> Costumes, Cakes, and Creampies
>  by Drop_It_Like_Its_Clop
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Nightmare Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her voice cut out for just a second, a sudden halt that let her vocalisations be overtaken by her trembling. Her shaking continued unabated, and Pound Cake held his pace, keeping his wrist undulating in a rapid swivel, his lips locked to the girl's. She squeezed more tightly, and her voice rushed back in an explosive burst, stifled by their sloppy kiss. His body pressed against hers, keeping her in place as she squirmed and shifted, slipping down the wall by a few inches, barely able to right herself. With more of her weight pushing down, her mound pressed harder against his palm, increasing the pressure against her pearl.

Even as the pulsing ebbed away, her panting persisted, hitching and fluctuating as Pound's fingers brushed intermittently at the sensitive spots inside her. When he broke the kiss, carefully slowing down his ministrations into a teasing persistence, the girl gasped in air, holding onto his shoulder and pulling herself fully to her feet, wobbling even as she did so. Only when she'd righted herself did he remove his hand from between her legs, pausing to wipe his slick digits on her thigh.

"Use the sink," she huffed at him, shoving away his arm and pulling her panties back up to cover herself. Adjusting her skirt, she checked herself in the mirror, turning around to assess herself from all angles. "Do I look okay? Nothing suspicious? Out of place?"

"Not yet," Pound answered, grinning lecherously as he approached her from behind. He nipped at her neck, breathing in her perfume and letting out a low hum of approval. She shimmied out of his grasp, absentmindedly pushing him away.

"Not tonight," she rebutted, reapplying her lipstick as carefully as she could. He had no idea how many drinks she'd had, but she seemed to be able to control her movements well enough. "We've been in here ten minutes already, and I don't want Brick wondering where I've gone."

Pound let out a grunt of annoyance at the mention of her boyfriend, a man who lacked the awareness to notice her frequent flings. Pound doubted he'd even noticed she'd gone off on her own, nevermind questioned where she was. In truth, he felt bad about doing this, and he tried not to fall victim to the seductress' whims. He and Brick were friends, and he always came to regret sneaking off to play with Venus whenever Brick turned his back and the girl gave him the doe-eyes. It wasn't his fault; she was always the one to instigate it, and she was the one who was supposed to be committed to the guy. Besides, Pound felt the guilt in the morning, once the furious buzz of the alcohol had worn off and the hangover was starting to set in. He doubted Venus felt any guilt about it at all.

"Come on, just a quickie?" he persisted, pressing his tent against her skirt-clad rear. He could already feel the gloriously hot and welcoming wetness, the bliss of her womanhood drawing him in. She was a naughty treat, and it was one of the reasons he ran to her whenever she asked.

"No," she insisted, shooting him an uncompromising glare in the mirror. "Do that again, and I'll find someone else." She maintained eye contact as she smacked her lips together, finishing up her application. The teenage man halted his efforts, yanking on the breaks as his lust tried to carry him forward. Stepping backwards, he sighed, huffing in annoyed disappointment at her refusal.

"Fine," he relented, his erection protesting angrily against his pants. "We'll play it your way, Ms Trap." He received an all-too-sweet smile for his comment, and she puffed out her chest, watching through the mirror the effect it had on her generously proportioned bosom. Content with how her schoolgirl costume looked, she shot Pound a pose, looking over her shoulder and flicking a leg upwards behind her. His manhood twitched at the sight.

"What a gentleman," she cooed, resuming a normal posture and unlocking the door. "By the way, you have lipstick around your mouth. Might wanna sort that out. Buh-bye." Blowing him a kiss, she opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, the thump of the party music barging its way into the open space. Turning to the mirror, Pound spotted the unmistakable red smear of lipstick across his face. With little else to do, he pumped the soap dispenser a couple of times and lathered it up, scrubbing at the stain on his skin. When he washed the suds away, the marks were still present, albeit faded.

"Is anyone using - oh, hey, bro."

The voice drew Pound's attention, and he found himself looking up at a tall, unmistakable figure dressed in a bedsheet wrapped as a toga. A nervous, uneasy grin spread across the former's face.

"Hey, Brick," he replied, drying his hands hurriedly. "How're you doing?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," the large lad replied. "Was looking around the party for you, in fact. The crates ran out downstairs and some older guys are going out to get some more, but I placed these in the fridge when we arrived. Hid them behind the cheese." He smiled easily as he procured a tin of beer, handing it over to Pound. The smaller teen took it hesitantly.

"You didn't have to," he remarked, nodding to the tin he'd brought in with him. "I already have one."

"Yeah, but what are friends for?" Brick retorted with a nonchalant shrug. He tilted his head, peering at Pound's face. "Is that...lipstick?" The shock must've been obvious, because the towering man grinned and let out a hearty chuckle. "My man!" He laughed and offered a hand for the other boy to meet, which Pound did meekly. "Nice to see you getting some action, bro. Enjoy the beer." With a nod and a knowing grin, he turned and walked back into the party, leaving Pound to grimace and stare into the mirror at his lipstick-coated visage.

Drunk guilt somehow felt worse than sober guilt.





Perhaps hours had passed, or perhaps twenty minutes. Pound had stopped caring at some point, focusing on finding alcohol to pour down his throat and people to chat to. He'd hoped that by drinking enough, he'd be able to douse the flames of his lust, but that hadn't worked. While he wasn't erect any more, he was still infuriatingly horny, perhaps even more so as a result of the sheer amount he'd consumed. Beer pong probably hadn't helped, nor a handful of cans from the crates brought back by Button Mash.

The icing on the cake was Venus Trap. The girl flitted between groups like the social butterfly she was, and every time Pound caught sight of her, she was among a new crowd of people, laughing at a joke and smiling beatifically, her soft expression exuding its sickly sweetness. It was a facade, of course, but even knowing that, it looked and felt real. She was certainly fun to be around. A couple of times, she smiled and gave a wave, and he responded with an unenthusiastic half-smile and a tepid wave back. She didn't look awkward, defensive, or concerned when she did so, and she turned back to the group with the ease of someone with a completely clean conscience. Each time that happened, Pound felt a surge of desire and guilt, and sought out another drink to wash away the unwelcome feelings.

It was after the third snatched beer can, walking away from Venus sneakily running her hand along Rumble's biceps, that he caught sight of her.

While it was true this was a Nightmare Night party and was therefore a costume party by extension, the assortment of party-goers had mostly thrown things together; he'd seen a person wrapped in toilet paper in a mimic of a mummy, Brick had used a towel as a toga, and Venus was wearing a schoolgirl outfit, which he was pretty sure was just her outfit from her time in Ponyville's school. He was the only person he knew to have actually put any effort into the costume he was wearing, even going so far as to ask for help at Carousel Boutique. Yona had been happy to sit with him and turn the assortment of cloth, fur, leather, and thin metal plates into the iconic outfit of Yenrich the Barbarian.

This girl, however, was on his level. Beyond it, even. She was almost entirely adorned in winter colours, sporting blues and whites of every description, blended so meticulously that they seemed to flow across her, the patterns appearing to shift as she moved. Her hair, whether natural or dyed, was just a few shades darker than the loose dress, enough to stand out from the glittering fabric without clashing horrendously against it. Even her face was, on closer observation, dusted with a impressively well-blended layer of makeup, subtly giving her a winter tint without being ostentatious. It was, in a word, professional.

"Have you considered working in Carousel Boutique?" Pound asked, sliding over to her and casually swirling his drink. "Or the spa? You've got a talent for fashion and skincare." The girl looked over at him, her expression brightening as she saw his costume.

"You haven't done badly yourself," she replied, smiling at him. "I loved the Yenrich the Barbarian comics as a kid. I thought I was the only one."

"I'm happy to let you know you're wrong," Pound commented, smirking beneath his half-helm. "Always wanted to go somewhere as Yenrich, but there wasn't ever a chance until tonight. Something always got in the way."

"You never gave up on your childhood dream, huh?" the girl guessed. She giggled at his proud nod. "You're such a nerd."

"Hey, I can say the same about you," he teased. "Miss I thought I was the only one." They shared a short laugh together. "I can't quite figure out who you're meant to be, though."

"No one has, yet," she told him. "Though no one's asked, either, so..." She shrugged. "I'm trying to pull off a Windigo."

"The mythological creature?" Pound asked, receiving a confirmatory nod. "And I'm supposed to be the nerdy one?" She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. "You did a great job. It looks amazing. How long did it take you?"

"Designing or applying?" she asked, leaning against the wall. "I got the idea this summer and only figured out how to make it work three weeks ago. It took me three hours to get it to look like this."

"Three hours well spent," he complimented. "How'd you do it?"

"You first."

Pound rolled his eyes and relented. "A layer of leather sewn onto an underlay of cloth, Yakyakistani wool stitched to the edges, and tin shaped into pauldrons with a loop of leather to keep them in place. The helmet is just wood with varnish and paint to make it look more worn."

"Fancy," the girl complimented.

"I had a bit of help," he admitted. "Well, a lot, actually. I couldn't have done any of this without Yona."

"You too?" she asked, smiling brightly at the mention of the town's fashionista. "She's the one who made almost the entire costume for me. She insisted on reading into the myth of the Windigos to better represent them, and I actually started to feel bad by the end of it. She really went above and beyond for me. In fact, the only thing she didn't do is the makeup."

"I would've thought that would've been one of the easier parts of the costume?"

"It would've, but she didn't have the right blends and colours, and she wouldn't accept anything less than perfection. In the end, I found a pretty unorthodox solution."

"Which was?" The man raised an eyebrow as the girl grinned and beckoned him closer. He complied, leaning towards her so she could whisper in his ear.

"Frosting." She pulled back and her grin widened, taking joy in his blank expression.

"...frosting?" he repeated, receiving a nod. Learning in close, he sniffed at her cheek, noticing the subtly sweet, sugary aroma that confirmed her story.Too tempted, and too inebriated, to stop himself, he extended his tongue and dragged it across a patch of her skin, bringing into sharper focus the telltale sugary taste and scent. Her breath hitched, and she failed to suppress a soft sigh at the contact. "Wow, it really is. I never knew you could use it for that." It was his turn to grin as he pulled back and noticed her closed eyes and parted lips. "You okay there?"

The girl nodded, opening her eyes halfway and smiling a half-smirk at him. "Yeah. I'm good." She glanced around the room, and then looked back to him. "It's getting pretty boring here, and I was gonna head home. If you want, we could..." She trailed off and shrugged. "You could enjoy the rest of the frosting."

Pound grinned boyishly at her offer. "Upstairs?" he suggested, to which the girl's half-smirk turned full and she started her way towards the stairs. He followed closely behind, weaving his way between the partygoers. It wasn't hard to keep track of her, and when she entered a bedroom at one end of the house, he slipped in right behind her.

She'd only just shut the door when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and planted his lips on her neck, kissing needily and letting the tip of his tongue draw errant patterns. She groaned, uttering some protest about waiting until the lights were on, but he ignored her, his palms working their way over her dress, pressing it against her soft, supple skin beneath. After a few seconds, she relented, leaning her head back against his shoulder and exposing more of her neck for him. His lips grew dusty as he worked across her exposed flesh, each involuntary swipe with his tongue sending a shot of sweetness through his tastebuds.

The further he moved, the more his helmet got in the way, and he pulled back long enough to take it off and toss it aside, unconcerned about the bang it made as it thumped to the floor. It seemed like his ministrations had stoked her lust from embers into roaring fire, and in the time it took him to remove the cumbersome apparel, she turned around and stretched upwards, pushing her lips forcefully to his. He expected she could taste the frosting on them, a reminder of what he'd been doing to her even beyond the desire that was undoubtedly pawing at her aggressively.

