t miss him! And for your information, you’re not helping right now, you’re actually making everything worse. Threatening to take my dogs from me, you’re making me feel like a terrible dog owner.”

“Threatening? You think this is fucking threatening?! I don’t think you understand how much goddamn restraint I’m using right now. You have killed nine dogs in a month! If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was deliberate! If- if I wanted to threaten you-”

“I thought this was behind us! I’m getting better.”

“You aren’t getting better! You’re just as bad as you were, you let him die for a quick laugh!”

“Target, I’m trying!”

“Well, try harder! This isn’t ‘good enough’, it’s hardly anything at all! This isn’t my fault. It is wholly yours, you sadistic freak!”

Stampy gasped, with the slightest tremble in his breath.

Realizing what he had just said, Target took a single step backward. He masked regret with a halfhearted scowl, knowing it was too late to backpedal and too early to apologize. Watching the cat’s countenance shift, Hit The Target began to wonder whether or not he meant what he’d said to him. Upon noticing the bow and arrow aimed for his skull, he dwelled on whether or not it mattered if he meant it.

“Leave,” demanded the cat.

The skeleton darted back inside his house, though not before taking his dogs out of their kennel and guiding them through his door. 

With a sigh, Stampy figured he needed to blow off some steam, one way or another. As he scouted the area, he began to notice a crowd of googlies conferring in groups near the theatre. Many of whom were pointing weapons his way.

He bared his claws. “If you shoot me, I will bite back.”

Nine arrows were fired at him. Luckily, he happened to have some good reflexes, and dodged them all. Stampy called out for his best hunting dog, Flippy, who teleported right by his side.

“Right, girl,” Stampy smiled, drawing his sword. “We’re fighting zombies today, don’t let them lay a bloody finger on us.”

Flippy growled affirmatively.

With a hiss, Stampy pounced on the horde, and Flippy followed close behind. If not for the bodies disappearing immediately upon death, it would have been a rather gruesome sight. Seeing as they did just try to kill him, the cat figured it was fair game to take the inventory items they’d dropped. Seeds, ore fragments, vinyls, and compact discs. A surprising amount of compact discs. Why compact discs specifically? He didn’t have a clue, but he took them anyway.

After neutralizing the horde, he gave Flippy some pork chops. “Good girl.”

She started gnawing on a dismembered arm after swallowing the pork chops.

“Oh, you’re still hungry?”

He turned to his theatre, then back to his dog.

“Here, I know where we might be able to get some seconds.”

Chapter Text

Pawprints were pressed into the red and green checkerboard carpet of the lobby. Flippy panted with great exuberance and jumped over the confection counters.

“C’mere, girl! I can hear a skeleton on the other side of this door.”

Flippy ran over to him and barked. The cat opened the door and found a spider. His dog tore the spider right in half, earning her a pat on the head. Though, as he made his way through the door to the stairwell, he began hearing a faint tune.

“Wait… stay behind me, they could just be putting on a play. If they’re willing to be peaceful, I’ll be willing to be peaceful back.”

Flippy scratched her ear with her leg.

The cat ascended the stairs and scouted the area from the balcony. Zombies and skeletons were queued up at the music pit. Groups of googlies were scheming on the stage. A lone skeleton was scouting as well, and nearly fell off the VIP seat when he noticed the cat. He hissed something in spider and aimed his bow.

Suddenly, the room was plagued with animosity.

“HE’S UP THERE!” someone shouted. “GET HIM!”

Stampy gestured for Flippy to follow. “Nevermind, they’re angry, go get ‘em.”

Arrows flew from all directions. Several skeletons fled the scene upon realizing the degree of Stampy’s combative competence. Others attempted to brave it out, but failed spectacularly. A single zombie remained at the end of it all, minding their own business.

“What are you doing up there?” remarked Stampy. “Are you- are you like, the electrician or something?”

The zombie nodded. “Yeah man, I helped build this place.”

Stampy lowered his bow. “What?”

“Mmhmm. An old buddy of mine recruited some extra hands for a bit of casual assistance. Siekit and Craz contributed a lot to the project, I don’t think we would have been able to do it without them.”

The cat retrieved a notebook and a pencil. “Siekit, you said? How do you spell that?”

“S-I-E-K-I-T, Siekit.”

“And your name, how do you spell your name?”

“X-I-M-E-N-A, that’s Ximena. Ximena Voltage.”

“Nice name. Do you know the names of the others?”

“A few. Jackal, whose name is just spelled Jackal.”

“Mmkay, who else?”

“Navarro, N-A-V-A-R-R-O. Zak, Z-A-K. Ramote, R-A-M-O-T-E. And Hit The Target, which is spelled the same way it’s said. Weird name. Very weird name.”

“Oh, Target, I… I know him.”

“Yeah, we know you know him. It’s kind of a point of contention for a lot of the community.”

“What, us knowing one another?”

Ximena laughed. “Yeah. You’re quite unpopular in our circles, if you didn’t know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Having ties with murderers will do that to you, I suppose.”

“Wh- what ties, what murderers?”

“Mmm, you don’t have to pull that on me, Stampy Cat. Pretending you don’t know.”

“But I don’t-”

“Clients are clients, I don’t care about their ethics.”

“Mr. Voltage, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I have any ties to any murderers, this is the first I’m hearing about them.”

Ximena put a hand on their hip. “So you’re telling me, you weren’t aware that Phorjay brought the plague upon us?”

“…I’m sorry, I- I want to make sure I heard that right, you said Phorjay caused the plague?”

“Yup. It was a targeted attack against our entire species. Killed every last one of us.”

“I… no, I don’t believe you, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t have to believe me. I didn’t come down here to change your mind, I came down here to change your lights.”

Ximena pearled onto the stage, holding a slip of paper in their hand.

“Speaking of which…”

They extended their arm out in Stampy’s direction, shaking the slip in their hand. Stampy plucked the slip out of their grasp. It was a business card.

“…got redstone wire? I’m up for hire. Ximena Voltage, freelance redstone engineer. Contact me and we’ll discuss rates.”

Stampy furrowed his brows. Ximena took a step back.

“Give it some thought.”

With that, Ximena was off.

Stampy retrieved a broom from a closet and swept the floors until they were at an acceptable sanitation level. Before he left, he took a peek inside the CD player and found a disc inside with an open case nearby.

The cover of the case was a sandy beach with sans serif text written in pastel pink overlaid on top.

ERIC CHENAUX
“SAY LAURA.”
abridged & not

He put the disc in its appropriate casing and stored it comfortably in his inventory, with the rest of his amassed loot.

On the way to his house, he decided that a good use of his time would be to listen to one of those songs he’d collected. The question was, which one?

Laying out all the albums on his blue carpet floor made the best decision abundantly clear to him. Say Laura, unabridged. He slotted the CD into his player and hit play, watching it buffer for a moment before emitting the desired sound.

A plucky, rhythmic, nearly percussive bass accented an unusual chord strummed on a guitar. Distorted, bendy guitar notes were sprinkled sporadically throughout the intro, and occasionally accompanied the vocals, though delicately enough as to not overtake them.

Say Laura
Can the moon
Slow love in the world
And light you up
Light you up

Pitchbent bass and formanted guitar bridged the gap.

And how long it lasts
One whole moon
Two palm trees
Who’s everyone
The future of feeling

It was almost enchanting.

Say Moira
Hey Moira
Say what not
Burn love away
And if not when, then why

Something so unfamiliar, yet comforting in its qualities.

The difference between
One and two
Is a dream
Lighted up
Lighted up
Light it up
Light it up

He sat still, simply listening.

If you wanted love
I wanted to remain in love with us
And if you walk away
An hour that we’d almost lost
In our minds
And what now
Line it up
Line it up

The bass spoke. Not in words. It sang a melody of its very own, duetted by its partner, the distorted guitar. Its final notes in the solo resembled church bells.

Say Laura
Look at that
One whole moon
Two palm trees
I’ve been put in moonlight

Say Moira
Look at that
What a night
Burn love away
So long, at last
So long, at last

Say Moira
It’s easy when
We’re going out
Going out of mine
Two worlds
At one line

If you wanted love
I wanted to remain in love with us
And if you’re only now
An hour that we’d almost lost
In our minds
What a life
Live it up
Live it up

So not over till
The moon we love
The moon we love
Will leave
Will leave
The skyline
The skyline

The skyline

Chapter Text

The sweet scent of fresh fruit suffused through the air of the purpur palace. Phorjay was still in that same uniform, playing Cat Stevens’ Greatest Hits through his faux vintage phonograph.

More than anything, Stampy was confused.

“I guess I just, um, don’t understand why exactly you brought me here. Everything’s fine and well, I just need some time to rest. Clear my mind and all.”

Phorjay leaned against the countertop. “It’s a matter of… psychological misconjunction, let’s call it that, which I’m hoping to avoid. I don’t want you to associate this place with all the worst times of your life. If I only bring you here when you’re overtly, you know, really sad, you might form a bit of a link in your mind between the palace and your own misery. Subconsciously. You might not even realize it if it happens.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“How about some buttered noodles? Have you had anything to eat tonight?”

“Actually, no, I haven’t.” Stampy let out a bit of a chuckle.

The ramlet passed him a plate. “Serve yourself, why don’t you? I’ve saved you a seat at the table.”

It wasn’t long before they were both seated across from one another, plates each filled with buttered noodles. Stampy sat up straight, gaze inline with Phorjay’s violet eyes.

“Psychological misjunction, is that… is that, like, an established thing, or…?”

Phorjay swallowed his bite. “The term might not be, but the phenomenon is pretty well documented. Be it in folk tales or legitimized scientific papers, if you look hard enough, you will see it happening. Hell, if you look around you, you might notice it popping up in the strangest places.”

The feline tilted his head, chewing his pasta just a tad bit slower. Phorjay’s eyes darted down, then back up again.

“Even with this tablecloth here, there’s a bit of misconjunction. Sounds a bit silly, I know, but-”

“No, not at all, I can… I can easily see that happening to someone. I don’t think it sounds silly in the slightest.”

A smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“This tablecloth is something from your old job, right? Like, with the uniform and all, with the cards, they’ve all got that same symbol on it.”

“Very perceptive.” Fork prongs were stuck through a small stack of thick, curly noodles.

“And… I’m guessing it wasn’t that enjoyable of a job, then.”

Phorjay flinched, before tilting his chin up and crossing his arms. “Couldn’t be further from the truth. My days working at the arcade were some of the best times of my life.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'm certain you know how it feels to watch a vision you pioneered turn to a reality. Before I brought you to this world, that was- that was a good chunk of your life. You spent it subverting the old and creating the new. That drive to make something still lies within you. And back in the glory days, that drive lied within me as well.”

“Lied? As in, used to lie?”

Phorjay swirled the noodles, stirring them like vegetables in a soup on his purpur plate.

“Here’s some advice. Never let go of the things that matter to you. We sold the arcade during a rough patch, and I had to watch as it strayed away from the vision that brought it to life. Frankly, it was a bit demoralizing. They turned our arcade into-”

The ramlet pursed his lips.

“You probably don’t want to hear this, it’s all just- it’s details on something you hardly know about.”

“No, I do,” insisted Stampy. “This matters to you, doesn’t it? If it matters to you, I think it’s important.”

Phorjay cracked his knuckles.

