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Elliot blinked hard. Twice.
He definitely woke up to one hell of a rare sighting.
Guest 1337, Two Time, Taph. The most unlikely trio Elliot had ever seen. Baking a mound of cookies. In near darkness. This early in the morning.
Elliot was truly at a loss for words when he encountered the trio. He was up early to get breakfast (stale cornflakes with milk, take it or leave it), and almost dropped his bowl when he turned around to see three dark cryptids roaming around in the corner of the lounge.
They had somehow obtained a mini oven from god knows where. Two Time had their face planted next to it, watching the cookies bake—their eyes seemed to be staring at somewhere distant, though. Taph, meanwhile, was bouncing around, putting Christmas-themed shapes into the flattened dough with his cookie cutters. Again, Elliot had absolutely no clue where or how he got them. Black magic, he assumed.
And then there was Guest, practically doing the actual baking: mixing, kneading, rolling. The dad of the group, covered in flour, doing all the hard work. While the other two played around like dogs off their leashes. He even had an apron with huge cursive letters: Kiss the Chef.
It was truly something to witness.
“Um.” Elliot hesitated. Was it a good idea to talk to them right now?
“What—excuse me. Why are you guys doing this so early in the morning?” He jabbed a finger at the mountain of cookie ingredients. “Where’d you pick these up? The oven and the cookie cutters too, how—”
“Shh.” Two Time whispered, effectively shutting down Elliot’s bafflement. “I am watching these cookies… ascend through the flames.”
They still had their eyes fixated on the cookies. Or the radiating heat. Or their own reflection in the oven. Elliot couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to.
“The Spawn yearns for nourishment.” Since when did cookies count as nourishment?
Elliot ignored Two Time and walked up to Taph, who was… still distracted by cookie cutting.
This mysterious, hooded demolitionist—who can (and will) reduce a Robloxian to atoms—was cutting cookies in the shapes of angels, stars, santa hats, Christmas trees, and a… live 3D model of his subspace tripmine. How did he make that? He couldn’t possibly fit that into the mini oven.
“🎄.”
“What.” Elliot hadn't even said anything yet.
“😊🫴🎅❗️”
Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose. This was giving him a headache.
“Taph. It's not even Christmas yet.” He can't be serious. “You’re telling me you’re making all of this for Santa? Santa isn't even—”
“🤫.”
Taph swiftly covered Elliot’s mouth with flour-covered hands. Elliot coughed, promptly swiping off the flour as best he could.
“🎄♾️🙏. 😤‼️”
Elliot was still a bit disoriented from the flour attack. “Wh— what?”
“You are right.” Two Time turned around, snapping away from their trance momentarily. “Christmas is eternal, after all. It is meant to be. Once these cookies are done, the merciful Spawn shall breathe beauty into each one of them. Through me, the vessel.”
They turned their attention back to the oven after saying one of the most ominous things Elliot had ever heard from a person. He swore he heard them whisper the words ‘divine pumpkin’ and ‘blessings’ mixed with a bunch of incomprehensible phrases.
“...You guys are insufferable sometimes.” Elliot sighed. He decided not to question it. Instead, he turned to Guest, signing help and context simultaneously with his eyes.
“Well.” Guest was busy using his arm muscles to mix and knead the cookie dough. “These two asked for my help with baking earlier. I used to bake with my family, so… I was happy to help.” He finished yet another batch of dough to pile up. Elliot was positive he could feed an entire village with that amount.
“I'll be honest, I have absolutely no idea where or how they got all of this stuff from, but… all's well that ends well, right?” Guest smiled, albeit wearily.
Then he mouthed for only Elliot to see: Supervision.
Ah. So that's what it was. He pitied the military man a little. It truly takes a lot to be the dad of the group, huh.
Elliot decided it was time to leave. He should really leave them alone. Let them do whatever they want. It was none of his business nor responsibility. Then—
“🍕👦, 🚚🍪🙏🥺❓️”
Taph grabbed him by the arm. Goddammit. Too late. He was caught in Taph’s vice grip. Couldn’t escape in time.
Elliot sighed. “You… you want me to deliver these cookies to people?”
“🙏🥺❓️”
“I mean…” He hesitated. Didn't this guy just assault him with flour earlier? But then again, those cookies looked pretty appetizing.
“You know what, sure. I can do that. I’m sure Noob and Shedletsky would be down to eat a bunch of these cookies.” He looked down at the plate. One of them had the Cult of the Spawn mark drawn on it. Oh. He should probably get rid of this one before Dusekkar gets a good look at it.
“👌. 🫴🍪😴👆.”
“You, uh… you want me to give it to the sleeping guy upstairs first.” Who, exactly?
“✅️❗️😊🙏”
“Oookay. Sure. No prob. Be right back then.” Giving it to the closest person first made sense, he supposed. The weather had gotten pretty chilly, though. Who would be willing to sleep in one of the bean bags upstairs?