Even with the headwear gone, there was too much between them, too much fabric and material. He diverted a hand from her waist to his straps, blindly fumbling as he tried to loosen the costume. He failed multiple times, the girl in front of him demanding his attention even as he tried to expose himself to her. Their dance continued, the two of them too enraptured by each other to slow down to deal with their clothes. When Pound at last managed to pull the pieces in the right way and felt give in his costume, he pulled back, wriggling his way from its confines. She did the same, hurriedly disrobing while he was preoccupied. It took longer than he would've wanted, but he succeeded in stripping down to his underwear, his partner having managed to strip down to hers by the time he'd tossed the jumble of armor to the side.

There wasn't much to make out in the dark of the room, but neither of them gave each other much of a chance anyway. They clashed against each other, even more invigorated by the greater and unrestricted access they now had. Her arms wrapped around his torso, and his palms slid up and down her back, feeling the tantalising softness of her skin. Their lips met in unrestrained pushes and brushes, their movements darting and swift. Her fingers passed through his hair, pulling him deeper, and her calf rubbed longingly against his shin. He lowered a hand to her hips, and then slid over the comfortable cotton of her panties to explore the roundness of her ass, groping her unabashedly.

They ended up on the bed. Pound didn't realise they'd tumbled until he felt the bounce of the mattress and the change of orientation. She pulled him onto her, leaning up to trap him in another lip-lock, until he took over again and pushed her down, deepening the kiss and dominating her tongue when she tried to respond. His hands sought out hers, intertwining their fingers and clasping them together, feeling her react in kind. Inflamed with passion, he ground his crotch against hers, driven onwards by instinct and need. She whimpered into the kiss, squeezing his hands tight and pushing her breasts against his chest as she tried to draw them closer.

Pound let go of her hands and sat back, pulling her upwards just a little to reach back and fumble with her bra. She sat more upright and reached back, pushing away his impatient hands so she could deftly pinch and separate the clasps, shrugging the straps from her shoulders and tossing the garment away carelessly. As soon as she had, the man kissed her fiercely once more, smashing their lips together and slowly working his mouth downwards, breathing in her sweet scent while exploring every curve and dimple on her body. Over her chin, down her neck, across her collarbone, swiping his tongue across it and swirling it downwards until he reached the valley of her cleavage.

With one of his hands holding the small of her back, he slid the free one up her stomach, gliding over her front until he reached the swell of her breast, cupping her as his fingers danced upwards to seek out her nipple. Finding the pert little bud, he pinched at it, squeezing and rolling as his mouth travelled to her other tit, latching onto her and suckling while his tongue lashed at her. His actions were rewarded with breathy whimpers and sighs, her hand resting on the back of his head. Gentle nips and grazes with his teeth evoked gasps from her, her sultry noises prompting him to continue his playful nibbling.

She pushed down on his head, urging him to move on to her more immediate needs. He was more than happy to grant her what she wanted, kissing his way down her stomach in a winding swerve. His lips brushed against her skin, gliding short distances before stopping to offer a firm smooch, and then continuing on to his eventual destination. Her fidgeting hips had grown impatient by the time he arrived, demanding satisfaction from him.

Even with her panties in the way, he could smell her arousal. His chin brushed against the fabric and he felt the heat radiating from her, the wetness already starting to seep through. With a single kiss against the damp, he reached up and pulled at the waistband, tugging it downwards in sharp, hurried yanks. She lifted her hips up, helping him as he worked the crumpled fabric down her legs, unable to resist lightly biting and kissing at her inner thigh as he did so, working his way upwards until he felt the unmistakable contact from her loins against his cheek.

Worked up as he was, Pound wasn't in the mood for subtlety or buildup. He dragged his tongue upwards, pressing between her lower lips as he pulled up to her hood, drawing a prolonged groan from her. The taste of her hit him immediately, cutting through the fleeting flavour of frosting and the lingering memory of beer. Her sourness sat on his tastebuds, demanding that he dove in for more. He did.

His arms locked around her thighs, keeping her legs in place and bringing his head closer to her nethers. The surface of his tongue drew over her quim, brushing and rubbing and earning more needy groans and hums and hushed huffs. His fingers gripped at her, depressing her supple flesh as he greedily lapped at her garden. He wanted more. Adjusting himself, he searched for her entrance, probing across her soaked honeypot with his tongue. A brief moment later, he found it, and wiggled his tongue between her walls, worming into her canal.

The audible exhalation from her was a welcome response, his tongue delving into her depths. The tang washed over him, and he hungrily sought out more, wiggling his face in an effort to push himself ever deeper, his nose rummaging in the shallow patch of hair coating her mound. He breathed in her scent, the tickle against his nose only serving to encourage him to explore her more deeply. She smelled and tasted good, and he couldn't get enough of her, no matter how hard he tried to tonguefuck her, or suck at her engorged little clitty. The more he drew from her, the more demanding his desire became, and the less her nectar satiated him.

Growling, he removed his face from between her legs and crawled back up to her face, ensnaring her in a deep kiss once again, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered at his aggression, her zest still strong on his lips. He made sure to make her taste herself, batting her tongue down and running the tip along her teeth. Her mouth belonged to him. Her body belonged to him. Her desire belong to him. The pawing at his back, her hands desperately trying to drag him closer, confirmed it.

His boxers were in the way. Cursing to himself, he pulled away, fiddling awkwardly to try and remove them. He could feel, rather than see, the dark stain that had spread from its nidus near his left hip where his glans was tenting the material. Growling in frustration, he fidgeted more, shifting from leg to leg to try and wiggle them over his hips and down his legs, but to no avail. He was too preoccupied with his own struggle to notice the girl sit up and push him onto his back, yanking down the troublesome clothing like he'd done to her.

And just like he'd done to her, she lowered her mouth to his nethers and began to explore his body with her tongue.

Pound inhaled sharply, her wet, tender touch electric against his skin. The way her tongue dragged across his surface, the gentle friction and perfect amount of pressure, left a pervasive warmth where she made contact, a slick trail recording her path. The young man huffed and panted, struggling to keep his hips from bucking upwards out of instinct. The barest brush of her lips against his underside caused his cock to throb, flexing and squeezing out a bead of pre that she lapped up  readily, giggling as he let out a desperate groan.

"Get on top," he spoke up, pushing aside the thick pressure of lust and the delight of the sensations. "I wanna fuck you."

"So impatient," she teased in a whisper, her weight atop him in an instant. She wasted little time straddling his waist, his drooling cockhead pressed into her thigh by her movements. She shifted, his pride dragging closer towards the source of her spring, glazing her outer lips in a lewd gloss as he passed by.

Their lips met as he entered her. It was impossible to tell who had moved, but it didn't matter; the pressure, the slow, welcoming envelopment, the slow exhalation of breath they shared, it was total. There didn't need to be anything else. Not until her cunny kissed at his base, at least, his sword properly and proudly sheathed. Only then did they start moving, their bodies sliding against one another's, skin gliding over skin and their loins grinding passionately into each other. His hands moved to her hips, feeling out the firmness and grasping to better guide her. The girl's hands gripped his shoulders and trailed down to his chest, feeling out his pectorals and bracing herself to better bounce on his adamantine pride.

The door opened and the sounds of the party flooded into the room. The girl squeaked and pressed herself flat against his chest, burying her face in his neck. Pound growled at the interruption.

"Fuck off!" he called out, barely hearing the retreating scampering of footsteps and the slamming of the door. He was far too consumed in rolling his hips upwards, picking up where she'd left off after her brief fright. Her exposed neck, presented right before him, caught his attention, and he suckled softly, drawing a whimper from her as he moved up and down to find where she'd be most sensitive. His suckling soon transitioned into nibbling and nipping, and then biting, pulling back with her pincered between his teeth. Her whimpers turned to moans and squeaks, the noises serving to spur him onwards.

"You sound so damn cute," he whispered to her, his tone husky and low. "Keep making those sounds." It didn't matter if she'd listened to him or couldn't help himself, so long as she kept up her nonverbal praises. He rolled both of them over, switching his mouth to the other side of her neck, eager to ravage as much of her as possible. Her groans and mewls began anew, reinvigorated, and he snarled as he began his steady thrusts once more.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, unable to hide her pleasure. Her breath rushed hotly past his ear, her hands gripping at his head and back, pulling him closer. "Fuck!" Her legs clamped around his waist, driving him to plow her harder and faster. Every time she tried to hold him still, to keep him inside her, he doubled his efforts, shoving himself deep inside her clenching quim.

The pattering of squeaks she made when she came was adorable, and Pound delivered a batch of hard slams to the orgasming girl, powering through her climax and forcing her contracting walls to let him through. The demanding clenches and pleading ripples along his length was maddening, beautifully and wonderfully maddening, but it didn't push him over the edge yet. If he'd been sober, that might've been a different story, but he was far too engrossed by the idea of just claiming her, using her until she was completely exhausted, that he didn't even think about stopping. She was just too good, and there was no way she would've wanted him to stop, besides.

Pound had to help her onto all fours, pulling out with only a little difficulty and rolling her onto her front before lifting her hindquarters in the air. She raised herself up onto her arms, knowing what he wanted to do, and he took the time to grab ahold of her hips and rub his slick member between her thighs, drinking in how impossibly supple they felt. She grumbled something about needing him inside, and he reluctantly pulled back from the wonderful sensation of flesh against flesh, the spongy grip and exaggerated warmth of her skin against his own femlube-coated cock, and guided himself to her valley by hand. She was tighter from behind, and once he was sure he'd found the right hole, he unceremoniously threw his hips forward, shoving his way into her in a single stroke.

The teen's hand roamed everywhere. His palms slid up and down her back, feeling how smooth and toned she was. He gripped her waist and plowed her mercilessly, and when she buried her face in the bedsheets to muffle her wails and yelps, he grabbed a fistful of her thick hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to shout her pleasure to the world. Sometimes he let their bodies close the gap, pressing his chest plush against her back while his fingers sought out her nipples, pinching and tweaking and pulling sharply, evoking sharp gasps and hisses from her. While he was there, he'd nip at her ears and bite at her neck, telling her what a perfect little slut she was. She whimpered and whined and kissed him, her mouth sloppily meeting his in distracted couplings.

Her ass had to be red by now, if not from the persistent clapping of his hips and groin against her buttocks, then certainly from the walloping open-palmed slaps. Each strike resulted a sharp crack, followed by a wail from the girl. Normally, he'd be able to see the bright red handprints left on the globes, and feel the heat left by her reaction to the impacts, but everything was starting to blur together. The radiance from her skin and her inner walls, from his own engorged cock, all of it melded together into a blur, a general pleasantness to accompany the embrace of her insides and the friction that he relished so much. The pressure in his groin was omnipresent, something he couldn't measure. He didn't know if it was rising, or growing, or intensifying. He didn't care. He just wanted to keep pumping into this girl, to grope and spank and squeeze her, to pull at her hair harshly and dominate their open-mouthed kisses.

Then he came.

Ramming balls-deep into the girl, one hand on her shoulder and one at her hip, Pound stuffed her so full of his manhood that it was like there was no gap to fill in the first place. He grunted as he let loose, a burn spreading through his turgid staff as his muscles clenched and squeezed, pulses of pleasure and intensity spreading through his lower body. He was numb, and it felt like a thick, oozing flow more than anything, but he didn't care. He needed this. He'd been denied it all night, and now he was cashing it in.

There wasn't a cut-off point. It just seemed to keep going, his legs and loins buzzing and twitching, and his senses struggling under the thrums and throbs that could only be aftershocks. The hand gripping her shoulder slunk down, squeezing at her neck, and then clasped at her throat. She gasped and gargled, and he quickly pulled her upright, ensnaring her in a shaky kiss. She whimpered, returning his aggressive affection, and shook in his grip. The hand not holding her by the throat sank down, rubbing at the point where the two of them were joined. Maybe she came again, maybe she didn't. He was too preoccupied marking her neck with his teeth, his ears drinking in the sounds of her praise, their bodies drizzled with sweat and probably other fluids.