“Then… I suppose I should start with what that original vision entailed. What I wanted to do was adopt the idea of an arcade and transform it into something you can’t get elsewhere. Fundamentally, it’s the same principle. Big place with arcade cabinets, card games, and jam-based delicacies, courtesy of my baby brother Julian. The difference was in the particular selection of games. Every single game in there was exclusive to our arcade, because I was the one who made them.

“I learned the language of the machine and grew to love it. It was another means of making my ideas come to life. Evidently, the people liked these ideas. Maybe it was a novelty to see homebrewed cabinets that weren’t just glorified Frogger clones. Sometimes I would look out into the game room and see lines forming behind my Glide game. That was a favorite of theirs.

“We ended up getting looted in a raid, leaving the whole operation in ruin. The four of us were desperate. Around this time, we were being approached by a larger corporate entity hoping to buy the rights to the arcade. They were offering way more than we would reasonably make in decades. With no other option, we all ended up going through with the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. The 4J company was out of our hands.”

“You named the company after yourself?” Stampy tilted his head.

“Other way round. Named myself after the company. They rebranded it, and I didn’t want to lose the last part we had left. Because by goodness, did they change a lot for the worse.

“They tried to advertise the place as being open before it was ready for the public. Cabinets were out of order, walls were being repaired, parts were literally missing from the building, but they insisted that there wasn’t anything wrong. And maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad if they were at least focused on making the existing location functional, but that wasn’t their priority. They opened up seven other locations under the same name. They said it was an effort to reach as many people as they could, but- but there’s not really a point when your product is… subpar.

“And then they started changing things. My games were removed because they weren’t profitable. Matter of fact, it seems to me that games weren’t their priority at all. Most of their attention was fixed on the prize corner. Or, as they called it, the marketplace. The point of my arcade was for people to have fun, the prizes were an afterthought. At the new place, everything about it revolved around prizes.

“Half of the building was just claw machines and glorified penny slots. You would play generic Match-3 games for months and end up with thousands of redeemable points, which could be turned into a hundred or so tokens that you could use to buy cheaply made prizes.

“My brother Jacian, head of merchandising? He had to quit within two weeks of opening because of how much they were making him do in the name of profit. They were making him design dozens of new shirts for their purposes, then pocketing a sizable portion of the royalties. It was theft. Honest to goodness theft. And I had to watch it turn into this before my eyes.”

As he faced the feline before him, he grasped the edge of the cloth in his fist.

“Never let this world slip from your grasp.”

Stampy didn’t know what to say.

His digits were spread out on the table, spaced out on the silky cloth. His legs were crossed. He could feel the humid air coursing through his ginger fur. The texture of his vest imposed itself on him. And for a few brief minutes, all he could do was blink.

The cat raised his chin.

“It’s not exactly… my world though.”

“Pardon?” Phorjay jolted. His face dropped in an instant.

“I, well- in the sense that… it’s something I built with my friends. It’s our world.”

The ramlet’s face tensed into a constrained smile as his brows began to purse. A small, breathy laugh escaped his lips.

“Of course. Yes, it’s- it’s a shared world, cultivated by yourself and your friends. That can be true. But you have to ask yourself, who, of everyone you know, is most entitled to this land? You have used this land to build houses and waterfalls and roller coasters and farms. What have they done with this vast expanse of a world that has amounted to more than mere dirt shelters or model giraffes?”

“Well, they helped me build my house… they helped build the boat, the Creeper Coaster-”

“None of which would exist without your guiding hand. This world needs you because you are a brilliant, creative mind. For all you’ve done for it, you are entitled to the land, and you cannot let anyone… or anything… convince you otherwise.”

“No, but like-”

Phorjay squinted. Stampy took a deep breath.

“There’s more to this world than what’s built on it. Things like… music? Someone made that, and they would have made that with or without me being here.”

“Probably just an import.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think they’re capable of making something like that. Those… creatures, they can’t even keep their hands off of the mermaids. They have an instinctual hunger for flesh that drives them to cannibalize their fellow man. Maybe there’s a part of them capable of enjoying art, but the part of them that is capable of creating art? Long gone.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a devious smirk forming on the ramlet’s face.

“And the skeletons, too. Just because they dodged the plague that destroys their minds doesn’t make them better. Their time came for them, but they all insisted on leeching upon a land that doesn’t belong to them anymore. They come from a species of tricksters and scum, so I wouldn’t put it past them to take credit for someone else’s work. I’ve lived in this world for decades, I can safely testify-”

Stampy cringed, his orange fur standing on edge. Phorjay’s little smirk faded.

“What, did I… did I say something? Why are you looking at me like that, is something wrong?”

“I don’t like you talking about my friends that way.”

Chapter Text

Phorjay held his chest high.

“Your-? No, no no no, I’m… I’m speaking broadly. I trust your judgment enough to discern a good one from a bad one.”

A thick tension emerged, making itself known in the silence that befell both parties.

Phorjay stood, refusing to break eye contact.

“I never said they couldn’t fight their nature. Or, at the very least, try to do so. There’s always emeralds in treacherous hills if you take the time to search. Few and far between, but they exist. That being said, if you assume that every green glint is an emerald, you’re going to end up disappointed.”

“…sorry, I’m still a bit- you said they’re a ‘species of tricksters and scum’?”

“I- broadly! Broadly speaking. Tricksters broadly, I’m not saying every single one is awful. I am simply being general about them, coming from a place of experience. Which, now that I think of it, you probably don’t have that sort of experience, you probably don’t even remember speaking to a member of their species, right? With the amnesia?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Okay, wow,” scoffed Phorjay. “I thought we were past that. I didn’t want to do what I did. I had to, for the sake of your wellbeing. Have you seen Stacy? How all of this affected her?”

“I didn’t want this!”

“You don’t know that!”

The illusioner’s wings flared up while the violet glow in his eyes grew brighter. His shoulders rounded as his muscles became more tense. Beneath his cloak, his arms trembled.

“Do you think this is hard for you? Imagine how difficult it is for me, Stampy!”

Heaving breaths came between each pause.

“All I’ve wanted to do, from the day we met, was give you the life you deserved. Everything I’ve done- do you even comprehend how hard I’ve worked to get you to where you are now? Heir to a thriving land, surrounded by your best friends? I had to track down your Craig, out of thousands of variations of him, all scattered throughout the multiverse, and I found yours because I care about what you want. And did I complain then? No. Not once, because I did it for you.

“And that stupid mistake with the gems, I was harrowed. I was a mere visitor, and I was harrowed by what I had done! It wasn’t even my loss, I didn’t know these people! But you did! And so did all your friends! I was able to spare the others from the truth as best I could, but I knew you would be too curious. I knew it would destroy you. I was given the hardest ultimatum of my life, and you berate me for making the ‘wrong’ choice. And you attack my character. You deny my conceptions of a species I know in and out! Something which you know naught of and I grew up knowing, and you do this why? Because you don’t trust my judgment? You’re like the son I never had, I just wanted to protect you! I did it for you.

“And I have been pouring every ounce of myself out, spilling it out in the open, because of your insatiable thirst to know every little detail. I haven’t spoken about the arcade in- in who knows how long, but I relived the pain of losing everything, for the sake of your satisfaction! I hung pictures of my dead wife in my living room because- because you never had a mom, from what I’ve heard. I have no idea how much you knew of your real mother, but you know you’re like a son to me, and I thought you had the right to know about Becky. She always wanted a son. She would have loved you. Every time I look at her photo, I think about how much she would have loved you if she was still alive, but she’s not, and I have to put up with that aching in my heart that misses her so. And I thought it was worth it, because I did it for you.

“And you? What have you done, after all I’ve done for you? You attack me, you- you cut where you knew it would sting most! Are you even aware of how much your words mean to me? Surely you know, why else would you say the things you say? I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You are manipulating me. You’re taking advantage of my kindness for your own benefit, playing me for some sort of fool. If you think you can just- after everything, treat me like this, and have me put up with it, then you have another thing coming. Is that clear? Do you understand?”

White noise swelled in a grand crescendo. Stampy wasn’t moving. He was hardly even breathing.

The fur of his tail brushed up between his legs. His chest arched backward, limbs shaking like an abandoned kitten in winter snow. Downturned ears, upturned chin; low shoulders, high gaze. His whiskers laid flat against his cheeks. His slightly uncoupled lips revealed his top and bottom teeth touching, with his fangs resting on the tips of the bottom row.

And he stared at the ramlet with a perturbed glossiness in his eyes.

The cat mustered up a nod.

Phorjay paused.

Tension alleviated from his shoulders as he took a breath, trying in vain not to look Stampy in the eyes as he did so. Folding his wings, he knelt down until he was level with his guest.

Tears welled up in the cat's eyes. They pressed against the lenses of his glasses. He fought the urge to blink. He fought the urge to let them stream down his face. He fought every emotion swirling within him, channeling his focus to the pattern on the wall.

The sound of Phorjay’s breathing quieted until it was overtaken by the sound of the surrounding static. And Stampy felt something looking at him. A pair of violet eyes, glowing faintly, were piercing through him, like a longsword welded out of every regret the cat had ever had the displeasure of knowing. It hurt. His chest hurt. He could feel that aching feeling creeping up on him again.

He could feel the air touching his eyes, stinging equally as much as the tears they housed. Stinging, stinging, awful stinging, he couldn’t keep his eyes open so he shut them as tight as he could. As he felt the droplets stream down his cheeks and collect at his chin, he just felt worse and worse and worse and worse. Aching. The aching feeling, it nested inside him, it clawed at him from the inside as if it were trying to escape and infect everyone and everything around him. But he refused to inconvenience Phorjay any more than he already had. Through all the emotional turmoil, he focused every bit of energy into one goal:

Be quiet.

Crying irritates people. It sends them into emotional distress. Hell, at a time like this, it could even come across as manipulation. Maybe it was manipulation. Maybe it was his way of unintentionally manipulating the situation to be about him, when it was supposed to be about someone else- I don’t know how he ever put up with me- and he just stood there with bated breath and he was standing still and he could hear himself breathing anyway and sniffling involuntarily and it drove him into despair. And he could feel those eyes staring at him. Staring and staring and staring and staring and staring and staring and staring until he heard a shaky breath that didn’t belong to him and the soft voice that followed.

“I’d like to apologize,” admitted Phorjay. “I wanted to make today’s visit peaceful and relaxing, but… I overreacted. You shouldn’t have had to hear that, it’s not- it isn’t reflective of how I see you in the slightest.”

Stampy tried to open his eyes, only to be greeted with that stinging sensation again. He trembled in place, letting a single sniffle escape him. Phorjay stepped closer.

“You’re smart. You are a very smart young man, one of the brightest minds I’ve ever known. But you’re not just smart, you’re kind. I’ll never forget how your friends talked about you on that fateful day. They’re lucky to have you. Someone as smart, kind, creative and talented as you doesn’t deserve to be talked down to like that. You’re the best son a guy like me could ask for. And I love you so much. Nothing you do could ever change that. That’s what I really want you to understand. Everything I sacrifice for you is worth it because it’s for you.”

It all fell apart. Stampy began to sob.

“Do you want a hug?”

Stampy ran into his open arms and wrapped his own around him, joints weak, shaking, so filled with that ache in every part of his body. He pocketed his glasses in his inventory and buried his face in the illusioner’s cloak.

And he started to space out.

How long he spent in that position was beyond him. He wasn’t quite calm by the end of it, per se, but he was lucid enough to communicate without hyperventilating. And that was good enough for him to let out an inquiry, the one inquiry that had been eating him up inside since he showed up at the castle that night.

