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Tommy Innit got what Tommy Innit wanted. That was a fundamental rule of nature. The sky was blue (except for when it wasn’t), the grass was green (except for when it died), and Tommy did whatever the hell he pleased (except for keeping his discs for some reason). Everyone knew. They had all been swindled or persuaded by Tommy at least once in the past, and not many of them could be bothered to hold it against the kid. Borrowed materials? Whatever, don’t do anything stupid with them. Stolen things? At least it was Tommy who had them and not anyone else on the Prime forsaken server. Unbeknownst to Tommy, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.
Maybe that's why this escapade worked out as well as it did.
Tommy woke up in his little house with the sun beaming through the window and right into his eyes. However, he made the crucial decision to roll over before opening them. This significantly improved what could have been A Shit Day™ for Thomas “Tommy” Careful Danger Kraken Innit, because he woke up to see the cute little wood of his walls and all of his framed photos bathed in golden sun rays. He considered this quite aesthetic, as the kids might say, and it made him feel better about his quiet house for once. The sunshine made a quiet, lonely house feel instead calm and peaceful. He sat up with the beginnings of a sleepy smile on his face, stretching his arms and legs out as far as he could. And he didn’t even get a cramp in his legs after stretching them! He decided then and there that this would be a good day.
Tommy slid boneless off the side of his bed, imagining he was a little gummy worm or perhaps a little deflated balloon as he slithered down to the floor in a heap. He allowed himself a few seconds of dramatic silence before reluctantly pulling himself to his feet. Good day or not, no one likes standing up for the first time in the morning.
Next, he brought himself to his bathroom. He pulled a comb through his bangs, and then when his arms got tired he decided that people will only look at him from the front anyway, so who cares about brushing the back? He put the comb back in its designated little basket beside his sink. He made sure to give his toothbrush a thoughtful pause before shrugging and leaving the room. Now he can at least feel good about having “considered” brushing his teeth. But really, he doesn’t have any tooth-aching cavities, and they don’t look that bad, so he can’t be bothered to do all that. Plus, if his mouth tastes all minty and gross, how can he enjoy food? What if he gets hungry! And no one’s kissing him—despite him being a very big and desirable man—so there’s no one to impress. No one will know. How would they?
Soon Tommy found himself in the kitchen. Now, he knows what you’re thinking—breakfast, big man? The answer is no. He will look around the room, but he knows for a fact he has nothing good in here, and fully intends to go bother Niki or perhaps the only man ever, Philza, until they give him something. However it’s part of the ritual to look around the kitchen and be absolutely positive there is nothing of worth in any cupboards or fridge. Tommy glanced to his small, open pantry, finding nothing of worth save for some potatoes and un-perish-uhbul goods, as his totally loser big brother might call them, because he’s a nerd like that and uses big words no one cares about. Then he checked his cupboards, which he knew were filled with nothing but dishes and some baking supplies he was not entirely sure how to use, but was fairly confident he wouldn’t screw up. Then he opened his fridge, seeing quite literally nothing but eggs, some milk, apples, and what he thinks are leftovers from Technoblade’s last barbecue.
Hmm. Looked the same as usual to him. Guess there’s nothing for him to do! He grabbed an apple to at least tie him over until he could walk to someone’s house, so he doesn’t quite literally keel over and die from hunger pains. As he stared out the window, munching on a green apple that’s too acidic for his liking and taking in the perfect scenery outside, a thought came to him.
It’s a rather picturesque day. Bright sun, blue sky, a light breeze and big green trees that sway with the wind. It reminded Tommy of old childhood days, when it was too hot out to do much other than simply be outside when the air conditioner broke as it often did thanks to Phil’s shoddy redstone skills. On days like these, he often liked nothing more than some chalk to play with, Tubbo to keep him company, and a big glass of Kristin’s homemade watermelon lemonade that he would stab someone for without hesitation.
Lemonade. He wanted lemonade. He wanted it so bad he was ready to… do crimes until he got some.
For a moment he moved to grab his sweater from its hook by the door, ready to walk all the way to Philza’s house until he somehow summoned his wife or coughed up the recipe for her watermelon lemonade himself. He gave a pause when he realized that he wasn’t sure how willing he was to walk into arctic temperatures right now. In fact, that would completely kill his good summer mood. With that plan foiled, he is forced to reroute. Who else does he know that isn’t Philza that can make wonderful food?
Ah, right. Niki. The woman to ever. He was already considering stopping by for breakfast, so he can ask her! She’s super nice. The nicest. The poggest champ. Nodding with determination, he carried himself out the door and on course to Niki Nihachu’s bakery. He hoped it was open. If not, he was perfectly willing to wait outside, or perhaps break in and wait to surprise her. With minimal property damage of course, because Niki didn’t deserve broken windows.
The walk to the bakery takes some time, but not so much that the sun seems to even inch from its position in the sky. The cool gusts of wind provided by Prime itself make the heat blessedly pleasant. Tommy felt like a flower blooming, maybe one of those sunflowers turning towards the sun all day. Yeah, that’s how Tommy would describe this feeling. He’s photosynthesizing. See? He can use big words just like the adults. He is the most adultest ever. Anyone who disagrees sucks.