At some point, they separated, panting and huskily throwing lewd comments to one another. The girl purred something affectionate, and he complimented how cute she was as his cocksleeve, his fingers already making their way back inside her. She started to protest, making weak complaints about being sore or that she should head home, but his teeth grazing against one of her nipples soon stopped that argument. He probed her furrow, his own seed slickening his journey, and she told him to let her get on top again. How could he say no to that?





Ow

Light wasn't supposed to hurt.

Ow ow ow

And yet...

Son of a - OW!

Pound groaned long and loud as the thumping in his head got worse, rolling over to try and face away from the sunlight assaulting him. When that didn't work, he pulled up the duvet, taking cover beneath the safety of its canopy. Only then did he try to open his eyes fully. They felt dry, almost as much as his throat did. He let out another groan, cradling his head, his fingers scrunching up his hair.

"I'm never drinking again," he vowed, mouth curled into a grimace as he tried to sit up, bringing the duvet with him. He grunted at the strain of pulling himself upright and swinging his legs out of bed, the majority of his body reacting sluggishly as though offering solidarity to his tortured head. In a slow, pained shuffle, he trudged out of his room and down the hall, reaching the bathroom after a what felt like a nature hike; all the discomfort, overheating, and effort, without any of the beauty or enjoyment.

The shower allowed him time to think, the initial cold blast kicking his body into something resembling functionality. He'd made it home, obviously, but he wasn't sure how, or when. There had been plenty of drinking, and some party games. He'd chatted with Brick, and made out with Venus. Then there was something else...a girl? He remembered her being blue, for some reason. Or was it unnaturally white? She'd looked mysterious, and beautiful. That couldn't possibly be right. Was he imagining that? He pushed aside the thoughts, unable to discern fact from fiction, and focused on making his hands work enough to scrub his hair and his body.

He left the bathroom feeling cleaner, and more awake, but no less groggy. It was a different sort of grime, this state. Internal. Immovable. Just something he had to bear and hope he'd recover from, some day in the distant future. If he ever did. It wasn't like many ever recovered from the dreaded disease that was the hangover.

It took another ten minutes for him to get dressed, the prospect of falling back into the bed far more tempting than it had any right to be. Every piece of clothing wiggled into place on his body was a victory, and each one was celebrated with a grunt and a curse to life itself.

The curses stopped on his way down the stairs, but the grumbling and groaning didn't. He had one goal in mind, and that was the only thing keeping him going - coffee. He needed coffee. Or something stronger. He didn't know what, so coffee it was. If only it could be ready made for him, rather than requiring him to stumble into the kitchen, grind the beans, add water, strain, and pour. It was easy on normal days, but his pounding head stretched every second into a year, and why should he have to wait a lifetime for coffee? He grumbled some more as the coffee brewed, grunting in quasi-appreciation once he could actually pour the dark concoction into a mug and take it to a table.

"You're looking perky," a voice commented, interrupting his miserable reverie. He lazily glanced over to acknowledge the speaker, a twinge of envy coming across him at her relative alertness. He was too fatigued to truly care, though. Besides, he'd gotten used to it. His sister always recovered more gracefully from alcohol and the like than he did, but he could afford to gorge on sugar and fatty foods without the cost. She hated him for that, so it balanced out in the end.

"Morn'," he replied gruffly, leaving the word unfinished and sipping his coffee. The grounds were burned, apparently, and he grimaced at the heightened bitterness.

"Afternoon, actually," she replied, taking a seat across from him and pouring herself a mug of his coffee. He didn't try to stop her, and smirked when she gagged at the taste. "Ugh, what is that?" she asked. "How do you always ruin it?"

"Why do you keep drinking it if I always ruin it?" he posited with a smirk.

"Maybe I'm being supportive and having faith that you'll get better," Pumpkin retorted, glaring down into the cup and taking another tentative sip, barely containing a grimace.

"You could always make your own coffee," Pound suggested, drinking his own mixture. Ugh, maybe she should. I wouldn't complain. Too much. "Not that you look like you need it."

"Trust me, I need it," she assured him, getting better at holding back her distaste as she grew used to the brew.

"Heavy night?"

"Pretty much."

"You don't look like it."

"You do." She looked him over. "Covering for the both of us?" Pound didn't have a witty enough response, and so just shrugged as if to concede her point. "Where were you last night, anyway?"

"Pipsqueak's house party."

"You too? Huh. I didn't see you all night." He quirked an eyebrow at that.

"I didn't see you either," he replied. "When did you get there?"

"Pretty early in the night," she answered. "I wasn't exactly hard to miss, either. You would've known me if you'd seen me. I went as a Windigo, and the costume was amazing."

"What?"

"Yeah," she answered proudly, continuing on, unaware of his quirked eyebrow or concerned expression. "I made sure it stood out. I wasn't gonna half-heart it, you know? I went the whole nine yards; hair dye, frosting as face and body paint - don't tell mum and dad I used the frosting - and Yona helped with-"

"A Windigo?" Pound interrupted, earning a curious glance from his sister.

"Yeah," she answered, looking nonplussed at his question. "You know, the evil winter spirit? The stories from when we were small? Be nice and kind to each other or the Windigos will come and bring the cold winds, freeze you in your homes?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered back, a little too brusquely. She balked at his tone, but he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice or care. His mind was somehow clearer and hazier than it had previously been, and he found a newfound strength in his limbs. "So...you went as a Windigo to the party...and you were dressed in frosting-"

"Not just frosting," she tutted, annoyance at his simplification of her costume seeping into her voice. "I put so much more work into it than frosting. A lot of it was innovative and required a lot of time to perfect."

"Blue frosting?" Pound continued. Pumpkin nodded, unsure where he was heading with his questioning. Rising to his feet, he walked around the table, each step sending a deeper chill through him. When he'd rounded the table, he reached out with a hand, moving it towards his sister's hair. She tried to pull away, but he dipped closer and pulled a poofy, bushy bunch away so he could see clearly.

Her neck was tattooed purple with hickeys, still fresh enough that some still boasted the raw redness that hadn't faded yet.

Ice dropped into his stomach, spreading like a flood and settling like cement. He felt the colour drain from his face, even as Pumpkin slapped his hand away and pulled her hair back over her love bites.

"Hey!" she complained. "Mind your own business!"

"Sis...you-"

"Yeah, I hooked up with someone last night, okay?" she huffed. "Not that you should care. It's not like it affects you." She raised her mug to her lips, grimacing as the coffee battered her tastebuds again. While she stuck her tongue out in disgust, Pound felt his headache fade, and then rush back in, stronger and more forceful.

"This guy you hooked up with-"

"Who says it's a guy?" she cut in sharply, her face set in a defensive pout. "Maybe I got lucky with a girl. More girls in this town than guys."

"Was 'she' dressed as Yenrich the Barbarian?" he asked, frustration creeping into his words. Pumpkin's defiance froze on her face, and her mask slipped. He could see the battle she was fighting with herself, and then she glanced to the side.

"Maybe," she muttered. "Why do you care?"

"Because..." He took a deep breath, and tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. His mouth dried out. His tongue felt heavy. "Because I..."

"Because you what?" Pumpkin demanded. "You came to the party as Yenrich the Barbarian and dicked me down?" She glared at him for several seconds, holding his stare, until she noticed the dread and shame etched onto his face. Like there was a circuit between them, it passed on to her, the sheer weight of the situation settling on her. "You...you're joking..."

"Red, I..."

"This isn't funny, Pound."

"I-I know, I'm not-"

"Pound, knock it off right now! I'm being serious! This is gross!"

"I'm not joking!"

A dense silence settled over the room like a fog. Sound seemed to retreat, the birds and insects outside pausing their daily routine to let the tension thicken and boil. The walls pressed in around them, pulling closer to observe and leer. The only presence in Pound's awareness was the heady pounding of blood blasting in his ears, a dreaded THUMP THUMP THUMP to contrast the static pain of disgust and horror pooling in his belly. Pumpkin was staring at him, her eyes wide and her countenance a quadripartite of shock, denial, terror, and confusion.

The scrape of her chair against the floorboards shattered the silence in a cacophonous shriek, and she ran from the room, heading up the stairs in a rush before he could stop her. Pound heard the clomp of her footsteps on the floorboards above, followed by the slam of her bedroom door. Another silence followed, but this one he was left to deal with alone. In some ways, that was better.

Leaving his coffee on the table, the young man slowly took the same route up the stairs that his sister had done a couple of minutes before. He wasn't ready to deal with Pumpkin just yet, but he couldn't stay in the oppressive silence alone. He needed something to do, and with it being a Sunday, there was practically nothing to do. Not that he wanted to do anything in particular. He just needed something to make him feel less...well, less.

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Pound headed for the one loose floorboard just behind his cabinet. Prying it open, he reached inside, searching until his fingers brushed the cold, smooth surface of the glass he was looking for. Grasping it and pulling it out, he reset the board and retreated to his bed, slumping onto it gracelessly. Letting out a dejected sigh, he unscrewed the cap from the bottle and raised it to his lips.

"I never should've got out of bed," he decided as the first splash of whiskey hit his tongue.
> Hearth's Warming
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In all of his nineteen years of life, Pound couldn't recall a time when he and Pumpkin hadn't spoken for longer than they currently weren't.

He'd rarely left her side since they day they were born, the two of them playing together as babies and toddlers at every available opportunity. He'd even helped her escape from their cot on more than one occasion, if the stories told by auntie Pinkie were anything to go by. As small children, they were each other's best friends. As adolescents, even when they'd made friends of their own and branched off into their own specific interests, they stayed close. He'd saved her from bullies, and she'd covered for him when he'd eaten all the sweets mum and dad had hidden away. When they came home from school or a sleepover, they'd chat about their days.

That had been the case up to the day after Nightmare Night.

She'd wanted to know about his night. She'd trusted him with the knowledge that she'd sneaked away ingredients for her costume. "Don't tell mum and dad I used the frosting", she'd nonchalantly told him. She knew she didn't have to beg or plead. She expected him to stay silent about it, and he had. He would've anyway. She trusted him, and he trusted her.

Or they had.

She hadn't said a word to him in weeks. He didn't even see her more than every other day. When she caught sight of him, she usually turned away and went in another direction. Whenever she couldn't, she looked away or stared blankly ahead. In the instances where they had to work together, where they had to interact and talk, she kept it to a minimum, turning her body away from him as much as was possible. When she spoke, her tone was mechanical, rote, and were limited to urgent questions or requests, which were always laconic.

It was utterly new territory for Pound. He'd never had to deal with this before. They'd had maybe three big fights over the course of their lives, and they'd both broken within a week, running back to each other and hugging it out. They would've made up within a day, if not for teenage stubbornness, they both knew. Not this time, though. It looked - Pound feared - permanent. He hated it, but that wasn't the worst of it. He didn't know exactly how he felt. He was hurt that she was blocking him out, hurt that she wouldn't tell him exactly what she was feeling. He knew what had caused it, but he couldn't understand why she was so reclusive now. She'd never run away from him when she was troubled before. She always ran to him.

On top of that, he had his own problems. What was he going to do? He felt sick thinking about what he and Pumpkin had done that night, and every time his mind wandered to the image of her atop him, or recalled them vague memory of how she felt, the texture and curves of her body, he grew light-headed and started sweating. He didn't feel right about it, and he felt worse knowing that his support-line wasn't only not there, but wasn't there because she was suffering in the same way he was. Or maybe she wasn't. He didn't know, and that was the torture.

There was no way he could turn to his parents. What would they say? How would they react, knowing what had transpired between their two, innocent, wonderful children, to whom they devoted their lives, time, love, and faith? It wasn't fair on them, and it wouldn't turn out well for him. Certainly not his friends or acquaintances. He'd be labeled a freak, a disgusting degenerate. He'd lose Brick, he'd lose anyone with whom he shared his story, and when the news spread, he'd lose the respect of the entire town. Pumpkin would suffer, and his mum and dad would suffer. Even if his friends stayed with him, they'd be known as the friends of the pervert, and they'd suffer. Even if the news didn't spread and his friends remained his friends, would they truly let it go over their heads? Or would they disguise their disgust, side-eye him when he wasn't paying attention?