“Did you do it?”

Phorjay blinked. “Do what?”

“Did you kill all the tieflings?”

There was no reply.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it, I just- I don’t think it makes sense. You’re not a killer. You’re still, to put it how you did, harrowed over what… happened. With Wonderberg and everything. So I hear these accusations of you bringing a plague to an entire group of people, and- and I can’t fathom that. But like, at the same time, it- I’m getting the impression that you don’t… think highly of them as a species. And you’re all big and powerful, and maybe you don’t know anything about magic, but you said you know people who do, and, um… I can’t be sure, I- I guess I just want to hear it from you, y’know, to at least get your angle on this. It just doesn’t feel right to speculate without giving you a chance to say anything.”

Phorjay bit down on the inside of his cheek, before extending his hand out to the cat.

“Why don’t we go upstairs, we can sit down and talk about it. Does that sound good?”

“Sure, I- yeah, that sounds fine.”

“Follow closely. I know a spot.”

Stampy grabbed his hand, and the two meandered up a stairwell.

“By the way, just to preface this…”

“…yeah?”

“Don’t mind the interior.”

Chapter Text

Azure blue walls sparkled like diamonds coated in glitter, mimicking the elusive night sky of the overworld. Shelves were nailed to the sides of each one, each one housing either some sort of redstone machine or a stuffed toy. Birch baseboards lined the space between the walls and the cluttered wooden floor. Blankets and rugs covered half its surface. Magazines were scattered about haphazardly. Their contents were less than pristine, almost bordering on erotic at points. Stampy paid no mind to them.

A bed sat against a wall in the center of the room. Its frame was the hue of gold, and it shone as such. The bedsheets were thick and indigo, with amber stars patterned about its area. Dozens of stuffed animals rested on the bed’s pillow. Next to it was an oak wood wall desk, cluttered with redstone contraptions and blueprints. He could only recognize one item on it; a wind-up radio of some sort.

Phorjay pulled up a chair. Stampy sat on the bed. It was quite soft, almost sharing some of the same qualities as a mother’s hug. Something about it calmed his nerves a little.

“Whose room is this? It looks pretty.”

The ramlet winced. “Not important.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Anyhow,” started Phorjay, “you said you’ve been hearing some accusations about me, yes?”

“I want to hear your side of the story.”

The ramlet ran his fingers through his wool. “Every living being has an inclination to self-preservation. We wouldn’t survive otherwise. Be it the biological development of vertigo, or a tendency to defend yourself in an argument, there’s this… primal, sort of instinctual need to- look, you’re smart, I’m certain you knew this already.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So naturally, if I were to answer that, it would be biased toward myself. If you’re looking for an objective answer, I’d be doing nothing more than muddying waters, seeing as you trust me more than- you do trust me, right?”

Stampy’s whiskers flared upward. “Wh- yeah, of course I trust you.”

“Good. Wonderful.”

Phorjay stood up and began pacing around the room, continuing on his little speech as he went around the perimeter. 

“And I’ve already clued you in as to why I called upon you, out of everyone in that town, to reforge this world. Or, at least, partially so. It’s true that I chose you for your creativity, your dedication, and your building prowess… but I needed an heir who practices critical thought. I could deny my involvement, sure, but that shouldn’t do much to convince you of anything.”

Stampy placed his paws in his lap and leaned forward. “So you’re saying I should draw my own conclusions here?”

“Well, you’ve already taken everything into account. I have faith in your judgment.”

The cat gave him a faint nod, his tail swaying rhythmically as he idled in place.

A brief silence befell them. White noise was accented by the low hum of redstone, neither of which was ostentatious enough to disturb the moment. Lingering remnants of the scent of Cherry Orchard Pine permeated through the confines of the walls. It smelled of oak and pollen with a hint of berry. A nice hint of earthiness in a place so alien.

With a pause, Phorjay turned Stampy’s way. “I’ll say this much, I don’t hate all tieflings. There’s good people all around us. Here and there, you might find a good one, again, emeralds in treacherous hills. Matter of fact…”

Stampy tilted his head in anticipation.

“…I’ve been housing someone I’d like you to meet. Intelligent young lady, very kind. Came to my castle to study tomes. She’s in her room at the moment, but I’m certain she would be delighted to see you. I could go fetch her now.”

“Sure, I- yeah, that sounds delightful. Do I just stay here then?”

“Yes, I’ll be right back.”

As Phorjay walked out the door, Stampy had another look around the room. Perched upon the desk was a little picture frame he hadn’t noticed before. It was rotated to face the wall. He picked up the frame and held it in his paws. It was very small, portrait oriented.

In it was a detailed hand drawn illustration of a hornless ramlet, colored pencil on paper. Her skin was onyx black and her wool was caramel brown. She was wearing a pale knitted wool sweater and a pair of sun-bleached jeans, and upon her feet were a pair of dress shoes. Her body faced to the right, but her head faced forward with a smile. On her knees, she knelt to the right, and her arm was out of frame. Something on the left side was barely visible, just out of frame as well.

There were creases on each side of the illustration. It appeared to have been folded.

Stampy slid the picture out of the frame and unfolded its left side.

Unmistakably, Phorjay.

He began unfolding the right side, when he heard footsteps drawing closer. Ears perking up, he slid the photo back into frame as fast as he could, placing it exactly as it was before.

The door opened. Stampy turned to the operator, leaning back and forth on his feet rhythmically. Phorjay stepped inside to reveal a skeletal figure in the doorframe, standing still with a jovial smile.

Her eyes were completely hollow. She donned a hooded black cloak with tarnished ends and carried a large silvery scythe in her hand. On her head was a brimmed hat with dead flowers sewn inside, and on her back was a torn up cape.

She ambled closer to the cat, until the two of them were face to face.

“Don’t be nervous,” she giggled. “I don’t bite!”

“I would hope not,” remarked Stampy. “That scythe looks rather sharp.”

“Really brings the whole look together!”

“What, are you like, cosplaying as the Grim Reaper or something?”

“I’m a fan of his work.”

Stampy nodded. “Interesting. Um, I never did catch your name, actually, so, if you wouldn’t mind… introducing yourself?”

“Oh! Oh dearie me, how silly of me to forget. You haven’t got a clue who I am! The name’s Bubbachub! Bubba for short.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Bubba! I’m-”

“Mm, I already know who you are. I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Stampy Cat.”

“You have?”

“I used to work with prophets. I knew about you before you even stepped foot in this world.”

“Wow, that isn’t creepy or offputting at all.”

“And living here, it’s not easy to avoid hearin’ your name here and there. Between Phorjay and Staceface, you’re somethin’ of a conversation starter!”

“…Staceface?”

“Aw, you know, Stace! Good ol’ Stace from the farm!”

Silence.

“She talks about you all the time! Stacy, Stacy Fox? That ringin’ a bell?”

Bubba felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face Phorjay.

“What, am I sayin’ something wrong, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you later, just- just drop the subject for now.”

Stampy’s ears perked up. “Wait, she’s- Stacy’s the fourth friend, that’s right, yeah? From Wonderberg?”

Phorjay nodded. Stampy’s eyes darted to Bubba. “Yeah, I don’t remember her very well. Long story.

“I see,” Bubba vocalized.

“Heard you’ve been studying lately. How’s that going?”

“Oh, it’s been delightful! Really honin’ my skills lately. Phorjay says I’m operating ‘ahead of schedule’, I did a month and a half’s worth of honin’ in a week and a half’s worth of time! Not quite proficient yet, but I’m gettin’ there, y’know?”

“That’s impressive! Um, what exactly are you studying?”

“Gift of prophecy.”

“Climbing the ladder, are you?”

“Somethin’ like that! And I’ve been practicin’ on you, actually. You and your dogs.”

“Oh, neat, what have you been prophesying?”

Bubba let out a laugh. “Aw, you know! Here, I’ll give ya a hint. What’s it look like I do for a living?”

“…have you been… predicting my dog’s…”

“And I’ve been doing a half-decent job! That little thing with Guilty Bark, oh, he didn’t stand a fighting chance. Not to brag, but I called it a whole day prior.”

Visibly uncomfortable, Stampy paused. Bubba’s jovial smile was unwavering.

“Hey, it’s not all bad. Maybe I could help you out. You’ve been having a heap of trouble with that Target fellow, haven’t’cha? Seems to always come back to dogs, it’s a point of contention. I could save ya the trouble, and inform you about the best ways to keep your mongrels alive. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

Brushing his arm against his own fur, Stampy hesitated to say anything. She waited. Patiently idling in that same place, with that same jovial smile, holding her large scythe in a tight grip.

Eventually, Stampy came to a conclusion.

“I suppose that would be pretty helpful.”

Chapter Text

Jacques turned to Target, body facing the front door.

“Stampy Cat wants to have a word with you.”

With a reluctant sigh, the long-haired man dusted off his jeans and ambled to the door. To his surprise, Stampy had brought company. The company in question was observing the weeds outside his humble abode.

Tail swaying, Stampy lowered his shoulders. “I’m sorry that I treated my dogs so poorly, and I’m sorry that I made those comments about Guilty Bark. That was- that was in poor taste and it won’t happen again. From now on, I’m going to make sure my dogs stay safe and alive, and to do that, I’ve contacted a prophet.”

Bubbachub turned to Target with a jovial smile.

“Hopefully, her insight means I won’t be burying any more dogs anytime soon.”

Target looked at her. She seemed intrigued by his presence. His eyes darted back to Stampy.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for what I said too, calling you unbearable, that’s… that’s just not true.”

“It’s alright. Are we cool now? Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Bubbachub leaned forward.

“Keep an eye on your bitsers, Target. I’m not seein’ the brightest of futures for the little white one.”

Target squinted. “What’s a bits- you mean my dogs?”

“Mmhmm. Those mongrels of yours.”

“Don’t even joke about that shit.”

“Who said it was a joke?”

Stampy scowled at her.

“Right, right, my apologies.”

Bubba adjusted her cloak and held her scythe up high, not even blinking at the men in front of her. Stampy and Target spoke to each other as she gazed into the potential futures.

One such instance caught her eye.

Silently, she vowed to investigate it by any means necessary.

Wafting through the humid air was the chemical smell of ammonia and fresh paint. Sunlight peeked through the curtains of clouds. Frogs leapt across terraformed land, with their muddy croaks brushing against the cat’s ears. Lovely day for painting.

Today’s itinerary was simple enough. Paint the Duck Fling. It was so simple, that she was the only one invited to work on it.

A single dog accompanied them. Oreo.

OREO

martyr in battle

dies of illness

Lava?

IN THE funland?

F▒▒▒▒ND?

Funla▒▒?

FAR too blurry to tell for certain

could drop dead now even

dog bites

DOG BITES

Martyr?

OREO

“Is Oreo going to die today?” remarked Stampy.

Bubbachub shook her head. “Nothing seems to be jumping out. Your dog is safe.”

“Okay, phew.”

The cat fastened his smock and began painting. Bubba began to levitate a few inches off the ground, which caught Stampy off guard.

“How are you doing that?!”

“Phorjay taught me a spell.”

“A spell as in… magic?”

“How else?”

“I thought he didn’t know any magic.”

She paused. Putting a finger to her smiling mouth, she made a shushing sound.

“You didn’t hear it from me. You heard it from Breadstick, alright dearie?”

“Where… where’s he been, actually? I haven’t seen him around.”