Elliot decided not to think too hard about it. All he had to do was give the cookies and call it a day. He could get more sleep before the round started. Maybe hang out with Noob and Chance. They could finally play that one card game Chance kept begging them to try. Elliot let his thoughts run freely as he went up the stairs while balancing a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on a tray.
Then he paused.
There was some kind of a… round, blue blob slumped across one of the bean bags. That definitely didn’t look like a person. It looked like a creature.
Had Taph lied to him?
Okay, calm down.
That can’t be Guest, he’s downstairs. Then who else could it be? Dusekkar? No, that couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping on a bean bag. Plus, that blob looked way brighter in color and softer than Dusekkar’s pumpkin head.
Then what, is he dreaming?
No—Elliot knows for sure he isn’t dreaming. He’d already lived through an atrocious morning and a waking fever dream earlier.
Elliot carefully approached the creature. Step by step.
Upon closer inspection, the figure appeared to be breathing. Very slowly. It was in a deep slumber. It also seemed to have… fins? Definitely fins. On both sides. With two round, black circles near the top, like eyes.
Oh, wait, that’s a shark plushie.
Elliot let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. That had no business scaring him as much as it did. Still, that left him with another question, and a newfound curiosity.
If that was just a plushie, whose plushie was it? And who the hell was under it?
Elliot tiptoed to the bean bag. He inched forward to peek over, and—
…
His heart dropped. His breath caught.
Elliot was prepared for anything but this.
It was 007n7.
Sprawled across the bean bag like some overgrown toddler. Dead asleep, mouth slightly open, soft snores escaping. The stupid little burger hat he always wore around rested on his lap, slightly covered in drool.
And worst of all, he was in a shark onesie. Bright blue. With fins. A floppy hood with teeth, round eyes, and smaller fins on the sides. The fabric looked so soft, it was almost insulting.
Elliot stood there, frozen.
What is this guy doing here?
He was doing his best not to drop the tray. No, seriously—what was he even doing here? 007n7 usually avoided everyone. He was always holed up in his little cabin. It was rare to see him in the main lounge at all.
This didn’t make any sense.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Elliot hissed under his breath.
His eyes twitched.
With revulsion.
And something far, far worse:
Affection.
…
…
What.
Wait, no. What?
Oh, god.
Oh no. No, no, no.
This cannot be happening. What the fuck?
Get yourself together, Elliot. What lies in front of you is a man with one hell of a reputation. He has history with you. Bad history.
You do NOT think this is cute.
No. Look away. Look. Away.
Elliot clenched his eyes shut. This wasn’t allowed to happen. Sure, Elliot didn’t hate 007n7 as much as he used to, but that didn’t mean he liked him. And yet…
…Elliot cracked one eye open.
Gods, he looked like some kind of a cheap mascot for a children’s aquarium.
What the hell, man. Why is this onesie so cute?
Why is he so cute?
Elliot felt like his own brain had betrayed him. He hated this. He hated that he found this cute. He felt guilty that he found this cute.
Where did he even get this onesie? Did he buy it? Was it custom made or something? Why am I thinking about this? So many questions popped into Elliot’s head. He’d have to bleach his memory just to function normally after this.
Then—
007n7 stirred. He yawned. Rolled his shoulders. Opened his eyes, slowly.
Looked up.
And locked eyes directly with Elliot.
Elliot flinched. Hard. The tray rattled. 007n7 flinched too, eyes snapping wide open.
“Whuh—huh? Elliot?!”
Confusion and embarrassment flickered across the older man’s face. Seeing 007n7 scramble around reminded Elliot of a sopping wet raccoon caught stealing food from the trash bin. He’d seen one. The ex-hacker quickly sat upright, shoving his burger hat back on. His pupils quivered with stress. It was painfully obvious he was trying to come up with some kind of explanation.
“I—Ah. G-good morning, Elliot. First of all, uh… hope you’re doing well, ahaha…” 007n7 sputtered nonsense. Rapidly.
“I, uh, you’re probably wondering why I’m here, right? I know this sounds like a very stupid excuse, I know, but just bear with me; I couldn’t sleep because I was having some nightmares last night. So I decided to change the environment. To uh, you know, to relax a little. And well… as you can see…” He abruptly took off his burger hat to wipe off the dried drool.
“It, uh… it definitely worked.” 007n7 gave Elliot a meek smile, all the while purposefully avoiding eye contact.
Gods, he was a mess.
But Elliot paid no mind. For once.
In fact, his attention was somewhere else entirely. His vision was fixed somewhere more… lower. He never meant to. His vision drifted downward automatically, like a moth to a flame.
The front of the onesie was slightly unzipped. Ajar. And beneath that small gap, Elliot saw it. He caught sight of that bare sliver of skin peeking through.