There was no Pumpkin, no parents, no friends, no town or community. No one could help him. He had to rely on himself. He tried, he really did, but there was a reason he was so desperate to find someone to confide in, to seek advice from, and he could only bottle everything up for so long before he needed an outlet. Maybe he couldn't confide in anyone else, but he could always confide in his own hobby; if he couldn't bottle everything up, maybe he could open a bottle.

"The way I see it," Reflection opined, pacing back and forth along Pound's floorboards, "the whole problem began with Venus Trap. You met her through Brick, and you like Brick. Brick isn't the problem. But she doesn't care about Brick, and she seduced you however long ago. And if she hadn't blue-balled you that night, you'd never have slept with Pumpkin."

"That does make sense," Pound concurred. "All I wanted was a handjob. Or a blowjob. I mean, getting off is getting off, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Reflection agreed, taking a pull of the bottle of rum in his hand. "She was being selfish. I mean, beyond the selfishness of cheating on her boyfriend. If she was going to cheat, the least she could do was cheat in a way that benefited both of you. Like, she'd already gotten off, so she wasn't protecting her integrity or anything. She was just too lazy to give you a quick tug. I mean, I'm guessing it wouldn't have taken long?"

"She's gotten me off in thirty seconds before," Pound admitted, somewhat shamefully. "She was my first." He frowned. "I hated myself for it, but...what was I supposed to do? I was young, and she was mature. For her age, I mean. We were all...what? Seventeen? I dunno, but I remember she laughed at my jokes, and she said all the right things. She seemed so intelligent, and knowledgeable, and just..."

"Experienced?" Reflection suggested.

"Yeah," Pound agreed, snapping his fingers. "Experienced. She was like an adult, but our age. She knew what to do, how to avoid trouble, but she was fun. And she was gorgeous. Still is. When she came to see me, alone, I felt special."

"She played with your heart."

"Yeah, she did."

"See? It was her fault. All of this was her fault."

"She wasn't dating Brick when we first hooked up. But then Brick asked her out, and she said yes. I hated him for that, but I smiled and said congratulations. I wanted to ask her, but I just never thought it'd work. That's dumb, looking back on it, but I just didn't have it in me. Brick did. I couldn't even blame her. Brick's a great guy, and he's strong and tall and handsome."

"You were ready to cut it off, even though it hurt," Reflection pointed out, almost triumphantly. "But she came back to you, after letting you pine and stew in heartache. And what was a heartbroken teenager gonna do after his crush came to welcome him into her arms?"

"Fall into them without a second thought," Pound answered, sitting down with a pained sigh. Opposite him, Reflection mirrored his actions. The two of them drank at the same time. "I realised what we were doing was wrong, but I couldn't stop. She'd bat her eyes, and put hint of a whine into her tone, and I was putty. It was like being a virgin all over again, barely able to believe a woman actually wanted me, especially one as gorgeous as this."

"She's a seductress," Reflection informed him. "You've heard of the Sirens? Some say there was a fourth sister." The two of them chuckled at that, swigging a large gulp of rum together.

"And I'd hate myself for it," Pound continued. "I'd clean up afterwards, and I felt like I was stabbing Brick in the back. I think what really hurt me was how little she cared. When she first came to me after she started dating Brick, she'd assured me it was fine, that she wanted both of us and that Brick just wouldn't understand, and I bought it. I needed her, and she seemed to want to help me. She seemed just as vulnerable as me, somehow, and that made me want to do whatever she wanted. After we'd been together a few times, though, I raised it again, and she repeated what she'd said the first time. The third time, she basically told me to stop worrying. It occurred to me that I didn't want to hurt my friend a lot more than she didn't want to hurt her boyfriend."

"She already had you hooked," Reflection commented, guessing where the teen was going with this and intercepting his point. "She had you exactly where she wanted you, and she's a mistress of her trade."

"But I could see that was what she was doing," Pound rebutted. "I knew she was using me, that she was using Brick. I could tell at that point that she was a manipulator, and I still didn't tell Brick, or call it off. I still ran to her like a puppy whenever she called my name. At least before I could blame naivety, ignorance, or whatever you want to call it; what can I blame now?"

"Her," Reflection answered, predictably. "If you know she's a manipulator, and that she manipulates people to get her own way, how is any of this your fault? If she hadn't played with your heart, convinced you to help her cheat on Brick, and blue-balled you, would any of this happened? Would you have slept with Pumpkin, or slept with her behind Brick's back?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"And if you hadn't, do you reckon she'd have seen the error of her ways and stopped? Do you honestly think you're the only one she's playing? You said you grew out of your naivety."

"Yeah, I guess she would still cheat on people. She'd cheat on anyone. She'd cheat on another boyfriend with Brick if given the circumstance."

"Exactly," Reflection confirmed. "She's put you in a position where she knows what you'll say and do. If there was any chance you'd reject her, she'd never have targeted you in the first place. You, my friend, have been carefully groomed and abused. It makes no sense for you to beat yourself up over it. That'd be victim blaming."

"You know what? You're right. I shouldn't be hard on myself. This is entirely her doing, and why should I feel bad for enjoying the journey down the road life laid out for me?"

"That's the spirit," Reflection cheered, grinning as he raised his rum. Pound did the same, and the two drank, sighing at the burn it left.

"Thanks for the talk. You're really what I needed." Pound blinked, his vision starting to blur. From the glass, Reflection started to look a little dizzy too.

"I'm always here when you need me."





"Son?"

"Yes, dad?"

Pound was careful to avoid drinking when he had to work in the shop. Aside from his parents, he couldn't afford to let the customers in on his issues. He confined his hobby to his bedroom, always in the evening, and preferably when his parents were away. It wasn't like there was any risk Pumpkin was going to bother him, whether or not she was home.

Carrot Cake was halfway through rolling up his sleeves, a habit he had never grown out of from his earliest days of baking. He waited until his sleeves were fully over his elbow, his forearms exposed, before he spoke again. Pound guessed that his father was figuring out how to phrase what he was about to say. That made sense; the older man had always been cautious and careful.

"Before your sister and mother get back, I thought we should talk," he began, and Pound frowned. "It's nothing serious, I promise. I just figured you'd want to avoid any fanfare."

"Sure," Pound acquiesced, pulling on a pair of oven mitts. "What is it?" Carrot spent another couple of seconds considering his words before starting to talk.

"You've never not been an exuberant and outgoing boy," the older man began. "When you were born, your mother and I were over the moon. I can't emphasise enough how much your sister and yourself meant to us. We'd wanted to start a family for so long, but the time never seemed right. There was the mortgage, bills, issue after issue. When we'd cleared everything out of the way, we were worried that we'd waited too long, and that we'd never have children. Imagine our delight when we were gifted with not one, but two wonderful, healthy, bubbly children." He smiled warmly, and the teen himself couldn't help but smile too, the warmth from the oven nothing compared to the glow he felt.

"Of course, you put us through our paces," Carrot continued, a brief grin crossing his face. "You were indefatigable! Your mother and I had to jump through so many hoops just to keep your sister and yourself from destroying the house. In spite of all that, every second was worth it. You grew up to be two of the most beautiful children I've ever met. You were, and are, perfect. You're kind, you're caring, you're polite, you're charming, you've been an eternal source of joy to your mother and I, and I couldn't be prouder of you." He paused, and, for the first time in years, ruffled Pound's hair. The gesture caught the teen by surprise, and he blinked. "I love you, son."

"I...I love you too, dad," he answered, his voice catching a little. "I mean, thanks, but...why are you saying this?"

"Because I want you to know that I care about you," the older man answered. "You - and your sister and your mother - are the most precious things in the world to me. I would do anything for you. Anything." He moved his hand from his son's hair to his shoulder. "So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"What?" Pound asked, caught off guard for the second time in just as many minutes. "What do you mean?"

"You've been acting off lately," his father elucidated. "You're not as vibrant and excitable as you usually are. The customers don't notice, but I'm your father. You need to give me a bit of credit about how well I know my own family."

The teen glanced at the oven again. "It's nothing, don't worry. I'm perfectly happy." He smiled widely.

"Pumpkin's fine too, I'm guessing?"

"Why wouldn't she be?" The strain of the smile was starting to hurt, and Carrot's stoic gaze wasn't budging.

"Pound Cake - what's wrong? Why are the two of you acting so distant?"

The boy let his smile slip and sighed, rubbing an arm along his forehead. "I mean...nothing much, we just..." He gestured vaguely. "We've sort of fallen out. I think."

"You think?" Curiosity played across the older man's aged features. "What do you mean, you think?"

"I dunno, I just...we just sorta...stopped talking. I want to talk to her, but she's just not willing to talk to me. Or maybe she is, but she can't bring herself to?"

"Why would you think that?"

Pound hesitated, a flash of fear shooting through him. "Because, well, I'm in the same boat. I want to talk to her, but I don't know what to say. I'm scared I'll make the whole thing worse, whatever this whole thing even is."

"It sounds like an easy fix," the other man suggested. "You're both too scared to take the first step. Neither are you are sure of what you're upset about, or even if you're upset. All you know is that something's not right, not complete, and you're anxious about it. It's driving you apart, and that's making you miserable."

"That's the problem, but what's the solution?"

"A leap of faith."

"What?"

"A leap of faith," Carrot repeated. "You two always got along so well. You were inseparable. Do you honestly think that bond's gone when you can't even name what's supposedly severed it? Don't you think she's worth perhaps confronting your fears to fix whatever's gotten between you?"

"Well, yeah," Pound agreed, wiping his forehead again. "But what if I do make it worse? What then? That's the last thing I want."

Carrot gestured to the oven, and Pound glanced around before hurriedly opening it up and pulling the cooked brownies from inside. Placing the tray down and shutting the oven back up, he turned back to his father, who was rubbing at his grey stubble in thought.

"Well, why don't you start by asking if there's an issue between you two at all? It might be that you're both overthinking it. Or it might be something minor. A miscommunication. Or it's something you're not doing or are doing that you need to fix. At the very least, it'll clear up the question of what's the actual problem is, and I'm guessing that it's that which is causing you the most grief?" Pound nodded, and his father returned the gesture. "Then start with that. If there's a problem, you can start fixing it. If there's not, then you can stop worrying about it."

"That's...that's actually a lot simpler than I was expecting," Pound realised aloud. "It seemed pretty insurmountable, but now it's a lot easier." He smiled, sincerely this time. "Thanks, dad. I-"

"And while we're on the topic of fixing problems," Carrot cut in, fetching a knife with which to cut the brownie batch. "A good place to start might be your drinking."

"My...drinking?"

"I'm not saying you have to cut it out completely," the older man persisted. "When I was your age, I wasn't so pure myself. Sometimes I'd go with my friends down to the inn and we'd end the night four pints in." Pound didn't have the heart to tell his dad that four pints was practically a diet. "So I know that it's not reasonable of me to tell you to stop. But you do need to cut down and not just reach for a bottle as a way to drown your sorrows. It's not healthy."

"Okay," Pound agreed. "I can do that. But, uh, how did you...?"

"I hear you talking to your mirror," the older man answered, an amused smirk on his face. "I don't stay to listen, don't worry. I heard you talking once and came in to check, and you were waving around a can of beer and singing your woes to your reflection. Answering yourself, too. It was something about how Pipsqueak and Dinky are lucky to have each other, and that you wish you could find someone who was just as devoted to you." Pound turned red, and the other man laughed, slicing into the brownies and letting his son stew in embarrassment for a little while longer. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find someone. There's no need to rush."

"I know, I know," the boy replied, trying to force the blood from his face. "I'm not concerned, really, I'm just..." He bit his tongue, accepting the white lie. "Yeah, I shouldn't worry."