She shrugged. “Not my worms, not my can.”

Meanwhile, in the caverns of SOS island, a lamblet was lying on a wool couch in a fully furnished living room, watching some high quality entertainment on a widescreen TV. 

Wood creaked as another soul descended the stairs. A masked man, carrying a small pile of folded clothes, ambled toward the lamblet. He set the pile on the couch next to him.

“Thanks, Longbow,” smiled Breadstick.

Longbow lifted his mask. “Are you watching the DVD screensaver?”

“Perhaps.”

“Nice.”

“So, uh, where do I go to try these on?”

“You can just use the computer room.”

Breadstick gave his friend an affirmative nod and ran to the little room with the computer.

He returned wearing something completely different; a mustard yellow graphic t-shirt with a big flower in the middle, illustrated in a hand-drawn style. Its petals were hued with warm tones of all the colors of the rainbow. The disc was a cream white, the same color as his wool. On his legs, he wore sweatpants, dyed a vibrant blue.

Longbow turned his way. “How do they feel?”

“Feels nice. Very cozy, I like it.”

“Wait, Breadstick, look, it’s about to hit the corner.”

The boys watched intently, and cheered like sports fans when the logo bounced off the corner of the screen.

“Hell yeah,” cooed Longbow.

Breadstick echoed. “Hell yeah.”

“We are living at the height of luxury right now. One day, we will look back at this and think, damn, this was awesome.”

“Living that good life.”

“Hell yeah.”

Nodding, Breadstick smiled. “Hell yeah.”

Longbow tilted his head.

“It’s a bit odd seeing you in casual clothes.”

The lamblet rested his chin on his hand-hoof.

His ruby-eyed friend continued. “In the sense that, I doubt I ever saw you wearing anything other than that robe. So I’m still, you know, getting used to seeing you wearing normal stuff.”

“No, yeah, I saw what you were saying the first time. Like, I haven’t seen you without that coat, it’d probably be weird seeing you without it.”

Breadstick leaned back on the couch.

“You didn’t happen to, uh, hear me last night, did you?”

“No, I heard you,” replied Longbow.

“Ah. I guess that explains the gifts then.”

“What, the new clothes?”

“Mmhmm,” Breadstick nodded.

Longbow set his hands on his lap. “I admit, that- that was part of it.”

“Figured.”

“It’s just, you sounded so distraught, I almost thought you were like, in physical pain.”

“Were you worried?”

“Yeah- man, of course I was worried. Been worried about you all week.”

“…you have?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Breadstick paused.

“Because I have a tendency to overreact,” admitted Breadstick. “I can’t stop myself. I can’t… think. There’s something wrong with me, I never think before I act. And when I make people uncomfortable, when I hurt people with what I say, they stop caring about me. I do it over and over just by being around them. It’s only a matter of time before I screw up and ruin everything. I just thought that by now, I had to have done it to you already without even realizing.”

Longbow scooted closer.

“If you do something and it genuinely makes me upset, I’m not going to leave you in the dark about it. That would be rude, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

A hopeful smile made its way onto Breadstick’s face.

“You really think so?”

Longbow nodded.

“Besides, you would have to be trying really hard if you wanted to piss me off. I like dark jokes. People say I have a dark sense of humor.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm.”

The lamblet leaned forward.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Longbow clicked his tongue.

“That’s kind of sad, actually.”

Chapter Text

For a guy like Squid, there was no better way to spend a Wednesday than a nice little swim in the ocean. Submersive, refreshing, and keeps you perfectly slippery. Optimal activity.

Sure, it would be quite considerate to be “productive” or to “contribute to society” or “do something that is actually useful instead of lazing around in the water”, but a slippery fellow like itself needs its leisure time.

Birds sang their melodies, and Squid joined them, singing a silly song in a high pitched voice, with lyrics he made up as he went along. It kept singing and singing until it noticed the sound of wading in the water. Intrigued, Squid swam toward the sound to investigate.

At the heart of the noise, there was a hippo in a hat. White hat, round top with a low brim. His tiny purplish ears were poking out of some holes in the top.

He froze when he noticed the squidling watching him.

“Hello!” Squid beamed.

Reluctantly, the hippoling waved back. “Hi.”

“Nifty hat you’ve got there. I like the color.”

“Thanks, it’s— it’s white.”

Silence.

The hippo pulled out a fish. “I have some salmon, if you’re interested.”

Squid gasped. “I love salmon! But, uh, I already ate. I know a guy who really likes salmon, though, so I s’pose I’ll hold onto that.”

“What’d you have?”

“Watermelon.”

“Oh, I love watermelon!” beamed the hippo.

“Really? No way, that’s my favorite food of all time! Aside from blueberry pies, those are— those are something else. League of their own.”

“I’ve never had a blueberry pie.”

“You— what?! You’ve never had one?”

The hippo laughed. “I didn’t even know they made blueberry flavored pies until just now.”

“Mm, you have got to try some. It’s like— it’s the best ever.”

“Where could I go to get some blueberry flavored pie?”

“Well, this Sunday, I’ll be havin’ my birthday party. Big 21’s right ‘round the corner! Sqaishey’s gonna be making some nice blueberry pie, and…”

Squid paused.

“I never did catch your name, actually.”

“It’s Ash,” the hippo replied.

“Ash— lovely name, by the way— consider this a formal invitation to the party. I’ll be holdin’ it by my house, I could show you the way if you’d like.”

“I’ve known you for like, less than two minutes, and I’ve already reached birthday party invite status?”

“More the merrier, that’s what I always say.”

“Fair enough. And I like parties, so you can count me in. What time should I be there?”

“It’s going to be all day, maybe even all night too, just show up whenever you’re ready. Oh, and it’s going to be a fancy dress party too, so make sure you have a funny costume.”

“Funny costume, got it. Well, uh… what’s— what’s your name?”

“Squid.”

Ash blinked.

“My name’s Squid.”

“Just Squid?”

“Yeh, just Squid.”

“Very unique name, I like it. So, um, are you still up for showing me the way to your house?”

“Oh! Follow me, it’s right this way. Try to keep up, I’m very slippery.”

Squid and Ash swam down the stream, the former of whom gave a passing wave to Amy and Rosie along the way. They waved back at him and tossed some love love petals their way, before returning to sharing their romantic vegetarian breakfast.

Eventually, the hippo and the squid made it to Stampy’s Lovely Town. Ash was in awe at the scale of the house.

“When did that get there?!”

“Pretty recently, I think. Like, I’d estimate… a month and a half ago, maybe? Ask Stamps, he’s the one who built the place, he’ll know.”

Ash stepped back. “The heir built that?”

“Actually, he’s a cat. It’s in his name, Stampy Cat.”

“…it’s an impressive build, I’ll give him that.”

“It sure is, it’s got a swimmin’ pool and everything. My house is back this way, if you just squeeze into his doghouse, the door’s right there.”

“He let you build a house inside his doghouse?”

“Course he does, I’m his best friend. Well, tied for best friend with like, three other people, but still.”

Ash stared at the doghouse entrance.

“Is… is there a way to get into your house that doesn’t involve sneaking through a dinky little entrance? Hippos aren’t exactly known for being small.”

Squid nodded. “Yeh, there’s some reeds out back, just go through those and there’s a second door.”

“Right, okay, I’m just going to go back there and test if I can fit.”

“You’re not that big, you’ll fit fine.”

“You never know, Squid, you never know.”

While the hippo was running to find the reeds, Squid heard the rhythmic jog of boots on wood heading straight his way. Who else but Stampy Cat, holding some fresh-kneaded bread.

“Stamps, I made a new friend today!”

Stampy’s ears perked up. “You did, did you?”

“Mmhmm, his name is Ash and he’s a hippo and he likes watermelon. He’ll be at the party on Sunday.”

There was a knock at the door from inside the doghouse. Squid took a peek inside, and saw Ash at his door.

“This place is way bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.”

Stampy took a gander, and sure enough, there was a hippoling inside of Squid’s humble abode. He gave the hippo a smile and a wave.

“You must be Ash! Hello, Ash, welcome to Stampy’s Lovely World!”

Ash tensed up. “Hi. You’re Stampy Cat, right?”

“The one and only! Nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too. You’re… a lot kinder than I expected.”

Stampy’s ears tilted. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment. Ha!”

Ash smiled and shook his hand.

Stampy swayed back and forth on his toes. “I have a few other friends who I’m sure would love to meet you. They’re all working on the new minigame right now, right by my golf course in my funland. I could take you there after I stock up on materials.”

“Oh, uh, sure! Yeah, I’ll tag along, that sounds fun.”

Squid nodded. “I’ll come with.”

Stampy put on a cheeky grin. “Have you decided to turn over a new leaf, Squid? Are you going to help with the project?”

“I think you know the answer to that one, mate.”

The cat laughed. “Figures as much.”

As Stampy ran into his storeroom, Ash turned to Squid.

“Are you going to help?”

“…maybe.”

Chapter Text

Functionally, the Duck Fling was nearly complete. The platform was built. The basins were done. The little ducks were completed. The duck-flinging apparatuses were tested and confirmed functional. All that was left to do in terms of functionality was fill the basins up with water.

Ash was intrigued. “How’s this game played?”

Sqaishey jumped up, flapping their arms. “It’s quite simple! So, you have seven to nine ducks split between two sides, and you have your duck flinging rod. Now, if you look carefully on the ducks, you’ll notice that there's a few little things you can hook onto! What you need to do is cast the rod, hook onto the duck, then fling it to the other person’s side! Whoever has the least ducks on their side at the end is the winner.”

“Sounds fun!” proclaimed Ash.

Stampy ran up to the basins, holding a pail of water. Squid followed close behind with a pail of his own.

“See, I didn’t realize this would involve water,” remarked Squid. “If you told me that, I’d’ve been a lot more eager!”

“Maybe if you were there when we were discussing blueprints, you’d have known.” Stampy smirked.

Froggy flew above them all, whizzing back and forth with her pails. Craig was just spacing out on a lawn chair, taking a well-deserved break.

Sqaishey stayed where they were. “I heard you’ve never had blueberry pie before, is that true?”

“It’s true,” confirmed Ash. “Not once in my life have I even considered the idea of blueberries in a pie. It sounds cool now that I’m, like, aware of it and stuff. I can safely say I’m hyped.”

“You’re hyped for my cooking,” they laughed.

“Absolutely psyched about it.”

“Blueberry pie is worth getting psyched about, I get it.”

“Well, the fact that— I live a pretty boring life, that’s probably a contributing factor. I just swim, and uh, that’s a day in the life.”

“You just swim?”

“Mmhmm,” Ash nodded.

“Swimming’s fun though!”

“Swimming is fun. It just gets monotonous after a while, especially when there’s like, nothing else to do.”

“Ah, I see, I see.”

“Yeah, it gets a rather bit boring. This minigame thing you’re doing looks fun, though. I really hope it doesn’t get taken down right away.”

Sqaishey raised an eyebrow. “Taken down?”

Ash adjusted his hat. “Stuff here gets taken down all the time. I think the Operator’s a bit pushy about what is and isn’t allowed to be built.”

“Who, Phorjay?”

Froggy flew down. “You know him?”

Sqaishey nodded. “I spent, like, two weeks up in his castle with Squid and Stace.”

The hippo smiled. “That right there? That sounds like good fun.”

“It wasn’t fun, it was actually really boring. He kept trying to get us all to play some weird version of poker, except Squid kept trying to turn it into Go Fish.”