The sign on Niki’s blessed door to heaven was flipped to “open.” This was very good news for the Tommy Innit community. He pushed it open and called out before even entering.
“Nikkiiiiiii!” He cried, letting the door slam shut behind him. He hears a faint response from what he’s fairly sure is the kitchen. Then his favorite pink haired woman comes around some sort of corner behind the counter. She smiled when she laid eyes on him. “Tommy!” She greeted him. Tommy held out a fist and because she’s the most amazing ever, she bumped it with her own and made a little pshewww explosion sound.
“Nice weather,” He said conversationally in the way adults do. Niki laughed. “It is,” she agreed. After a glance at the clock she added, “It’s rather early for you to be up. Have you eaten yet?”
“I had an apple,” Tommy informed her proudly. He no longer had the core, having abandoned it on the ground. It’ll decompose. It’s not littering if it’s technically compost, folks. Don’t litter plastic and shit though. That’s bad.
Niki rolled her eyes and reached beneath the not-yet entirely filled display case, setting a donut on the counter, which is a lot better than Tommy was hoping to get. He beamed as he snatched it up with his hands still sticky from apple juice. He can always count on Niki to keep him fed. If he was her, he would totally hoard his good kitchen skills to himself. Tommy doesn’t think he’s seen Niki eat many of her creations, however. Now that just won’t do.
“Niki,” he started with a frown, “Why don’t you eat your own awesome donuts? I mean, it’s totally coolchamp that you share,” he quickly added as he took a large bite of the sweet in his hand. “But why?”
Niki’s face did a weird soft thing that made Tommy avert his eyes, because gross, feelings and stuff. “Well Tommy, I love to bake, but I can’t eat all of this myself. I like sharing stuff and knowing other people like it. Plus,” she added with a devilish grin, “People will always cough up money for some sweet treats.”
Money for sweet treats. A series of lights went off in Tommy’s head. It seemed he’d formed a thought, which doesn’t always happen, so he must act on it right away. “Niki,” he says again, “Do you know how to make lemonade?”
Niki only paused for a second to adjust to the topic change. She’s good at rolling with the punches like that. “Easy. It’s just lemons, water and sugar.” She then squinted at him almost suspiciously. Tommy does not appreciate that, because he never does anything wrong. “Why?”
“No reason at all.” Tommy shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth, chewed it as fast as he could, then finished his thought. “And do you know where a big man can hypothetically get watermelon?”
Niki seemed a little more bewildered this time, but she was honest anyways, because she’s awesome. “I think Sam is growing some in his yard because Ponk wanted some. If you ask him nicely I’m sure he’d lend you one. No one needs more than, like, two watermelons at a time.”
Tommy wiped his apple-donut sticky hands on trousers and waved at her, already making his way out the door backwards. “Thanks Niki! You’re the amazingest!” Niki gave him a sappy smile and waved back as he closed the door.
Tommy arrived at Sam’s house and stared up at it with a little trepidation. He isn’t sure he wants to ask Sam for anything. Sam is kind of freaky about rules, and Tommy’s middle name was danger, which meant he and rules were sworn enemies by blood. Plus, how could he know if Sam is home? What if he knocked on the door and got no answer, and then he couldn’t make watermelon lemonade and make big dough? That would be very bad. Deciding that this was for the good of the economy, Tommy Innit decided he will not ask for Sam’s watermelons.
Instead, Tommy crept around the side of the house, crouched low just in case Sam really was home and shot his invisible arrows at Tommy with his mind. He found the patch of watermelon easily, because watermelons are big and green like that. With his big, strong hands he ripped them from their stems. He grinned triumphantly at the two watermelons now tucked under his arms. With these he will make the best lemonade ever! As soon as he gets the lemons.
Tommy looked at the two empty watermelon stems and hesitated his motions to leave. They looked kind of sad laying there. He doesn’t know a whole lot about gardening, but… maybe they’ll regrow if he puts them back in the ground? That sounds right. Like onions do! He can put the watermelon seeds back in the ground too, when he’s done. So Tommy set the watermelons down and got back on his knees, carefully digging out space in the soil and tucking the stems back underground, covering them once more.
Satisfied with his work, Tommy heaved the two watermelons back off the ground—they’re much easier to pick up than simply hold—and stomped off another direction. If he remembers correctly, Ponk had replanted her lemon trees beneath her home to cultivate. He’s not sure how that works, but he was in no position to question it if it got him watermelon lemonade.
The trek to Ponk’s house was blessedly short. It was not very far from Sam’s, for reasons Tommy doesn’t really care about. He set the watermelons down under a window to hide the evidence of his crimes. Ponk was decidedly not as much of a bitch as Sam sometimes is, so Tommy knocked on their door to be polite instead of breaking in. Some sounds drift his way, muffled from the other side of the door. Because he is a nice individual, Tommy patiently waited for the door to be opened for him. He rocked back and forth on his feet as he waited.