"You've got an amazing personality," his father assured him. "You're well-liked by the town. You just need to find that special girl, that's all. Love finds a way." He glanced over at Pound, and quirked an eyebrow. "But she won't be impressed if she sees how much you drink. You're a charming boy, but when you drink, you can become unpleasant." He frowned a little. "You've said some things about Venus Trap that I know you wouldn't say sober." The redness in Pound's cheeks returned in full force.

"Wh-what did I say?"

"Let's just say you've referred to her in ways I won't repeat here," Carrot answered. "I've never heard you speak of anyone like that before, and I don't like it." He sighed, and then turned to face Pound fully. "You're not a kid anymore, and I can't tell you what to do. All I can do is continue to guide you, if you'll let me."

"Of course, dad."

"Good, that's the wisest-"

The chime of the bell at the front door marked the return of the two women of the house, and Carrot imitated drawing a zip along his lips to his son. Pound nodded back gratefully, and the two of them returned to cutting brownies.





Knocking on the door was far harder than it should've been. It was a simple back and forth motion, making sure to land his knuckles against the wood. When he went to move his hand, though, it was like something was holding him back, restraining his every attempt to continue. Eventually, after a good two minutes of standing in the hallway, psyching himself up to go through with it, he powered ahead, forcing past the barrier of discomfort.

"Giggle at the ghostie," he hummed to himself. "Guffaw at the ghostly."

knock knock knock

The raps seemed to reverberate as the silence pressed on, and he felt his throat tighten a little, tensing as he awaited either a response or just nothing at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Footsteps.

He tried to breathe a sigh of relief as she approach the door, but the sound made his nerves tingle even worse than they had before. It was too late to back out now though, and he winced as the door opened, and Pumpkin appeared in the doorframe. She sighed and glared at him.

"Yeah?"

The dismissive statement cut deep. Not a hello. Not a twinge of joy or regret or nostalgia in her tone. Just...irritation? Displeasure? He didn't want to think about it.

"Can I come in?" he asked, licking his dry lips. "I want to talk to you." He waited for a second, dreading the prospect of her simply turning him away. "Please?"

With a deep breath, she nodded and turned back into her room, leaving the door open for him. Pound swallowed and entered after her, closing the door after himself. Her room was just about as he remembered it, with signed posters of uncle Cheese and his old tour dates, as well as a number of stacks of comics on the shelves. It looked like it should, like her room. Pumpkin didn't look like she belonged here, though.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly, sitting on her bed. Pound opted to stand.

"Just to chat," he started, swinging his arms back and forth uselessly at his sides. "It's been a while, you know? Been a while since I've been in here too." He glanced around and forced himself to smile. "Feels like a lifetime, doesn't it, Red?"

"Don't call me that," she spurned, her face souring. He blinked, taken aback by her resistance to her nickname.

"Why not?"

"You've already tainted enough, don't take that away from me too."

"Tainted?" Pound let out a soft sigh. "Red...I mean, sis, l...we...need to talk about what happened."

"I'd rather not."

"We can't go on like this," he insisted, his voice cracking with desperation. She either couldn't or wouldn't respond to that, and instead remained silent. "I hate this. I hate what we've become. I hate that you hate this. I hate that I can't even talk to you any more." He rubbed his face with his hands. "It all started because of what we did. It was weird, and wrong, and disgusting. I feel...sick. Awful. I feel..." He paused, trying to find appropriate words to get his message across, and Pumpkin snorted.

"Good to know you feel bad that we've caused a divide and that your solution is to come to my room and talk to me about your feelings."

Pound let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I just want things to go back to how they were."

"Back?" she asked, incredulously. "Yeah, let's just undo everything that happened. Maybe we can grab one of Twilight's time spells and just change the past!" She scoffed and adjusted herself on the bed. "What's done is done, Pound. Let's just move on. I don't want to dwell on it."

"So we just...what? Ignore each other forever? Disregard the times we spent together? Throw away everything we had?"

"That's already been thrown away."

"Nineteen years?!" he asked, astounded. "Nineteen years of us just thrown away because of one night? An hour or two?"

"One night?!" Pumpkin seethed, and her glare forced Pound back a couple of steps. She was turning red with rage, the colour on her face exceeding that of her hair within seconds. "You think this is about how long it took?! Do you even remember what happened? What we did?" She looked at him in disgust. "It wasn't some cute little childhood memory, Pound! It wasn't just us laying in a bed naked, or taking a bath together, like the childhood photos mum and dad have! It wasn't cute and innocent and something we can be embarrassed about together when mum and dad show dinner guests! What we did was feral and vicious! It was passionate! It was something we never should've done! We crossed a line, Pound!"

Her voice assaulted his ears, even as she kept her volume low to avoid alerting their parents. The sheer contempt, the disdain saturating her words and tone, ripped into him with more fierceness than any Timberwolf could ever hope to match. His throat was dry once again.

"We stopped being siblings when we did...that." Her face wrinkled as she spat the last word. "That's not what siblings do. How can you think that we can ever wash that away? That we can just have a little talk about how it made us feel and we can hug it out? That you'll say your piece and I'll patiently wait my turn, and then I'll say my piece, and we'll walk away feeling better because we were honest and open, and follow some conflict resolution procedure to make it all seem normal?"

"Well, what are we meant to do?" he asked, the words struggling to make their way from his mouth. It was like he'd chewed on sawdust. Pumpkin shook her head and stayed silent for long enough that he wondered if she'd just finished the conversation then and there.

"What we had, that's gone," she told him, and his heart dropped. "Us playing together, being confidants and friends and whatever else, that's something we used to have. That's what we were. For your sake, keep all of that in the past. Keep everything we had safe from what we've done." She looked at him with pained eyes, and he took a ragged breath in. "I can't be 'Red' or your sis any more. Not after what happened. Not after what you did."

"What I did?" Pound questioned, his hurt bubbling up. It had sat, cold and weighty, deep down for some time. Now, her words were thawing it, and like a spring, it was bubbling to the surface from where it was buried. He couldn't stop it. "What I did? You think this is all on me?"

"Of course it's all on you," she spat back. "You got drunk, you took a random girl up to a bedroom without checking who she was, and you caused all of this!"

"And you did nothing wrong?" He glared back at her, holding her gaze defiantly.

"It wasn't me who started it," she snapped. "You approached me, remember?"

"And you were far too enamoured gushing about the costume," he reminded her bluntly. "You were so swept up that someone shared your interest that you just went along with the first guy to talk to you. Let me guess; you were hoping someone would come over and tell you how great your costume looked? Is that why you put all that effort into it? You wanted the attention? Well guess what, Pumpkin - you got it!" From the flustered look on her face, he knew he'd struck close to home.

"How dare you?!" She stood up and clenched her fists, balling her hands up tight. "You think you're so high and mighty? I was the first one to know about Venus, remember? I was the one you came to to talk about how you felt about her! You thought she was the best thing in the world because she actually paid you any attention, and now you're judging me for wanting to feel valued?"

"By sleeping around?" he shot back. "Yeah, I'm sure you feel valued having people yank your hair and bending you over to use. I'm sure they see you as an amazing human being, and not some cheap sex toy."

"Shut the fuck up!" she hissed, stepping up to him, her rage radiating from her face. "You shut your damn mouth, right now!" She went to bark something further at him, but her temper stopped her from forming sentences, and she stomped back to her bed, sitting down heavily on it. "You don't get to say anything about what I want or need! Not after how you acted! Why is it okay for you to throw yourself at the first woman to make you feel special, but I'm expected to stay pure and innocent?"

"Because I don't blame them for what I've done!"

She laughed harshly, a sound which sent a chilling doubt through the man. "You don't?" she asked, shooting him a scathing expression of skepticism. "You don't think Venus is a cheating whore? A stupid bitch who's used you?" He tried to formulate a rebuttal, but he could only stammer, and she pressed on. "You seem eager to run back to her every time she suggests that she wants you. I don't see you taking the moral high ground then."

"She's not my sister!" he blurted out. "I'm not throwing myself at my sister!"

"And I wasn't throwing myself at my brother!"

"And that's the problem, is it?" As soon as he'd said it, Pound realised the poor choice of words, and backpedaled. Pumpkin's look of disgust was probably mirrored by his own. "Not what I meant! You...back at the party, I could've been anyone. You assumed it was anyone but me. You're upset because it was me, not because someone decided to take you upstairs and maybe never talk to you again afterwards."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she demanded. Pound felt his anger flare up at her disregard.

"This entire situation started because you decided to be a slut!" Her face scrunched into rage, and he pressed on before she could get her words out. "You should be unhappy because someone saw you and decided you'd be a good lay for the night, because they didn't think you were more important than a one night stand, but you aren't! You're fine with that, by your own admission! You're fine with being a slut! But I'm getting all this shit from you because I decided to have the same lack of standards that you did! Because I was the one unlucky enough to pick you up for the night!"

"Get out of my room," she growled, standing up.

"You're expecting me to take the blame because you couldn't keep your legs closed!"

"Get out of my room!" she screamed, shoving him backwards. "Get out of my room, you total asshole!" Her hands struck at his arms and his back, the girl swinging ineffectually in her fury. The boy stumbled back and pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway to escape her barrage. The door was slammed shut behind him.

The house was oddly silent in the wake of her outburst. It was a weird contrast to the swirl of emotions in his head. Plodding back to his own room, he shut the door, headed for the loose floorboard, and retrieved a bottle of bourbon. Unscrewing the cap, he slumped down onto the floor and let out a low groan.

"Hey," he spoke up, taking a swig of the drink. "Reflection? Are you free to talk?"





The days grew colder and darker, and appropriately, Pound saw less and less of Pumpkin. He tried to avoid her as much as she tried to avoid him, and one of them volunteered for tasks that would keep them as far apart as possible. He didn't try to say hi to her anymore. His greetings and long, deep conversations were reserved for his drink and his confidant.

"Sounds like she wanted to have her cake and eat it too," Reflection told him, pulling at the bottle of vodka he'd chosen for today. "She wanted to sleep around but not take any responsibility for what might happen. Isn't one of the things you learn in school the ways to stay safe?"

"As far as I can remember," Pound hiccuped. "We were always told to take as many precautions as we could, and the risk of STD's and all that..." He lost his train of thought momentarily, burped, and then continued. "She just...she wanted to find someone who she could sleep with and forget about, but somehow it's my fault that she got exactly what she wanted, only to find out she couldn't just ignore the guy she slept with?"

"That's on her," Reflection answered, rubbing his temple with his free hand. "You can't account for everyone else being reckless. Even family."

He was hard pressed to disagree with that, and so they drank. It was comforting, if only moderately, and usually very temporarily. Still, it was the only thing getting him through the days. It gave him a way to understand his situation, and as long as he could hold on to that, he could make it through until the evening. Then he'd have another chat with Reflection, and the cycle would begin again.

It was such a successful process and did such a good job at insulating him from everything outside of his immediate perception that Hearth's Warming entirely crept up on him. He woke up one day, and it was a celebration. The shops were closed, the snow lay thick on the ground outside, and children were running around playing and shouting. It was a weird disconnect, but Pound tried to shove it aside. He'd gotten good at doing that in the past few weeks.

The morning and afternoon was actually fairly pleasant. It didn't feel like any Hearth's Warming that had come previously. Everything was the same; the gifts, the songs, the hot chocolate and the decorations. In spite of all of that, it lacked a certain spark, a warmth that had been so omnipresent every year prior. Pound went through the motions, of course - he unwrapped his presents, smiled and thanked everyone in turn, and shared in the jokes and the joviality of the day. He didn't even have anything in particular to complain about, other than that it felt unnaturally subdued. The morning coffee was burned, of course. He could see Pumpkin grimace, and his parents produced another batch when he went to the toilet, thinking he wouldn't notice. He heard the whole thing.