Stampy clapped his hands together, diverting everyone’s attention his way.

“The game’s finished! Who wants to have a tester go?”

Sqaishey started bouncing up and down. “Me! Me, me, me, pick me, pick me!”

“Hm, do we have any volunteers?”

“I’ll go, I want a go! Do me, do me!”

“I think I’ll pick… Sqaishey! Sqaish, you can be the first tester.”

The duck and the cat ran up to the platform. Stampy set a 90 second timer, and they swiftly got started on round one.

Sqaishey hooked onto a duck and got an immediate lead. They got a hold of the technique rather quickly, while Stampy struggled to hook onto anything.

“You’re doing really well, Sqaishey! You’re absolutely sweeping me right now.”

In a shocking turn of events, Sqaishey fell into the pond, giving Stampy an edge. As Sqaishey was making their way back up, the cat flung three ducks to their side. They exchanged ducks for the remaining fifteen seconds, until the timer went off and the score was tallied.

“Right, so it looks like there’s four ducks on my side, and… five ducks on Sqaishey’s! I have won this round of the Duck Fling! Who’s up next?”

Squid piped up. “Can I go up against Ash?”

“Sure, just head right on up here!”

Ash and Squid stood tall on the edge of the platform. Stampy counted off from three before initiating the timer.

The cat began commentating. “Right off the bat, Ash has opted to go full on in, he’s lassoing the ducks with full force! But— what’s this? It looks like Squid is using his rod to interfere with the duck flinging! That’s not against the rules, it’s a completely legal move! Seems like we’re already developing new strategies.”

Squid flung his rod Ash’s way.

“No, no, Squid, that’s not a legal move, stop it.”

Ash flung his rod at Squid. “Take that!”

“This isn’t how you play the game!”

Squid laughed. “Alright, alright, I’ll play this the normal way.”

With eager and watchful eyes, Stampy continued his commentary.

“Squidnugget seems to be making a comeback, but can he keep it in place? Or was his edge only temp— whoa! Ash just flung a duck out of the arena! Minus one point for you, Ash! This is the most intense round of Duck Fling I’ve ever seen! Then again, I have only seen two, counting the one I was just in. Nevertheless, still a feat.

“And would you look at that, we’re right at the halfway marker, and the tables have turned! Repping the hippos, Ash has made a steep comeback. Squid is trying to defend, but can he do it? Can he— my goodness, he can, look at Squidnugget go! He’s going ballistic! I guess I know why people call him Ballistic Squid, other than the fact that, you know, that’s his name.

“We only have ten seconds left, how many ducks can he— can he get a perfect score? Let’s see! Let’s see! And the time is up! Squid has only one duck on his side, while Ash has seven. Since Ash flung a duck out of the arena, that’s an extra duck on his side, bringing him to a grand total of eight ducks. Squid has won!”

Squid cheered enthusiastically, while Ash took a courteous dive into the water just for the hell of it. Craig got up out of his chair, rod in hand, while Froggy seemed to be chirping to the forest in the distance, which nobody seemed to pay any mind to.

“Okay, the final round, Craig vs. Froggy Robin. We’ll start in three… two… one, and we’re going! And… what is… what is Froggy doing? Is she flying? Hold on, that… should that even be allowed? I mean, Craig’s going along with it, so I guess I’ll go along with it too? Alright. Oh, and— ooh, that’s an interesting strategy on Craig’s end! He’s running to the other side to yank the ducks farther, that’s smart. Why didn’t I think of that? It might be too early to call anything for sure, but it looks like they’re neck and neck… wait, are those— it’s a flock! A small flock of robinlings have just arrived at the scene!”

Froggy gave them some duck-flinging rods. “Take these, and fling the ducks into Craig’s basin.”

Craig did a double take. “What?!”

Stampy gasped. “I don’t believe my eyes. Froggy and her flock of fellow robins have ganged up on Craig! And… and somehow, Craig is still holding his ground! Look at him go, he’s winning against four robins at once! Wait, look, Sqaishey’s joining him! And Squid’s heading up there too— look at that! It is a three v. four, and team Crimson Azoth is showing Froggy’s flock who the real champions are! Look at that! Never in a million years would I have thought this could happen. Ash, do you see this?!”

Ash was completely silent, baffled at the sight.

“This really goes to show that… um… honestly, I don’t really know what this shows at all. We’re all just having some good fun here. We only have like, fifteen seconds left on the timer, and the tension is so high, that I don’t even think I’ll be able to call it until the game— look at that, right on cue, the game has ended. Everybody, put your duck-flinging apparatuses away, we’re going to do a final count. Right, on Craig’s end, we have one… two… three… four… five ducks. Five ducks on Craig’s. And on Froggy’s end, we have one… two… three… four ducks! So it looks like—”

“You forgot one!”

Stampy peered down and found Sqaishey swimming in the basin.

“Well. It looks like we— ha! We have a draw, then! Well played by everyone! GG!”

“gg ez” Craig chirped.

Ash looked around. “So, uh, what now?”

Squid chimed in. “Splashing in the basins?”

Sqaishey cheered. “Yay, splashing in the basins! Splish splash, splish splosh!”

“You know what, why not?” shrugged Stampy, stepping in.

Froggy did a swan dive in. “Craig, why don’t you join us?”

“I think I’d rather stay dry out here,” he remarked, laying back in his chair.

Stampy laughed. “Suit yourself, then!”

For the 43rd day in a row, it was a lovely day in Stampy’s Lovely World.

Chapter Text

There he stood, in Phorjay’s castle, staring her straight in the eyes. All he could recall was her name, and even still, it was so far divorced from the idea of her. This was a fox. He heard from his friends that he knew someone named Stacy. Logically, he was well aware that this was Stacy Fox. Something was supposed to come back. Nothing was coming back.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she sighed. “Phorjay already told me about the… you know, the thing with your memory. I know you don’t remember me.”

“But why don’t I? I remembered Squid when I saw him, I remembered Sqaishey when I saw them, but not you.”

Stacy put her paws on the table.

“I don’t know the answer.”

A tiny glimmer appeared in her emerald eyes.

“But, uh, y’know, I’ve been… wondering, like usual.”

Stampy smiled. “Oh, I love wondering! Wondering is one of my favorite activities!”

“Good to know that hasn’t changed.”

“And one of the most efficient ways to wonder is to use the scientific method. Or, one of its many variants. There’s a lot of variants for some reason, that’s always been confusing.”

Standing up from the dining room chair, Stacy’s tail swayed. “I’ll be right back, I need to grab my notebooks.”

“Alright, um, you do that then! I’ll be here.”

Faint bossa nova music echoed through the house, cutting holes in the deafening silence. It was ambient. Homely, almost. The rhythms were quite easy to get lost in.

He almost missed Stacy coming back down the stairs. Almost.

A toothy smile appeared upon her face. “Got my notes!”

“Yay!” he cheered. 

Situating herself at the dining table, Stacy spread her papers across the table. She caught wind of Stampy marveling at them and cleared her throat to explain.

“Here are some of my theories. They sort of, like, span across all… what’s the word, components? Components that, like, play into this and all. And some of this is pretty abstract, so if you ever get lost, just let me know.”

“Right, yeah, abstract, got it.” His tail swayed to the rhythm of the clicking drumsticks from the faux vintage phonograph.

“You’re lost already, aren’t you?”

“How could I be lost, you’ve not even said anything yet.”

Easing the tension in her muscles, Stacy gekkered.

Her feline friend let out a laugh as well. “That being said, uh, you’ll probably have to ease me into it. I’m not entirely sure which memories I’ve lost.”

“From what I’ve gathered, it’s… mostly personal experiences for you, in terms of what’s missing.”

He nodded. “Checks out, yeah.”

“I was told you still remember some of it. People and such. Who else do you remember?”

“Um, I remembered Craig, right off the bat. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t remember him. And then Sqaishey and Squid I remembered once I actually saw them, it all came flooding back.”

“Flooding back,” she echoed.

“Pretty much, that’s how it happened. I remember who they are, and I remember some key events, but I can’t recall when or where they happened. Apparently, I met one of them at a pond, but I have no recollection of what the pond looked like.”

“I think–” she started, putting a digit to her chin. “I– I think what’s happened is that your memories have been repressed, rather than erased? That way, if something important needs to be recalled, it can– again, I have no idea how this works, but maybe it could recall itself from repression. But anything that’s not important can just stay there, in the back of your mind forever.”

“But you’re important, aren’t you?”

A pause.

Stacy drew in a breath. “I guess not.”

“I– no, don’t say that!” Stampy mewled. “No, you are– you are very important, you had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t have even brought you here in the first place. You were a part of my life, we were, um…”

Another pause, this one much longer than the last.

“We… we were in the social skills club together, with Ramira and what’s-her-name, with the dress. Sqaishey and Squid told me all about it, it was– it was exclusive and everything. Only the best wonderers were allowed in, right? There were pictures of us together when I was little.”

Biting her lip, Stacy nodded faintly, holding back tears.

“That’s… I don’t think that’s right, is it? It wasn’t social skills. I met… I met Squid in a social skills thing, not you. Or– or was it Craig– no, hang on. No, it was like, some exclusive… I almost want to say it was a weekly seminar at the school I went to? But I don’t know if you went there. Did we go to the same school or am I just being stupid?”

Her voice faltered. “You were homeschooled.”

“That’s right, I was– really? I was homeschooled?”

“Yeah.”

“Goodness,” he laughed. “What kind of curriculum was he teaching?”

Stacy covered her eyes with her paws, her elbows touching the table at a sharp angle. Stampy’s ears shot up.

“No no no, Stacy, don’t cry! Listen, everything is going to be fine, I’m– I’m sorry I didn’t get it right, it’ll come back eventually. I’m sure it will.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sniffled. “I know you’re not doing this on purpose. You didn’t want this to happen.”

“Yeah, I– I would have really preferred not having memory issues. I want to remember you. That’s one of the reasons I came to you for help on this, you’re the– ha! You’re the leading expert on Stacy Fox.”

She buried her face deeper into her hands.

“Look,” he reasoned. “I know this entire situation is awful for the both of us. But being sad doesn’t make it better. It just makes it a situation where, like, nothing’s gotten better and you’re sad. Which doesn’t really help anything.”

Rustling her hair, she let out a whine.

“Chin up, Stace! We can figure this out together. I’m certain that we can fix whatever this is, but I need your help, and right now, you’re, y’know… not in the best of headspaces. We need a rational Stacy right now, not– not this.”

“What’s it matter?” Her voice strained in a crescendo. “Why’s it matter how I feel or what I think, you’re living proof that everything would be just fine if I never existed!”

Stampy pursed his lips. “Okay, um, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. You have friends who care about you. I think that matters a lot, actually.”

“Every– every bit of me, everything they know about me, I could disappear from their lives entirely, and nothing would change, because I’m not significant– I’m not significant! I was in the Society with your father, I’ve known you for god-knows how long, longer than I’ve known Sqaishey, even, and– and someone could just wipe me from your mind and I’d have never mattered.”

“This isn’t helping. This isn’t helping anything, just take a deep breath–”

“Stop trying to fix this, I don’t need you to fix how I’m feeling! Everything– everything hurts everywhere, it’s in my eyes and it’s in my throat and it’s everywhere, I can’t fix that by breathing it off! My crops, my friends, my dogs, they’re all gone, and it’s like it doesn’t matter to anyone else but me–”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Look, we’re all sad about Wonderberg.”