The nape of 007n7’s neck. The curve of a collarbone. Skin pale against the blue fabric, slightly glistening with sweat.
Elliot’s gaze locked onto it. He told himself to look away, but his body betrayed him.
His eyes lingered longer than they should have. Longer than he dared to admit. It felt as if the flow of time had stopped. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. It looked so real. So soft. The fine texture of his skin, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, even the subtle pulse of his carotid artery—he saw it all. It looked too real. Too good to be real.
He felt like his mind was going to explode.
He wasn’t supposed to look at 007n7 like this. This wasn’t supposed to affect him like this. And yet, he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.
He wanted to bite into that nape. To lick it. To taste it. To savor every bead of sweat lingering on that skin. How would 007n7 react? How would he sound? How would—
…
Elliot’s throat dried up.
Oh, god.
He was into 007n7.
Of all people, of all things.
It had to be 007n7.
“...Elliot? Elliot—... oh. I'm probably getting on your nerves again, aren’t I.”
No, Elliot was overwhelmed. Overheating. In a way, 007n7 was quite literally getting onto Elliot’s nerves.
So much so that he didn’t even realize 007n7’s was also staring. Staring into something deeper. Disassociating, with glassy eyes.
“Ah… sorry. I—my mind was elsewhere,” 007n7 said, his tone lower, repressed. “I should get going. Sorry that I wasted—
—wait. Elliot. Um. Elliot? Do you… smell something right now—”
No, he couldn't. Elliot’s mind was in flames. His entire system was shutting down in real time. The little Elliots inside his head screamed in horror.
“Elliot. Elliot? Hello? Is—is that smoke I see back there? What the, wait, hold on, I’m going down to check—”
Nope, too late; an all-out war had erupted inside Elliot’s head.
“Guys? GUYS? What’s happening down ther—?! Khmph—I, I can’t breathe—”
There were explosions everywhere. Alarms blared. The Red Elliots, defenders of morality, restraint, and self control, desperately rallied at the center of Elliot’s little headspace. They formed ranks, shields locked in and lined perfectly, determined to hold and stall against a greater force—
“—get out of here! OUT! NOW! HURRY!”
—that is the Blue Elliots. Invading Elliot’s headspace faster than ever before. They surged through the defenses like tidal waves. They had no tactics. They needed none. They were his instincts. Denial. Hunger. Unwanted thoughts incarnate.
…They also had no clothes on, for reasons better left unsaid.
“What in the—WHAT HAPPENED? WHO DID THIS? SOMEBODY, QUICK, GET THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!”
“DO WE EVEN HAVE ONE?”
The Reds fought valiantly, shields straining against pressure. But the Blues were too strong. Too animalistic. Too relentless. They crept into gaps between the lines, the breaks of the shields. Poof. There went rational thoughts.
“I DON’T—GODDANGIT, WHERE’S DUSEK?”
“The divine pumpkin is currently in his slumber, back in his crib.”
“THEN WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET EM’! ”
The Reds attempted to file a cease-and-desist order against Unwanted Horny Thoughts. It was ignored. Why did they even bother?
“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh GOD, OH GOD— ”
The command posts fell one by one. Their defense collapsed completely. The more the Blues pressed on, the more chaotic it became. The Reds were broken. Scattered.
“—MY CHICKEN LEGGGGGGSSSSSS!!!”
“Shed, this really ain’t the time to—”
The Blues finally claimed their battlefield. The inner command center had been overtaken. Desire now flooded Elliot’s consciousness. Thick and suffocating.
“Do we have everyone—”
“—Elliot? ELLIOT? Where’s—”
“—somebody… go in… check—”
They planted their flag.
The Blue Elliots had won.
And there was no going back.
“—kid! KID! HEY! COME DOWN! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?! IS THAT—IS THAT COOKIES AND MILK??”
“Chance. I think I’m into older men.”
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOU—”
CRASH!
—and the floor gave away.
***
The air was chill and crisp. The room sat in near silence. Almost.
The soft scrapes of an apple being peeled were the only sounds breaking the silence.
The night had settled, and a single lamp glowed over the small room. Chance sat beside a bedridden Elliot, peeling and slicing an apple.
Elliot’s legs were wrapped in old bandages. By some miracle, his injuries were minor, considering he’d fallen from a second floor of a burning building. It must’ve been this strange realm sparing him, Elliot thought.
But despite the surface wounds, Elliot felt drained. Physically, emotionally, entirely. He laid still, emptied his thoughts, and stared into the ceiling.
Neither of them spoke.
Until Chance broke the quiet.
“So.” The word hung awkwardly in the air. “Do you wanna talk about it, or—”
“No.”
Chance turned back to the apple. That single word said everything.
“Okay,” they said, softer this time. “Okay.”
They shoved a slice into their mouth. Their apple, anyway.
The crunch echoed in heavy silence.
They never spoke about it again.