His mood worsened at dinner. Auntie Pinkie and Uncle Cheese had to leave to attend Princess Twilight's Hearth's Warming dinner, and they wished their farewells and pulled Little Cheese along with them. That left him, Pumpkin, and his parents. All of them, for the first time in a while, sat around a table. Pound poured himself a glass of wine, ignoring the side-eye from his dad. His mum didn't notice, so he could afford to carry on.

Pumpkin didn't talk to him, or even look at him. He tried not to look at her. For the most part, it worked, both of them sharing conversation with Carrot and Cup enough that there seemed to be overlap without either of them having to exchange words. Carrot looked suspicious at their relative silence, but didn't say anything.

Pound was pouring out his third glass of wine when his mum spoke up. "Darling, how about you offer some to your sister?" The teenager froze, glancing over to his mother. She was looking at him expectantly, gesturing with her eyes to the other woman at the table. Of course she'd say that - she'd always instilled the qualities of sharing and when they were young, and he'd taken two refills before Pumpkin had even had her first drink. Holding in his sigh, he nodded and stood up, edging his way around the table. His sister's eyes didn't meet his, but she watched him approach her.

"Would you like any wine, Pumpkin?"

"No."

"Okay." He went to sit down, but Cup stopped him.

"Sweetie, it's okay to have a glass," she assured the younger woman.

"I'm fine."

"But you haven't touched it yet." Their mother laughed a little, sweetly pushing aside the dismissal. "It goes well with the dinner. How about you try some?"

"I don't want to," the teen girl answered, sighing in frustration. Pound winced, noting the weight in her exhalation.

"How about just a drop?" Cup bargained, nodding to Pound, who winced again. "Just so you can say you've tried it? We choose it especially for the dinner today. It was a limited edition barrel." She nodded more firmly to Pound, who was now stuck between openly defying his mother, and partaking in provoking Pumpkin. He felt his heart thump harshly in his chest, rising in tempo.

"I really shouldn't," Pumpkin insisted, an underlay of a growl to her voice.

"Honey, it's Hearth's Warming, and-"

"Why can't people just accept a no?!" she shouted, snapping and shoving the bottle away. Pound managed to catch it as it started to slip, spilling only a splash on the floorboards. Carrot and Cup started at her outburst, gawking as the usually demure girl exploded on them. "And why can't you think for yourself instead of going along with everything?!" She glared at Pound who took a step back.

"Hey, I'm just doing what I was asked to do," he protested.

"You were doing what you wanted," she countered, baring her teeth. "Like you always do! You don't care what other people want, or what other people say! It's you first, everyone else second!"

"Pumpkin!" Cup gasped. "What has gotten into you?"

"It doesn't matter if someone else says no, or if you know they don't want it, you go ahead anyway!" she continued, ignoring her mother. "You're selfish, and you never have to live with the consequences of your actions! But some of us do!"

"Pumpkin, that's enough," Carrot tried to intervene, but he was roundly ignored too.

"Oh, give me a break," Pound retorted, narrowing his eyes at her. "You don't say no. That's your problem. You never say no, and then you blame everyone else when everything goes wrong. You don't think things through, and you expect everyone else to bail you out!"

"What has gotten into the two of you?" Cup demanded, casting her eyes between the two siblings.

"And you do?" Pumpkin shot back. "You think you can say no to someone when they tell you what you want to hear?" His jaw clenched, and he felt his restraint slipping. "You'll say yes to anyone and anything that doesn't make you feel like a total loser!"

His restraint fell away completely.

"I didn't hear you say no that night."

The silence hit like a bomb, muting the entire room. She glared at him, bug-eyed and jaw agape, and he glared at her, staring at her until it felt like one or both of them would spontaneously combust.

Then she was screaming, trying to grab at him, to claw at any part of him she could reach. The frantic, chaotic noise didn't seem any different to the silence that had preceded it, at least not to Pound. It was the same battering carnage he always felt, no matter how it was expressed. It didn't matter if everyone was chatting politely, or staying silent, or yelling and hollering. It was all the same.

"Enough! ENOUGH!" Carrot roared, struggling to hold back Pumpkin. She was manic, spittle dabbed across her lips and chin, and she wriggled and writhed, trying to get at Pound and tear him into pieces. "You're going to explain what's going on, right this second!" He glared at both of them. "This has gone on long enough! I've had it with both of you!"

"I'd like to hear an explanation too," Pound challenged, scowling at the girl as her pulling and twisting petered off. "What's gotten into you? Why are you like this? Why are you acting like such a possessed bitch?!"

"Pound, that's enough!" Cup warned him, her face a mask of confusion and hurt.

"BECAUSE YOU KNOCKED ME UP, YOU STUPID BASTARD!"

For the second time, the room fell into absolute silence, and this time, Pound felt it. It hit him like a blast wave, a rush of heat followed by an icy embrace. Time stopped, and the weight seemed to fall from all of his body. He started to sway, his legs worryingly unresponsive, and when he raised an arm to rest it on the chair to steady himself, it was sluggish. He barely registered Pumpkin running from the room, sprinting up the stairs, and slamming her door shut. The sounds around him were coming at him from far away, and he couldn't react to them. He couldn't process them.

He walked, somehow. His parents were talking to him, demanding to know things. He couldn't respond, even if he wanted to. He trudged, foot in front of foot, until he'd scaled the stairs and found his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It took him a few minutes to realise he still had the bottle of wine in his hand from downstairs. Staring at it momentarily, he upturned it, taking a long, hard pull.

"Reflection," he gasped, coughing and spluttering, and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I need you again."
> New Year's
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When life started to level out, and being low became the norm to the extent that Pound started to feel the comfort of familiarity, something shook that foundation and dragged him to a new low. First his affair with Venus, then the accidental hookup with his sister, and then the degradation of their relationship to something less than friends. And now, after all that, he was here. Rock bottom.

Between him and Pumpkin, their parents had interrogated the full story from them. There was no hiding the secret, not after the fight and the outburst, and as he'd feared, their family had been pulled apart. The usual lustrous glow of their home had dimmed, and their conversations were sombre and resigned. Upon hearing what had happened at the Nightmare Night party, Carrot had forbidden either of his children from attending any events, and had, as an extra measure, decided to empty the entire house of alcohol. Pound had had to sacrifice a crate of beer, but the rest of his stash had remained undiscovered and untouched.

"You need to sort yourself out," his dad had said, looking haggard and weary as he carried the beer away. "You aren't just unpleasant when you drink, you're thoroughly irresponsible, and it's going to be the death of us." That had been the last time they'd spoken properly in five days, and he'd barely left his room in all that time. Even helping in the kitchen had been a strain, so he'd only been asked to help during the rush hours. The rest of the time, he spent in his room, talking to Reflection.

As far as he could tell, Pumpkin was in the same position as him. On the odd occasions he'd passed by her room, he'd sometimes hear her crying. Once, she'd exited the bathroom as he'd approached, and she froze, looking like she was about to say something, but just wiped her puffy eyes and strode past him. He didn't stop her.

In the evenings, his parents argued. It hadn't started that way; it'd initially been urgent conversation whenever no one else was around, and he'd sometimes stumble across them mid-flow. They'd always stop when he walked in the room, and it was too awkward to stick around to hopefully prevent anything escalating. After the first couple of days, the rows had started, and even his presence didn't halt it. He shouldn't have been able to feel any more crushed, but somehow, seeing them rant and howl at each other, the most energy he'd seen from either of them that month, their faces filled with more colour than they had in years, that hit him harder.

"I never should've got out of bed," Pound murmured, finishing the last of the bottle of cider. It was a reserve from Sweet Apple Acres, and he'd been saving it for a special occasion. He didn't see any off those coming any time soon, so he'd downed it. It had tasted good, but he hadn't enjoyed it. Not the way he should've. "Nightmare Night, I mean. I should've just slept in all day, and let everything happen without me."

"That's...not untrue," Reflection answered, his tone less sure than normal. Pound didn't know why, but his confidant was less assuring recently. The last few days had seen a dramatic decrease in how well he set the young man's mind at ease. He never said anything wrong and he always took Pound's side, but he didn't have that confidence, that charisma that Pound had liked so much.

"Any words of wisdom?" the teen asked, moving over to the floorboard behind his cabinet. He lost sight of his friend for the time he was there, and it wasn't until he returned, bottle of port in hand, that Reflection spoke.

"Not really," he answered, noncommittally. "Life sucks, I guess."

"Yeah," Pound sighed, sitting down again. Reflection joined him, sitting opposite, leaning against an identical bed. "It does. You'd think it wouldn't, that something would go right, but just everything seems to suck. My first crush, my friendships, my relationship with my family, my mental health - no offence Reflection, you're great - and even fatherhood." He grimaced at the thought. "Everything is just so screwed up. Life couldn't throw me a bone?"

"You haven't had a bad life," Reflection noted. "You've got a loving family-"

"Who's turning against one another and falling ill," Pound cut in.

"-some great friends-"

"With whom I can't talk honestly or else they'll abandon me."

"-a pretty good social life-"

"That I can't access any more."

"-a stable job-"

"That I can't perform any more because I'm a wreck."

"-and you live in a great part of the country."

"In a close-knit community that's starting to notice I'm acting strange."

Reflection frowned. "Not everything's good, but you did have a good life. You never had to complain back then. You had everything you wanted; freedom, opportunity, a loving family, friends, all that good stuff."

"Yeah, had," Pound retorted, getting ready to open the bottle. He stopped when he noticed Reflection looking at him with a dour gaze. "What?" There was a long pause, and the other man sighed.

"Can I be real with you? I'm gonna be real with you." He sat up straighter, and leaned forward a little, resting his hands together. Pound had never seen him look so sincere. "You've got plenty of things going wrong in your life right now. You've got Venus, your parents, your sister, your friends, your work, your social life. What's the common link there?"

"Uh...they're all...they're all happening to me?" Pound chanced. Reflection wobbled a flat hand, indicating sort of.

"Reframe it."

"Um...they're all my life?"

"Exactly. It's all to do with you. You're the common link here."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's start with a simple example," Reflection suggested, holding up a bottle of port. "What have you been doing for the last couple of months, aside from drinking and avoiding your family?" He waited for an answer, but Pound didn't have one. "And why have you been doing that?"

"Because I felt bad."

"And did drinking make you feel better?"

"Yes."

"Did it?"

Pound went to answer, but found himself stopping. He cast his mind back, thinking about the repetitive cycle he'd gone through, the dreary drag that his life had become, with the sole consolation being more drink at the end of the day. "It...it helped me through the day, but it didn't solve the problem. It just covered it."

"Yeah. It just distracted you. You became reliant on it, and others noticed. Your dad wasn't happy with you, was he? It didn't help your relationship with him, and it certainly didn't fix any problems with your sister. It didn't help you avoid ruining your morning coffee every day for the last six months, or help you think clearly."

"I guess not."

"And have you thought about that? Have you blamed alcohol for your problems?"

"Well, no," Pound answered. "Why would I?"

"It's a problem. But you're not blaming it. You're blaming everything else that's wrong in your life, but not that. Why? Because it brings you temporary comfort?" Reflection set his bottle of port down by his side. "Just like how you didn't blame yourself for anything else that you enjoyed, even if what you enjoyed was harmful or bad. You didn't blame yourself for sleeping with Venus, or going out partying and getting so drunk you didn't even realised you'd hooked up with your sister. You didn't blame yourself for neglecting to use protection and getting her pregnant. You haven't blamed yourself for any of that."

"That's different," the teenager protested. "Most of that was fine, and it just turned out poorly, and it was someone else's fault besides."

"Oh, sure," Reflection scoffed. Pound frowned at the tone. "Venus forced you to sleep with her, huh? She raped you, did she?" He waited for the rhetorical question to sink in, then continued. "And I guess she forced you into alcohol dependency as a coping mechanism for the shitty things you did together? Or that she forced you to take Pumpkin to bed, or to find any random girl? That was her fault, was it?"

"Kind of," Pound answered, but his belief in his own innocence was starting to fade. "She made me feel that way...she manipulated me..."