“You don’t know anything about how I feel! How could you? How could you possibly know? How could you compare how I feel, when– when you can’t even, when you don’t even know who I am or what’s been taken from me?!”

“You’re not the only one of us who’s lost something. It’s rough for everyone, y’know, not just you.”

She grabbed his shoulders. “My life up to this point has been proven to be unimportant, and the people and pets I’ve known for the– the entirety of my existence, they are six feet under. How am I supposed to move forward knowing that, huh?”

“It isn’t that simple,” he intoned.

“Yeah? Well sometimes it is. It is that simple.” She accentuated her words with a harsh clarity.

“Stop being so selfish, Stacy!”

A silence befell them.

“Selfish,” she dittoed.

And she retreated to her upstairs bedroom.

Chapter Text

A duck and a cat sat on the beet red couch in their living room, making casual conversation. Party planning and whatnot, as well as some scattered subjects of interest. There were no windows in the room, but they knew it was late because there was no natural sunlight on the other side of the door.

Sqaishey was having their dinner, a nice bag of seeds, because they didn’t feel like going all out with cooking tonight. Stampy had already eaten his dinner.

“Frankly I’m shocked I didn’t botch it,” he laughed. “Given all my previous cooking failures.”

“I mean, you would have to be really trying to mess it up, it’s not hard to make a grilled cheese. Like, you can do it in a toaster. Craig makes all of his in a toaster, when I found that out, I was shocked.”

“Craig toasts his grilled cheese?”

“Apparently!”

The duck laid their head on the armrest as Stampy scaled his way to the top of the couch. He sat on top of the backrest, swinging his legs back and forth.

Stampy’s outfit was unchanged from his usual red quest vest and gray Stampy Style boots. Sqaishey’s, however, was much different from their previous day’s attire. On their neck, they donned their favorite teal bandana, and they wore baggy checkered overalls in light and dark brown. Their shirt was light gray with thin white stripes. No socks, no shoes.

“I forgot to mention,” Stampy started. “I finally talked to Stacy Fox.”

Sqaishey raised an eyebrow. “How? She’s in the End.”

“Phorjay takes me there when I’m asleep sometimes. No clue how he does it, probably, like, something to do with those gems he uses all the time.”

“Mmm, I see, that makes sense.”

“But here’s the weird part,” started Stampy, leaping down onto the coffee table. “I still don’t fully remember her. I have more of a sense of who she was, who she is, but– y’know, like, it’s not the same as… earnestly remembering her, you know?”

Sqaishey put a hand to their chin. “I wonder why you were able to remember us when you saw us, but not her.”

“That’s exactly what I said! But we didn’t get very far past brainstorming hypothesis-es… is… es. How– how do you even pluralize that, hypothesis-is? Hypotheses? It’s– it’s multiple of hypothesis, basically.”

“Tongue twister,” giggled Sqaishey.

“Yeah, try saying that five times fast, I know I can’t. Ha! Anyway, um, she didn’t seem entirely, uh… stoked to see me, at first. Probably because, again, I don’t remember who she is.”

“Mmhmm.”

Stampy raised a finger. “But she got very excited when we started wondering together. I think that she must have liked being a wonderer so much, that it just overrode her, uh, being apathetic toward me. It overrode it.”

“Such are the priorities of a great philosopher. The pursuit of knowledge takes— it takes priority. It takes priority over negative feelings.”

“Ah, she’s a— she’s a philosopher, makes sense.”

“Not just a philosopher, Stampy. Me and Stace, we were the philosopher dream team. We’re thought leaders. Geniuses.”

Stampy laughed a little. Sqaishey smiled as they continued on her tangent, hamming up the details as they went.

“We were really wise as well, and we had a lot of very existential conversations. At the rate I was going, I would have been admitted into the high ranks of the Society in no time. Our minds– our minds, with the, uh, the synthesis of information? We basically combined our knowledge to make something bigger and better than ourselves.”

Stampy nodded. “Like baking a yummy cake.”

“Exactly! Very philosophical of you to say that.”

He purred with delight. 

Sqaishey stimmed with their wings. “I think that you being near her has made you more philosophical.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m glad there’s at least one good thing coming out of that conversation.”

“…did it not go well?”

“No, it went terrible,” he laughed. “Downright awful after the brainstorming session.”

“Oh no, what happened?”

“She didn’t like the advice I gave her.”

He climbed down from the coffee table and stood in front of the TV, making hand gestures as he spoke.

“Because, y’know, she’s still really sad about everything, and like you said, being sad about things… it doesn’t help anything, it’s not something you need to wallow in.”

Sqaishey nodded. “Right, right.”

“But when I tried to tell her that, she started getting all defensive.”

“Mmm, yeah, she’s been… she’s been doing that lately. I’ll talk to her about it. I think she’s an amazing person, but she needs to step up and stop wallowing in her own misery.”

“I mean, in her defense, she lived in Wonderberg for years, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And she had friends there. Close friends.”

“Of course.”

“All those friends are dead now.”

For a few fleeting seconds, the duck stared off into the distance, eyes unfocused, lost in thought. A somber quality plagued their aquamarine eyes.

They shook it off a moment later.

“Being sad won’t change that.”

Stampy meandered to the couch and curled up next to their duck friend. They let out a joyful quack before gently petting him on the head, an act which Stampy greatly appreciated.

“I’m glad we’re friends, Sqaish.”

Their eyes sparkled with joy.

Chapter Text

Warm tones of morning glimmered in the ocean as the sun leapt out from the thick covers of the horizon. Two ladies sat on a coastline, one in a wheelchair, one beside a tent, and they gazed upon the sightly beauty together.

Amy smiled. “The clouds look like fairy floss. That whole sky up there looks so yummy, I could just, nom!”

“I mean, they are made of water, so theoretically speaking? You might be able to eat a cloud, if you somehow manage to get your hands on one.”

“Loves it.”

Rosie giggled. “We’d just have to find someone who can fly high enough to touch them.”

“What about Froggy, she can fly.”

“Remind me to ask her.”

Amy turned around and followed the sonorous birdsongs, cooing over each one.

“Rosie, look, it’s a mourning dove!”

She called out in the distance. “Coming!”

The penguin stood at her side and peered at the little avian specimen, tweeting its morning song in its low, hushed tones.

“There’s so many land animals,” the mermaid whispered. “Froggy’s told me all about the local bird species, but there’s just so many little critters out there! I want to learn about all of them.”

“I think– I think that’s my favorite thing about this world, Amy. All the creatures, and just, the sheer amount of them? It’s like there’s always something new.”

Amy flapped her hands. “Exactly! It’s sooooo freakin’ mental!”

A shrill chitter made its way through the foliage and leaves. Rosie turned around to investigate.

“What, what is it?” asked Amy.

“I think… it might be some sort of chicken, or some weird bird I haven’t learned about.”

“Shall we go, then? Off on a mighty adventure to find out what this mystery creature is?”

“I would love that. Let’s do it, I’ll lead!”

Off they went, down an unmarked trail, into the depths of a mysterious oak forest. The trees were tall, and many apples sprouted from them. Amy took the time to pick a couple batches for later consumption, even planting a few herself. Despite frequent distractions from things like common worms and chubby birds, Rosie persisted on her trail.

Evidently, the source of the sound was not a weird chicken. It was a small raccoon.

“D’aww, Amy, look! It’s just a little guy!”

Amy gasped. “Ohmigosh, it’s like a little fur baby! I can’t even right now, look at its teeny tiny paws!”

The raccoon squeaked. Rosie got down on her knees and began to pet it.

“I will call you Bandit,” chirped Rosie, “and you will be my little buddy forever.”

Bandit was receptive to the affection for about three seconds, before biting Rosie and running off.

“No, Bandit!” Rosie cried. “Bandit! That hurt!”

Amy wheeled up closer. “I have seaweed! Where’d he bite, I can bandage it up! Oh, luv, I hope he hasn’t given you rabies or something, that would be awful.”

Rosie extended her arm. “Right here, it- ow- it’s here.”

“We need to get this checked out as soon as- oh, check it out, there’s a snail!”

“Where, where’s the snail?”

“Hang on, let me just…”

She slipped her way out of her chair and landed on the grass below. In her hands, she caressed the shelled creature and put it on display.

Rosie blushed. “Little– ow, ow ow ow- little thing, I love it. Would definitely make a better pet than a wild raccoon.”

“Alright, I’m going to set it down now, you just- you focus on the snail, darling. Keep your eyes on the snail.”

“Okay. I’m looking at the snail, it’s… I’ve never seen one with such a yellow– OW, ow, cold, cold, very cold!”

Amy winced. “Sorry. Keep looking at the snail, dearie, I need to take preventive measures. I’m not sure if it will stop anything, but I want to try.”

“…that’s instant health in it, right?”

“Mmhmm. And I’m coating the seaweed in regen. Regeneration potions have the prettiest pink color, they’re my favorite potion!”

“Mine too– ow, ow, ow, it’s touching, it’s touching- ow-”

“Don’t worry, I’m almost done! I just… need… to tie it- there! Bandaged and fixed! It should heal itself. Do you, uh… happen to know any real doctors?”

Rosie shook her head.

“Right, they’re uh… all dead, of course. Um, I don’t actually… know that much about rabies.”

“Am I going to die?” asked Rosie.

“I hope not!” she laughed. “I really hope you don’t die, I’d be… that’d just be awful. Beyond awful, I would– it won’t happen, you’ll be fine, I’ll find a doctor and we’ll find out how to cure rabies.”

“There’s a cure for rabies?”

“We’ll find a doctor, and if you have it, we’ll find the cure together.”

Rosie smiled. “I… I don’t know another soul in this world who is as compassionate as you are. Literally willing to find a cure for rabies as a profession of love.”

“I would find my way to the ends of the earth for you, my dear. And if curing rabies is a step along that path, I’ll do anything it takes to keep moving forward.”

The penguin opened her arms for a hug. Amy handwalked her way and gave Rosie a plethora of hugs and kisses. The latter pondered, in an attempt to find the best course of action.

“You know Craztol, Froggy’s fiance, right? Do you think he has any connections? To doctors?”

Amy shrugged. “I mean, maybe! I don’t know the guy that well, I don’t hang out in the forest. That’s where all the meanies are.”

“…I might check with him. I’ll try and have us back here by tonight–”

“Us?”

Rosie raised an eyebrow. “What, do you not want to come with me?”

“No-ho-ho,” laughed Amy. “Absolutely not. I’m not gonna wheel my way into creepy-crawly forest, all the zombies are gonna trample themselves for a taste of my brains! It’s like there’s a target on my tail, I don’t want to catch you up in that crap.”

“Alright, but I still want to give it a shot.”

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you. I’m a strong independent woman, I can fend for myself, I know how to kick ass. And who knows, maybe I’ll have a surprise waiting for you when you get back. And maybe that surprise will be snails. A box full of little snails.”

“That… actually sounds pretty cool. I kind of want a snail box now.”

“I’ll get right on it then. I love collecting snails, it has been my favoritest hobby ever since I started doing it, five minutes ago.”

Rosie giggled. Amy took a hand weaved basket out of her inventory and took a lone item out.

“Take this lovely jubbly love love petal, it will bring you good tidings on your journey.”

“Oh, thank you, darling!” cooed Rosie.

“Farewell, luv! I hope it doesn’t end up being rabies!”

Rosie began walking off. “And I also hope it’s not rabies. Bye!”

As Rosie trekked off into the woods, Amy munched on a homemade honey-drizzled graham cracker. Snail time was upon her. The clock was ticking. There was no time to waste.

SNAILS COLLECTED: 1/∞

Chapter Text

“Egg.”

There was an egg.

It was just lying there, in the middle of the forest, no hen in sight. With hopes of confirming its status as an egg, Amy took a whiff.

“Smells like… chicken butt.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the egg was, in fact, an egg. For safekeeping, Amy pocketed the egg in her inventory.

SNAILS COLLECTED: 1/∞

EGGS COLLECTED: 1/∞

“I do love myself a good egg, hopefully the mama chicken doesn’t mind me just… nabbing it for myself. Right, uh, snails. Finding snails, putting them in the basket, my favorite activity of all time.”

Due to the clunkiness of the wheelchair and the risk of running over precious wildlife, Amy left her means of locomotion at the tent. Seeing as she was going to be quite close to the ground at all times, she found no issue in hand walking for this quest. As she scaled the ground, she sang a little tune to herself.

“Got my lovely jubbly glovelies on, makin’ my way through the forest, collecting snails and also one egg, for my amazing girlfriend Rosie Penguin– oh, look, a snail!”

Amy maneuvered the basket her way using her tail and delicately placed the snail inside.

SNAILS COLLECTED: 2/∞

“Welcome to the snail box! I shall name you… Herbert. Because you are the color of strawberry sherbet. Hello Herbert!”

Herbert did not say anything because he was a snail.

“Well, Herbert, today is your lucky day. The one and only Amy Lee is finding you some new friends! Isn’t that so cool, dude? And lookie here! It’s a worm! You can catch fish with these, she’s going to be absolutely stoked. Do snails eat worms? No, I don’t think they do. I’ll just leave it. Run along, Mr. Squirmy Wormy! Be free!”

The worm squirmed off. Amy continued her search for snails.

“Snail time, snail time, so much better than jail time, it’s snail time, da-ba-da-bee, do-be-doo-bee-dap-ba-dum, shoobie-ba-dow! Holy crap, there’s six of them right here! You’re mine now.”

Amy grinned devilishly and laughed to herself.

SNAILS COLLECTED: 8/∞

“There’s so many snails! Where are they all coming from?! Let me tell you Herbert, I have not seen this many snails since my days of ruling the sea. Hm, I wonder if the land snails know about the sea snails. Do they talk to one another about snail stuff, or was it like how we were with the tieflings, we just like, stayed in our lanes and all. Do they even know that sea snails exist?”

She paused, then turned to her basket.

“News flash! Under the sea, there’s a bunch of other snails you probably don’t even know about!”

The snails were unresponsive.

“Hm, I guess they did know about sea snails after all. You really do learn somefin new every day. Anyway, uh– snails, where are all the snails… come on, snails, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of! You all get to be my snail children, I’ll be a great new mama for all of you, I’ll feed you, I’ll… put you in a small box, which, now that I think about it, doesn’t sound all that great. I wouldn’t want to be put in a small box with no way of leaving…”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 9/∞

“But you’ll all be with your friends so there’s nothing to be too stressed about. Maybe I’d be okay with being kept in a small box with no way of leaving if my friends were there and we could have sleepovers every night and drink fizzy drinks and grow flowers and stuff. I dunno. I would definitely miss being able to explore like this.”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 13/∞

“I mean, what can I say, my mum always told me I’m a bit of a wandering spirit.”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 14/∞

“You know what, maybe I’ll build, like, a mini snail habitat, so these little dudes can run around as they please. Would have to be quite big, though. I’ve got so many of these things, it’s mental. They eat lettuce, right?”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 15/∞

“See, I’d ask you guys, but I can’t exactly speak snail. I’m not fluent in it, and I’m actually not even sure if it’s an actual language, actually. Actually actually actually. I used that word a lot, hah! But like, yeah, if I’m not mistaken, you guys communicate based on, like… vibes? I guess?”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 17/∞

“Really, I don’t know how I’d manage that if I were a snail. I love talking, and I love listening to people talk, because words are super cool. You can just tell your friends you love them and they understand it, there’s something so marvelous about that. Not sure if you guys understand me, but if you can, sorry if I’m making you jealous, little dudes! I didn’t mean to! I just love language as a concept.”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 20/∞

“…yeah I probably sound completely mad right now. Par for the course, Amy Lee the 33rd is talking to snails like a crazy person! What else is new. But like, honestly, there’s something to it, being unusual. Some frogs and birds and stuff, they’ve got bright colors. Wards off predators and attracts mates, double whammy!”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 24/∞

“Got to be yourself to find the right crowd. And sometimes the you that you gotta be might sound a little insane sometimes. Woah, I feel like a snail mommy already, here I am giving life advice to my little babies… now I do hope they understand me, this is like, A-tier advice.”

Having cleared the area of snails, Amy turned back the way she came. Surely twenty-four would seem like a reasonable number of snails.

“…I like this. I like this a lot, I need to actually go and get out more on my own. I’m a strong, independent mermaid, last of my kind that isn’t horrendously sick. Well, okay, there’s arguably something unusual going on in that head of mine, but like, I’m embracing that, so it’s not an issue. Oh! I must have missed one.”

SNAILS COLLECTED: 25/∞

“How many snails have I missed? Okay, new plan of action, drop these dudes off at our place, then go out for round two. Just get completely distracted. Loves it. I could even start getting warmed up, there’s a rock over there, it’s pretty. See? I’m an expert at getting distracted.”

ROCKS ADMIRED: 1/?

Amy looked off into the distance. There was a lengthy path before her, paved by her own tail during her journey. She let out a bit of a sigh.

“…pretty long way back, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

“So, uh, here’s the finished Duck Fling, it has a very cool hat.”

“It kind of looks like a chicken, to be honest.”

Stampy scoffed. “It’s not a chicken, Squid, it’s a duck.”

“No, I know, it just looks like a chicken.”

“It does not.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

“It looks just like a chicken,” insisted Squid.

“How. In what way does this look anything like a chicken?”

“It’s chicken colored.”

Stampy turned to the minigame, then back to Squid.

“Ducks can be white!”

“I know, but most of the time, when you think duck, you think yellow. Not white.”

Stampy gestured with his hands. “That’s because one of our best friends is a yellow duck. I’m telling you, if not for Sqaishey, neither of us would be–”

An arrow whizzed past them. Stampy and Squid drew their swords.

“Stop shooting at us!” Stampy shouted, scanning the area for the unseen perpetrator.

Squid sighed. “I can’t just keep chargin’ at ‘em all day. They’re learning my tactics! They’re out-slippery-ing me!”

Another arrow flew their way, but Stampy caught sight of the aggressor before they could flee. He pounced on the skeletal fiend, snagging a music disc in the process.

“We have to do something about these googlies,” growled Stampy. “It’s getting out of hand, they just keep coming back every night.”

Squid raised a finger. “I mean, we do know a mage, right? That Breadstick guy? What if we got him to get his magic friends and teleport all the googlies far far away?”

Stampy gasped.

“That’s brilliant. That is absolutely brilliant, why didn’t I think of that? Where to, where do you think we should teleport them to? Ooh, how about the middle of the ocean? Or the desert.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Squid suggested damning the googlies to hell.

“…damn them to hell?” Stampy laughed. “Wait, we could actually do that! The Nether, Squid! We could trap all the googlies in the Nether with magic, and then we don’t have to ever see them again!”

“Hold on, actually? We could actually do that?”

“I mean… I don’t see why not!” grinned Stampy.

Squid opened his mouth wide, forming a large, toothy o shape.

“But what about, hold on. What about Littlewood and Rayray? I don’t want to damn them to hell, they’re just little guys and they’re very nice.”

“Maybe make it so it only applies to people you don’t like?” shrugged Squid.

Stampy nodded. “Damning my enemies to hell… never did I think the day would come. This is brilliant, we have to find Breadstick.”

Something tapped Stampy on the shoulder. He turned, only to find a floating glass of milk.

“I— genuinely, how do you even do that? You just show up every time someone mentions your name, it’s almost unsettling– oh, I like your outfit. Really brings out your wool.”

Breadstick, now visible, placed the empty glass back in his inventory. He swayed his arms back and forth.

Squid piped up. “D’you have any wizard friends? Friends who are wizards?”

“Of course,” Breadstick smiled. “Back in my side world, we have this group, The Council of Silly Mages Who Are Named After Foodstuffs. It’s composed of myself, Mage Sausage Roll, and Sorcerer Hotdog. Your cause is sufficiently funny, I bet I can convince my boys to help you out.”

“Really?” mewed Stampy.

Breadstick nodded. “That’s what friends are for. Here, tell you what, I’ll take you there. You two can have a personal tour of my world! Think of it as an early birthday gift to you, Squid-nougat.”

“How’d you know my birthday’s coming up?”

“I saw the flyers. Now, don’t move. I can’t have anything throwing me off, it’s hard transporting multiple people without a LAN door.”

A squid, a lamblet, and a cat appeared on a gold-plated floor, walled off by cobblestone. They were immediately met with a wall, displaying the terms all residents abide by.

RULES

1. Unfunny people will be banned.
2. Lag machines, EMPs, and other highly illegal things are not allowed
3. All bread must be long
4. Cheesy Puff
5. No Lava Towers
6. No Breaking And Entering
7. Treat people with respect
8. Be nice to Sheep
9. DON’T STEAL STUFF!!!!!!
10. I like cheese
11. Have fun
12. Wz. Breadstick Is Awesomest Eva You are wrong NO IM NOT >:(
13. Ignore rule 12
14. All people who do not follow the rules will go to jail
15. Please do not use duplication
16. what’s 43 multiplied by 4

“Why do I have to do maths?” groaned Stampy.

Breadstick chuckled. “You can just ignore that. Here, follow me, I’ll try and find the others.”

Stampy and Squid followed their wizard friend into a black building with neon green LEDs wrapped around the perimeter. Inside was a light-up dance floor, a bar, and two private rooms. The floor was checkered, green and white, but there was a strange red substance scattered on it.

Squid knelt down and took a sample of the substance, putting it in its mouth and observing the taste.

“How’s it taste?” the cat inquired.

Squid paused. “…it’s not ketchup, that’s for sure.”

Stampy turned to Breadstick. “The hell goes on in this establishment?”

Breadstick shrugged. “Ionno. I didn’t build it.”

The family friendly support pole started spinning on its own.

“Redstone bugs,” laughed Breadstick. “Of all the creatures this world could be infested with, it had to be redstone bugs. Eating all the wiring, ruining everything.”

“Mmm, so I take it that’s not supposed to be spinning right now,” remarked Stampy.

“Spot on. You know what, they’re probably in the Libary.”

Squid raised an eyebrow. “You mean library.”

“I meant what I said.”

Just outside, there was a building made of oak wood. A sign denoted that this building was, in fact, the Libary. Inside, many shelves were decked out with novels. There were also boxes that were filled with cinder blocks, for some reason.

Hotdog and Sausage Roll ran over to their friend, delighted to see him once again. Breadstick introduced them both to Stampy and Squid, and after the pleasantries were done and over with, Wizard Breadstick informed his fellow mages about the issue at hand.

“So this guy here wants to damn his enemies to hell.”

Hotdog nodded. “Objectively hilarious. Continue.”