"And you knew she was doing that," Reflection countered. "You knew, but you persisted, because it was easier than doing the right thing. You fell into drink because it was a convenient escape from the guilt. You didn't even stop to think about who it might be under that costume, or who you'd spent the night with. What if it'd been someone else? What if it'd been a random girl who you'd never seen again? Would've you have stopped to wonder? Would you have tried to find out and help raise a child you created? Or would you have dumped that responsibility entirely onto her and happily gone about your life, partying and drinking and hooking up with people because someone else made you feel sad?"

The teen stared at the floor, the words sinking into him as sharp as daggers. It hurt, but it made him feel more awake than he'd felt in weeks. It was like he was starting to wake from a dream, or coming up from anesthesia.

"You didn't stop to think what would happen if something went wrong, or even if what you were doing was bad," Reflection carried on, unabated. "And even on the odd occasions you did, you dismissed it and comforted yourself like you were some sort of victim. You lived a perfectly happy life without any consequences, and you took it all for granted because you were lucky and had a smooth run right up until now, and when it all starts to come crashing down, all you can do is drown in pity because you think life has been so cruel and so unfair. Guess what? Life is a bank. You take out a loan to stay afloat, you have to pay it back in. You've taken out one hell of a loan, Pound Cake. And right now, the sharks are knocking on your door."

"What the hell do I do?" Pound whispered to himself, distress washing over him. In spite of how quiet his voice was, Reflection answered him.

"You take some responsibility. You pay back what you owe. You make amends. You fix this mess, because no one is going to fix it for you, and they shouldn't have to."

"But what about everyone else?" he questioned, looking up to address the other man. "Sure, Venus didn't force me to drink, or...or do the other things I did, but I didn't force her to cheat on Brick! Who's gonna make her pay what she owes? She's gotten away with far more than I have!"

"Let's take this one at a time," Reflection halted him, holding up his hand. "One, you don't wait for everyone else to get their just desserts before you start rectifying your own actions. That's pushing the blame. Two, you choose to not get involved in their schemes and ploys, and you don't have to worry about fixing anything you help them do. Three, you can't control other people action's and decisions, only your own. You choose how to react to people. Choose to be better. And four, that's for you to decide, but remember this; life finds a way. No one put you in this position. It all just fell into place. The same happens for everyone else."

"Right," Pound agreed, breathing out a sigh. It felt like he was releasing something heavy inside him. "Yeah, okay. I can do this. I need to fix what I've done. I can do that." He paused, and frowned. "How the fuck can I do that?" Reflection laughed at his confusion, and the teen glared.

"Methodically," he answered. "You owe Pumpkin, you owe your parents, and you owe Brick. I think there's a way to solve two of those in one fell swoop."

"How?"

Across from him, Reflection picked up the bottle of port and lifted it up. "Remember what your dad said? And remember how Brick spotted you beers on Nightmare Night?"

"Yeah..." Pound answered, glancing at the port in his hand. "Yeah. I do." He turned his eyes to the cabinet, visualising the floorboard behind it. "All of it?"

"All of it."

"Yeah, I can do that." The teen swept back his hair and checked his watch for the time; 22:37. He had time to make the delivery. "Where do you reckon he'll be?"

"Where do you think?" Reflection answered, a grin crossing his face. The other man groaned.

"Can you stop being so cryptic?"

"Hey, that's my job. I have to be poetic about it. Besides, you're thinking exactly the same thing as me. If I know it, you know it too."

"You reckon he's there?"

"I'd say so. Everyone was invited, even you." His grin turned a little nervous, but Reflection persisted in his smile anyway. "If you want to go back to how things were, you've got to go back to where the problems started."





It hadn't taken long for Pound to fit the drinks into a plastic bag, pull on a winter coat, and slip out of his bedroom window. What had taken him a little while was figuring out how to climb safely down the side of Sugarcube Corner. He thought about jumping down, but even a bottle of hard cider in, he didn't feel like taking the risk, especially not if he wanted the bottles to remain in tact. Luckily for him, the building was designed in such a way that he could find footholds and ease himself down, carefully inching closer to the ground. After five minutes, he glanced down, figured he was close enough, and leaped. It was a textbook success, which was a good start. In spite of himself, he grinned, feeling the excitement and adrenaline course through him. It was an adventure, at least.

He reached Pipsqueak's house just before eleven o'clock, the flash of lights and the music inside keeping him company as he knocked at the door and waited. A few minutes later, the host opened the door, welcoming Pound inside and asking him a few polite passing questions. Pound gave some standard responses, wished Pip all the best for the new year, and began his search for the person he'd come here to find.

It only took five minutes to scout out the house, and it was when he was passing through the kitchen that Brick came in from the garden, stubbing out the remains of a cigarette into an ashtray. Pound noticed him first and waved, catching the broad man's attention.

"Hey, bro!" Brick greeted, grinning and pulling his smaller friend into a crushing hug. "I haven't seen you in weeks, what's been up with that?"

"Yeah, I know, right?" Pound answered, massaging his ribs and wincing once he was free from the grip. "I've been dealing with a few issues."

"Well, now that's done, you can party," the large lad answered with a grin. "There's still some beers in the fridge."

"Not tonight," Pound told him, shaking his head. Brick looked at him in surprise. "I just stopped by to give you this." He held up the plastic bag, passing it to Brick, who glanced inside. Seeing the bottles, he whistled, and looked back to Pound.

"For me?" he asked, smiling when the smaller teen nodded in affirmation. "You aren't gonna drink any of these? These are some high quality drinks. I don't want to take all of them off your hands."

"New Year's resolution. I'm giving up drink."

"Completely?" 

"Maybe not completely, but I'm definitely cutting a lot of it out my life. It's been bad for my health, and I don't like how it influenced me, so it's the smartest thing to do, I think."

"Is that why I haven't seen you in a few weeks?"

"In part, yeah."

"Sorry to hear, my man. Hope you're on the mend." He looked into the bag again, spying out some particularly tasty looking liquors. "This is really good of you, bro. You're awesome." He held out a hand for Pound to slap, which he did. "You're an awesome friend."

"No, I'm not," Pound lamented, partly restraining his sigh. Brick quirked an eyebrow, and the brown haired teen pressed on. "I haven't been a good friend lately, but I'm going to be. That's the start of it." He nodded to the bag. "I'm gonna try being a better person in a lot of ways. Do me a favour and slam back a beer for me at midnight, yeah?"

"Anything for you, my man."

"Happy New Year, Brick."

"Happy New Year, bro."

They shared a quick hug and a pat on the back, and Pound turned to head back through the partygoers, heading for the stairs. He had one more thing to do before he left, and he was sure he'd find it upstairs. On the first landing, he glanced to one of the doors and knocked, testing to see if there was anyone inside, and, hearing no response, opened it up. The bathroom was empty, and he slipped inside, shutting it behind him.

Fifteen seconds later, he heard a knock, and called out to tell them the bathroom was occupied. Nevertheless, the door opened, and Pound turned to find himself face-to-face with Venus Trap. The svelte woman smiled in a way that was all too saccharine and closed the door behind her.

"Oh, sorry," she spoke up, her tone sickeningly innocent. "I didn't realise there was someone else in here."

"Didn't you?" Pound asked, tugging his belt tight. "I must've been too quiet when I answered the knock."

"I forgive you." She walked a little closer as he flushed the toilet, her eyes running up and down his body. "Say, isn't this the same bathroom I found you in before? The one from Nightmare Night?"

"Looks like it."

"Wow," she cooed. "What a coincidence. The next time we run into each other, it's in the same place as before. The same place we had so much fun."

"As I recall, you had your fun, then left me to tend to myself."

"Did I?" she asked, pouting. "I can't remember. It was so long ago, and I haven't seen you in all that time. Little old me forgets, sometimes. But I'm sure that if I did do anything so careless, I can more than make it up to you now." She bit her lip and lidded her eyes. "How about a quickie?" she whispered, stepping closer. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"I thought you said you didn't remember?"

She shrugged and smiled at him, leaving her answer as nonverbal. Pound hummed at that.

"Well, you haven't blown me in quite a while-"

"Such language, Pound Cake," she gasped, placing a hand on her chest in faux-shock. "Such vulgar words."

"Maybe I've had a stressful week. Maybe I miss the times you used to suck me off behind the school, or when we fucked on the sofa while your parents were away on that ski trip."

"Oh? Getting some ideas?"

"For a bathroom?" he snorted. "Nah. How about you bend over, let me show you a good time, babe."

"I don't just bend over, Pound. I require some love first."

"You'll get your love," he assured her. "I know what you like. We do it enough, after all." She purred at that, loud enough to fill the room.

"You're such a naughty one."

"You're one to talk. Your boyfriend's downstairs right now, and you're in here with me. It's New Year's Eve, and you're getting ready to cheat on your boyfriend with his best friend in a bathroom at a house party."

"Harmless fun."

"Harmless for who?"

She quirked an eyebrow at that, and he smirked. She dismissed his comment, and ran a hand down his chest.

"So, what do you plan to do first, Pound Cake?"

"I would say something new, but we've done a lot. I don't think we've done anal, though. Pretty much the only thing."

"That can be next time." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body to his, and closed the gap between their faces. Their lips drew near.

"No, it can't."

She balked as he pulled back, shoving her away from their embrace. She was at a loss for words as he picked his phone up from atop the cistern.

"Hey!" she complained at last, scowling at him. "What are you doing?"

"Rejecting you," he answered, simply. "You and me, we're done. We're never hooking up again. You thought you could be clever, you thought you could have every guy you wanted without devoting yourself to any of them, and you didn't care how much you hurt them. You thought you could lure me in, worm your way into my heart, and keep me on a leash simply because I was an awestruck kid when you started. It worked, and for the last couple of years, I've been at your beck and call. I've helped you cheat on Brick Wall because I was too weak to stand up to you and tell you no. But now I've found the courage to actually do it, and more than that, I'm not letting you hurt him ever again."

The shock on her face was a novelty, and it was almost delicious. It was perhaps the sweetest thing he'd ever seen, and certainly the most sincere. As his speech wore on, however, her countenance morphed back into its familiar, sickly confidence, and when he finished, she was smirking again.

"You're an idiot," she told him, smugly. "You haven't achieved anything. You're not getting any more of me-"

"That's the idea, dumbass."

"Um, I'm talking," she told him, a drop of venom hissing in the last word. Collecting herself, she continued. "You're never going to have fun with me ever again, Pound Cake, and you don't exactly have girls falling at your feet. Me? I have guys lining up to date me, or tend to my every need. I can get what I want whenever I want, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." She smiled mockingly at him. "I'm sorry to ruin your power fantasy, sweetheart, but I'm the cute girl next door everyone loves, and you're some semi-popular kid from a bakery. No one will ever believe you if you say I've been cheating on Brick for the entire time we've been together, and if you try?" There was a flash of something very sinister in her expression. "I can always say you forced yourself on me. It's a party, and I've been drinking. Maybe I'm suggestible. Maybe you got aggressive when I tried to say no." She glowered at him. "You have nothing on me. You are nothing without me."

"Done?" The question seemed to catch her off-guard, and she blinked in confusion. "Cool. Anyway, I imagine that was a contingency plan you've had stored up for a while, or maybe you're just such a sociopath that you can come up with evil shit like that on the fly. Doesn't really matter, because you might be a strategist when it comes to using other people as pawns, but I'm playing 4D chess right here, and I'm about to knock your little Schrodinger's faithful girlfriend/cheating whore plan right out of the park."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Wikipedia it," Pound answered, shrugging. "It's funny if you get it. What I'm trying to say is that you're right about a couple of things; I don't have girls just falling at my feet, and you can lie to anyone about anything. However, I'm not stupid. I'm many things, but not stupid. You're not the only one who can manipulate people, Venus. I've known you for more than two years, and I've grown used to your tricks. I know what you do, how you play. I knew you'd threaten me. I knew that I could never convince people to believe me over whatever sob story you'd cook up. I also know that Brick can survive without you, because he's a great guy and there are plenty of girls who would be lucky to have him. You don't deserve him, and he definitely deserves better than you. He can survive without you, but can you survive without him? What about if everyone knows what you're like behind closed doors?"