“And he decided, okay, anyone who crosses me, let’s trap them in the nether. Problem is, he needs some wizardly assistance.”

Sausage Roll tilted their head. “Could we be of wizardly assistance?”

“That’s what I was wondering.”

Smiling, Hotdog put their hands at their sides. “We could have that arranged.”

Breadstick turned to Stampy. “Hear that? Tonight, your enemies shall fall.”

A unanimous cheer from the residents put a smile on the lamblet’s face. He jumped up in excitement. It felt nice to be useful again.

Chapter Text

Rosie paced around the outside of the medicinal tent. It was the dead of night, and she was accompanied only by Craztol Robin.

“You said this guy is one of the best, right?”

Craz nodded. “He’s the best guy I know. Pioneer of plague prevention. If the disease wasn’t magic, I’m sure he would’ve been able to cure every last one of us.”

Halfheartedly, Rosie swayed back and forth. Craz tapped her on the shoulder.

“Results will be ready when they’re ready.”

“I… if I get sick, I’ll be stuck in a death loop. These symptoms are gonna persist through respawns– I have a family. I’ll be incurable and Faith will have to take the brunt of it. I can’t do that to her! But the other option, getting someone to take away my respawns… god, that’s horrifying. I don’t thin–”

Rosie’s voice faltered.

Fire crackled, somewhere just out of sight. Smoke rose past the treetops. The warm glow of embers caused the nearby trees to cast long shadows. Bugs buzzed as they were gulped down by croaking frogs. A lone cow mooed.

She could barely muster the courage to look him in the eyes again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m venting, you didn’t ask to… hear… any of that.”

“No, it’s fine, I just…”

There was a distinct wetness to the grass. The misty scent of nature was drowned out by the smell of fresh watermelon in the tent. She gazed up at the moon, then back at her hands.

Craz fidgeted with a spare finger bone. “Brings back memories, is all.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of… this. Feeling like this, that is. Sometimes you just– if you don’t take time to feel it, it’ll choose a time for you. I like to put it all into my portraits. I can talk about it.”

Rosie hesitated.

He pulled a sketchbook out of his inventory and began drawing circles. “‘s not healthy, running from it all the time.”

“…you didn’t get a choice, with the…”

The skeleton paused, his eyes landing on Rosie.

“…the respawns,” she clarified. “He made that choice for everyone.”

He nodded.

Her gaze wandered off into the distance. “Would you… if you had the choice, would you… y’know. Choose the other option?” 

Buzzing fireflies decorated the air.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

Averting his gaze back to his sketchbook, he continued on.

“I was scared of it. Dying, not being able to come back.”

His eraser smudged the lead.

“We got the worst of both worlds, really. He took our respawns. But you can’t do much to dead men, so he brought us back. And I’m almost tempted to say I would go the other route if I could, just to spite him.”

The sketch was starting to take form.

“I can’t say it in earnest.”

He sketched a frog hat atop the figure’s head.

“I was scared then, I’m scared now. Only… less. Somewhat. It seems less like something real, now that I’m back.”

Faces were already difficult. Beaks made them more challenging.

“Glad it’s subdued. All that… paranoia, it turned me into something else. I don’t talk about it much with Froggy anymore.” 

It was becoming something of a smudged mess.

“Health anxiety is its own hell. I was starving and disillusioned and beyond saving, and she tried to save me because she didn’t say our vows in vain.”

He took a break from the head and elected to shape the body more.

“And she couldn’t save me. We try to move past it, we both know it’s my fault– hurting both of us like this, but I still see it. In her eyes. The guilt.”

He lifted his pencil.

“…I don’t think that answers your question, truth be told, I don’t… have… an answer. I just– all I can say is, when your whole life revolves around avoiding that other option, you’ve already chosen it. You’re not living.”

And for several long minutes, there was nothing.

Craz continued with his portrait while Rosie paced back and forth, both in complete silence. It was to the point where they could hear the doctor’s footsteps drawing closer when he emerged from the medicinal tent, before he even called her name.

Rosie followed him inside. He was a zombie, no horns, no tail. His ears were sharp and pointed. The two of them sat on the thin fabric floor of the makeshift hospital tent.

“Do I… have it?” asked Rosie, voice trembling.

The doctor lowered his shoulders.

“You tested negative for rabies.”

A wave of relief washed over her. She smiled, channeling her whole being into her display of joy. The doctor smiled back.

“I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Stratocaster. Amy’s going to be so happy to hear I’m okay.”

Dr. Stratocaster put his hands at his side. “My pleasure, Ms. Penguin. If you ever need a checkup, you know where to find me.”

She handed him an orchid and left. Before her trek back to Amy’s tent, she checked in with Craz.

“What’s the status?”

“No rabies,” she grinned. “Thank you, Craztol. You’ve helped me so much, I wouldn’t have gotten through this rollercoaster of a day without you.”

Craz gave her a peace sign. She tossed an orchid his way as well, before meandering off into the distance.

Something seemed off, though.

Nobody seemed to be crowding around their usual spots. As a matter of fact, there were a great deal of people who were just entirely missing. Rosie trekked her path as usual, until she stumbled across Froggy Robin, wandering about.

“Have you seen my fiancé? There’s something weird going on, and I want to make sure he’s doing fine.”

Rosie nodded. “Yeah, actually, I just saw him, over by Stratocaster’s.”

“Could you take me to him? There’s something I want him to see, and I want him to see it now.”

“I can… I can try, I guess!”

Rosie retraced her steps, and sure enough, she stumbled upon a pleasantly surprised Craz.

“Froggy? What are you doing up at this hour? I knew you were quite the early bird, but the sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

She put her wing on his shoulder. “Something just happened. Dozens of tieflings have reportedly been getting stuck in the nether after dying.”

Radio silence from Craz and Rosie.

“Yeah!” Froggy laughed. “I don’t get it either! C’mere, I need you all to see this in person, I promise you, however crazy this sounds… it is so much worse.”

Rosie and Craz exchanged looks, and after a hesitant pause, they followed behind their airborne friend. Deep in the forest, hundreds of zombies and skeletons surrounded a nether portal. Some spoke in spider, others in plain English, and a sizable few spoke in other languages.

Visibly perplexed, Craz ran up to a bystander.

“You there, in the black shirt. What is happening right now? Why are people getting stuck in the nether, do we know?”

The zombie shivered. “We don’t know for certain, but if we had to take an educated guess, we’d say Stampy Cat has been binding his enemies to the nether with some sort of curse.”

“I thought he wasn’t a mage,” said Craz.

“Well,” Froggy noted, “he is the heir to a wizard. By all accounts, he has magic at his disposal.”

The penguin stepped back.

“Yeah, uh, no, I’ve had enough on my plate as is, I’m going to choose not to get involved. I have someone waiting for me back home, I’ll, uh… I’m gonna unpack this tomorrow. Bye everyone, have fun.”

Without a moment’s hesitance, the penguin was off, dashing her way across the land, crossing rivers and lakes until she arrived at an ever familiar coastline.

Amy, of course, was delighted to see her. She shared the spoils of her venture with her beloved partner in life, who seemed ever so slightly happier to see her than usual.

SNAILS COLLECTED: 41/41

EGGS COLLECTED: 3/3

FISH COLLECTED: 11/19

APPLES PICKED: 7/7

ROCKS ADMIRED: 72/72

BIRDS IDENTIFIED: 16/23

AMY AND ROSIE: 4/EVA

Chapter Text

On warmer mornings, Callie often flopped down on the grass, her black button nose level with the earth beneath her, and her stubby little legs stretched out as far as they could manage. She would wiggle her tiny little paws and wag her tail with the exuberance of a toddler on caffeine, as she barked out for attention.

The first time she had done this, she was attempting to dig a hole in the yard outside of Target’s Tree, the makeshift home he’d spent nearly two years residing in. His other dog, Toby, was well-versed in digging, so Callie based her approach on his form.

Unfortunately for her, Toby was a much bigger dog, and his form was wildly different from hers. This, of course, resulted in a most ridiculous display, where it almost looked as if Callie was trying to swim on land. Amused, Target gave her numerous pats on the head.

Consequently, she began doing this on any warm day or night she pleased, with the expectation of receiving headpats. Now, who was Target to deny a good girl some pats on the head?

On a warmer morning, he would have given her a few pats, fluffing up her fur in the process as her tail perked higher.

This morning, Callie was very cold.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t wag her tail. All she did was lie on her stomach, black button nose level with the earth beneath her, with her stubby little legs stretched out as far as they could manage.

Lying motionless, with only half a head left to pat.

A penny sized piercing on the side of her crown increased in size exponentially along its route through her skull. Her fur was stained with bitter crimson, as was the grass around her. Wafting along the airwaves were putrid scents of dried blood, stale pork, and a scent that could be best described as rotten meat marinating in a warm pot. The smell alone nauseated him.

This was not an accident.

Holding her corpse in his arms, he trudged down to the tree where he had taken shelter for many long months. With his countenance divorced of all the visceral melancholy swirling within him, he drew no attention to himself as he dug a small hole in the ground.

It didn’t even register to him that someone had gone out of their way to cut his tree down until the headstone was secured in.

No message, no name.

He felt the wind brush against his bones. The breeze was silent. Soft. Gentle. Today, it refused to impose its presence upon anyone. And the wildlife simmered down with it.

Memories of the day folded in on themselves, blending together in a discordant blur. Air seemed heavier. All his breaths turned short and stiff. One moment, he was sitting on his knees. The next, they were bent, with his palms on his patellas, his whole body leaning forward.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned into himself, gasping for air and stifling sobs.

It was a painful kind of sorrow. His ribs became sore. His arms weak, his legs locked in their places, and as the world spun, he stayed still.

With the sound of a familiar canine’s bark, he snapped back into reality. Even with Toby’s support, he still struggled to regulate his breathing, much to the concern of his housemate.

“Where have you been?” pressed Jacques.

“Just… just here, I suppose.”

“For five hours.”

Target took a gander at his surroundings, taking in the sky and trying to find any changes.

“I guess so,” shrugged Target.

Jacques looked him in the eyes. “Okay, um… I just– I came down here because I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, I can kind of tell.”

“They shot her.”

“I heard.”

Toby nuzzled up next to Target, who gently patted him on the head. Taking a single step closer, Jacques knelt down to meet him at eye level.

“To make… just so we’re clear, I condemn the actions of whoever did this to you.”

Target turned their way. “Okay.”

A pause.

He continued. “You say that as if it were a commendable stance.”

“That’s– Target, I’m just saying, they don’t speak for me. I don’t agree with their actions. I condemn them, I denounce the actions taken by whoever it was that did this, that’s all I’m trying to get across.”

“Any reasonable person would condemn this. It’s practically a non-statement, saying you don’t stand for dog murder. You don’t have to parade around saying it. And you certainly don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no, you’re not hearing me,” insisted Jacques. “I’m not saying this for your approval. I want it to be known that there’s people out there in every corner who condemn this.”

“Hating dog murder and hating me are not mutually exclusive.”

“People don’t hate you.”

Target gestured aggressively toward the headstone.

“I– okay, maybe some people don’t like what you stand for,” stammered Jacques.

“You know, for someone who allegedly ‘condemns dog murder’ so much, you seem rather insistent on the idea that this wasn’t an act of hatred. As if there’s a more sympathetic reason that someone put a hole through her skull.”

Outstretching his palms, he sat, unamused.

“What other reason would anyone have to do this?”