"But they don't," Venus sighed, apparently frustrated with his lack of understanding on that point. "You said it yourself. No one would believe you, and there's no one here except me and you. Even if you run outside now and tell the entire house, I'll deny it. I'll tell Brick you tried to force yourself on me, and you'll lose him as a friend and earn the everlasting contempt of the entire town."

"So you're saying that, right now, at Pipsqueak's house party on New Year's Eve, you'd actively lie to your boyfriend, Brick Wall, about me forcing myself on you, when in actuality, you were the one who tried to sleep with me? And you couldn't stand rejection, because no one you've ever cheated on him with has ever said no?"

"You think I can't? Or that I won't." She leaned in close, and Pound smiled.

"I think you won't." He held up his phone, and she glanced at the screen.

Recording: 00:09:13

Her face went pale, and in the time it took her to decide on a course of action, Pound had saved the recording and slipped it into his pocket.

"You try to wrestle the phone from me, I'll knock you to the ground," he growled at her, and she swallowed. "I swear to the Two Sisters you will not stop seeing stars for a week."

"You bastard," she hissed. "You total bastard."

"Yeah, keep talking dirty to me, babe," he taunted, reaching for the door handle. "I wonder what Brick will have to say about this?"

"NO!" She grabbed his leg. "Please, you can't show this to anyone! Please!" Her lip started to wobble, and her eyes moistened. "Please, don't show anyone! I'll do anything! You said you wanted to try anal? We could try it here, right now!" He yanked his leg away from her, feeling, for the first time in his life, genuinely repulsed by her.

"You'll do anything?" he asked, and she nodded, tears starting to fall down her cheeks, gorging ugly crevices through her makeup. "You're going to stop cheating. Not just on Brick, but on anyone. If any guy or girl ever approaches you again, you're going to reject them politely and without any obscurity. You're going to stop sleeping around." She nodded again, frantically jerking her head up and down.

I could destroy her, he realised. A less conscientious man would. After everything she'd done, it was only fair, right? He could demand anything from her, and she'd have to give it. Money, food, nudes. His mind wandered back to her offer of anal, and he briefly imagined just what faces she'd make.

Then he blinked, and the desire was gone. He felt the shame rush in to fill the void where his vindictiveness had started to take hold. What the fuck? he asked himself. He wasn't a less conscientious man, thank the Sisters. He forced the thoughts to the back of his mind, hoping to never visit them again.

"I'll be making sure you're faithful to him," Pound warned her. "Do that, and I'll never let anyone know what happened. But if you start to stray even for half a second..." He left the threat unfinished, and opened the bathroom door. Walking outside onto the landing, he felt one final strand of vindictiveness take hold of him. "I'm sorry, but ten bits for a blowie just isn't worth it," he called back over his shoulder, loud enough for anyone on the same floor to hear him. A few heads turned. "Not when your mum offers the three-hole-special for the same price." Grinning to himself, he headed down the stairs again to a burst of laughter, his business entirely concluded.





Fifteen minutes until the new year. Pound spread his knees out. Normally, he'd have a bottle in his hand and be surrounded by his friends. Maybe it was better this way. Did he really deserve any more? At least it was a beautiful night, as cold as it was. The chill made him feel more awake, and he liked that. It was feeling something good, something real. He felt a lot better than he had in weeks. Not perfect, but better. And maybe better was alright for now. A journey of a thousand miles began with a single step. He looked up at the inky canopy above, speckled with the bright white dots of stars and the glaring light of the moon, and let out a deep breath. The wisps floated upwards to disperse, a dissipating cloud among the cloudless night. It was peaceful.

"Hey."

The voice brought a different chill to him, one which cut straight through his jacket and bit at him directly. He let out a few breaths, no longer at peace.

"Hey," he replied eventually, glancing at the figure to his side. "I didn't expect to see you out here tonight. Or to see you tonight at all."

"I figured I'd play the nosy sister and follow you," she informed him, taking a seat beside him. The snow crunched beneath her as she sat down.

"How did you know I was going out?"

"You're not a master of parkour," she answered, chuckling. There was a slight restraint to her voice, and he wondered how long ago it had been since she'd cried. "I saw you bumbling your way down the side of the house, and I gave it a go myself, figured it'd be easier than you made it look."

"Was it?"

"Really easy."

"Figures." They shared a short chuckle together, and then spent a couple more seconds in silence.

"I followed you to Pipsqueak's party. I thought you were going to just party the night away, that you'd fully lost control, so I followed you in to try and drag you out." She paused, and glanced sideways at him. "I heard what you said to Brick. About giving up drinking, trying to be a better person. I saw Venus follow you to the bathroom, and I don't know what you said to her, but it clearly worked." She snorted. "And three-hole-special?"

"Did you like it?" he asked, feeling a smile tug at his cheek.

"I was laughing my ass off," she told him. He looked at her fully, and she was actually smiling. Her eyes were red, but she was genuinely smiling. "And, you know, the whole you standing up to her thing? That was brave of you. I don't know what you did, but I assume you got closure?"

"Recorded her trying to seduce me and got her to admit that she was willing to cheat on anyone and everyone and that she'd lie to protect that lifestyle," Pound summarised. Pumpkin looked impressed.

"Can I hear?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"I made a promise," he told her. "I wouldn't share it with anyone if she stayed on the straight and narrow. No more hurting Brick, and I don't hurt her."

"Man of principle all of a sudden?"

"New Year's resolution."

She snorted, amused. It didn't sound condescending, but approving. Another silence followed, this one longer.

"That's everyone sorted, then."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, and sighed. "No. Not everyone." Opening his eyes, he turned his body to face her, fully. "Not us." He shifted in place waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. He bit his tongue, feeling a dread building up inside him again. "I don't want it to go like last time, so...well, I won't ask you to not yell at me or tell me I'm an asshole, but I'm going to keep it civil. If you can do the same, I'd really like that." She nodded, and he glanced up at the sky again, searching for words.

"I was an asshole," he began, opening with the broadest statement. "I had everything I wanted in life and more, and I didn't appreciate it. Not really. I took it all for granted, and I acted like a spoiled brat. I thought that because I acted as mum and dad told me, that I didn't have to do anything more, or think for myself. I thought that if I said thank you and please and complimented people and was generally nice, then that was enough for me to be a good person. I didn't stop to think that maybe I should think for myself about whether something was bad or not. I didn't stop to question if I could have too much of a good thing. As far as I saw it, drinking was good, partying was good, spending all night out with friends was good, so I should just keep doing that. I didn't think about what would happen if I got too drunk and became rowdy and unlikable, or if I stayed out late and worried mum and dad, or if I partied my health and reputation away. And the same was true about sex. I never stopped to think that I could be ruining someone else's relationship, or their life." He glanced at his sister's belly, feeling a twinge of sickness and guilt.

"I didn't stop to consider anyone else, and that cost me greatly. And then, when it all went wrong, I blamed everyone and everything else. It wasn't my fault I was a dishonest and disloyal friend, because the girl was to blame. It wasn't my fault I was being an asshole, it was the alcohol to blame. It wasn't my fault I...I..." He gulped. "...I got someone pregnant, it was her fault for going along with it." He looked into Pumpkin's eyes. "All of it was my fault. Every single thing. Every bit of it." His hands closed around hers, and she didn't pull away. "I am so, so sorry. I don't know if we can ever go back to how we were, or if we're just gonna have to live with this forever, but...I need you to know I'm not the same asshole who put you through all this shit. I know I fucked up, and I'm going to spend every day making up for that."

The young man didn't expect he hug, but he appreciated it anyway, wrapping his arms around her in turn, their heads pressed together softly. All the strain, the guilt, the mess that had infected him more strongly than the worst cold, started to melt away. The simple contact, the acceptance of his remorse, it started to heal him, and he had to fight hard to pull back tears.

"My turn," she murmured into his ear, pulling back to face him again. "Okay, so...good speech. Mayor Mare would be proud." They laughed together at that. "And thank you. To hear you say that, to feel like I have someone I can love and trust back in my life...it's the most important thing I could ever...You don't even know-"

"Take your time," Pound encouraged her, rubbing her shoulder tenderly. She nodded and paused, gathering her thoughts.

"I was an asshole too," she explained. "When you told me I was putting all the blame on you, I exploded. I said some really unfair things, because, while you shouldn't have done what you did, I wasn't innocent. I went along with it. And you were right; I was looking for attention. I did want guys to flirt with me and make me feel special. I jumped at the opportunity to sleep with the first guy to give me compliments, and because of that, I put myself in this position. More than that, I cut you out of my life. I thought back on what you said, about nineteen years thrown away because of that, and...it hurt. It hurt because you hit the nail on the head. You're my best friend, and I could never live without you, but because I was putting all the blame on you, I couldn't stand to look at you. But when I look back, I was being so unreasonable. I was being just as selfish a bitch as you were a stupid asshole. When I saw what you did tonight, what you said, how much you were willing to do...I realised I needed to do the same. I needed to own up to my faults. You gave me the courage to do that. Thank you."

They hugged again. How couldn't they? It felt right to just embrace and share their warmth and love. Together, they could weather any howling storm or frosty night.

"Pound?"

"Yeah, Red?" He froze. "S-sorry, I-"

"Red's fine," she said, pulling back. "We should go back to how things were. You were right about that too. We can't change the past, sure, and we'll always have done what we did, but..."

"But we can choose how to act about it going forwards?" he guessed. She nodded.

"You're still my brother, and I'm still your sis. Even if we did fuck up - really really badly - we fucked up together."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Love you, Red."

"Love you too." She bit her lip. "But, about what I was going to say..." She took a deep breath. "About the...baby..." She took another deep breath, and her eyes started to tear up. "I'm scared. I'm so so scared, Pound. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't know how I'm going to do this on my own, and-"

"Hey, hey!" he cut in, wrapping her up in tight, comforting embrace again. "You are not going to do this alone! You're never going to have to do this alone!" She sniffled and partly buried her head in his chest.

"But mum and dad-"

"Love you," he assured her. "It's just as weird for them as it is for us, but they still love you. They love us both. They're never going to abandon you. Nor am I." He stroked her hair softly. "I'm here to help you, Pumpkin. You're my sister. I'm not gonna abandon you, nor the baby. Not my baby. It's my responsibility, and I'm not running. Not any more."

"Th-thank you." She pulled him tighter, and they held each other close. The seconds passed by, and her breathing returned to normal. Once more, the peace settled over them.

BANG!

The explosion shattered the night, and a flash of red illuminated the ground around them. The twins looked up, spotting the fireworks racing and whizzing into the sky, streaks of orange before they burst into blazing colours. Pound smiled, his hand continuing to stroke Pumpkin's bushy hair.

"Happy New Year, Red," he spoke up, hearing the faint clanging of the clocktower bell in the distance, covered by the cacophony of the fireworks.

"Happy New Year, Pound," she answered him, sitting up. "Do you think we should head back before mum and dad notice we're gone?"

"A bit late for that," he laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Let's stay and enjoy the show." She cuddled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder as the light show continued. It took a good two minutes before it wound down. They stayed still for a little while after that.

"Do you honestly think mum and dad will really come around?" Pumpkin asked, turning to look at Pound once again.

"I do," he answered immediately. "A week ago, it looked like we'd never be back to how we were. What makes you think mum and dad are any different? We're gonna pull this family back together." He slid his hand down to her stomach, smiling softly. "All this family." She returned his smile, and rested her hand atop his.

"Yeah," she agreed, breathing in the cold winter air. "We will." She looked up at the moon, gleaming down benevolently like a watchful protector. Everything seemed peaceful in the still of the early morning.

"We will."