The door is opened to reveal Ponk, unmasked and in their pajamas. “Sammy—“ they started, but they quickly cut off when they looked up to meet Tommy’s blue eyes. “Ah.” They said elegantly. Then they shut the door. Tommy blinked dumbly at the oak door. That was weird. Extremely weird. It was swept from his mind, however, when Ponk opened the door a second time with a hoodie over her t-shirt and a mask on her face in record time. “Come in!” She chirped, eyes crinkled with a grin. Like the businessman he is, Tommy got straight to the point. He did so confidently and concisely.
“Um, hey Ponk. Sorry to bother you.” He wrung his hands together. “I was just uh—you still have those lemon trees in the basement, right? Can I borrow some?”
Ponk shoved their hands in their hoodie pocket and tilted their head. “Well, I don’t see why not,” she answered. “I’ve been meaning to do something with them before they go and and the other batch grows. But why?”
“Top secret business, mate, can’t tell you.” Tommy replied solemnly (read:nervously). It would be very not poggers if Ponk took offense to that.
Ponk blessedly found this funny, shaking her head with a laugh. “Sure, Tommy. Whatever you say. I’ll bring you down.” They nod in the basement's general direction before setting off deeper into the house.
It was not the first time Tommy had been inside, but everything seemed to change constantly in Ponk’s house along with their whims. This time, they seemed to have swapped out some of the photos on the wall and fireplace, gotten some new side tables, taken in a new cat and some fish, and made new, colorful rugs. Tommy liked Ponk’s house. He personally wouldn’t change his house so much, but the atmosphere was very homey in a way his own home never seemed to be.
Ponk pulled a lever. The wall beside it shuddered open, revealing a dark staircase lit with torches that really felt out of place in such a cozy little home. Unbothered, she started making her descent, so Tommy followed. The staircase winded down and down until the floor leveled out and revealed another door. Ponk opened this one with another lever, and when it slid open Tommy was hit with a burst of warm, damp air.
The room itself was averagely sized and had rather plain wooden walls with a smooth stone floor. The ceiling was filled with what Tommy would assume were artificial sun lights, as right beneath them were rows of plants; average garden plants like tomatoes, peppers, what looks like various chilis and a couple strawberry and raspberry bushes took up most of the space. He couldn’t find any, but he had to assume there were sprinklers somewhere as well. Ponk waved him through an open doorway, and there lay the glorious stash of trees. He saw some filled with oranges, some with peaches and apricots, but the only one he had his eyes on was speckled with brilliant golden yellow.
“Lemons!” Tommy exclaimed, running up to the base of the tree. All this elaborate interior design was totally useless and dumb in comparison to the glorious lemon tree.
(It is admittedly an elaborate place to keep fruit trees and garden plants. But Tommy won’t ask. He knows the answer already. All possessions are sacred.)
“How many do you need, anyway?” Ponk asked him, hanging back by the doorway. Tommy took the time to think. Mumza used a lot of lemons. A lot a lot. He never bothered to count them, but they covered the counter every time. Nervously, he glanced back at the owner of the tree.
“How many can I take, big man?” Tommy responded with another question rather than answering.
She shook her head. “Tommy, these boys typically grow at least 100 in a year. Take them. I don’t need 100 lemons.”
Tommy left their house with two bags full of about 74 lemons.
As he sat in his kitchen, bags of lemons laying innocently beside two large watermelons, Tommy came across a conundrum. Just how does he measure how much he puts into a pitcher of lemonade?
Niki said water, lemon, and sugar. There’s watermelon in there too, a la Innit style. She also gave him the wondrous idea of monetizing this lemonade. Tommy Innit gets paid. It’s a rule of nature. Tommy gets women, bitches (not the same as women), and money. Laid and paid, if you will. Maybe even… mayr-aid. Like, married. Get it?
Hm. He still has watermelon and 74 lemons sitting on his counter.
Well, it’s just a drink. He’s not cooking or baking with precise measurements, he doesn’t think. So he could just… do something? Tommy decided to start with the watermelon. Mumza always cut them into little squares, put them in the blender, and put them through a little strainy bowl. He can do that easy-peasy! He grabbed the biggest knife he had lying in the block and started working at the watermelon. Or at least, he tried to do that. It didn’t cut cleanly with sawing like a steak. What was he supposed to do now? The shell was simply too hard. Frowning, Tommy tried pushing down on it harder. He groaned in frustration when he realized it only left a dent in the stupid green striped outside. Thoroughly fed up within seconds and just wanting to drink (and sell) lemonade, he turned the sharp tip of the knife down to the watermelon and stabbed. To be honest, he was fully expecting to be repelled and nearly avoid cutting himself as the blade glided over the smooth surface and bounced back at him. Imagine his surprise when he was instead sprayed in the face with juice.
Tommy did not squeal. He let out a very masculine sound of disgruntlement. Is that a word? He thinks that’s a word. More importantly though, that fucking fruit just attacked him! What does it think it is? It grows from the ground. The ground! It is inferior to Tommy in every way. The audacity of this heathen of a consumable absurd was enough for Tommy to wax poetic about. He wouldn’t, though, because he was mature. The good news is that he got the thing open. Now he just had to do that again to the other one, fix 'em up, and he’d be a millionaire in no time flat.
Prying the watermelon open with the knife now that he made a cut in it was easier, but still far from ideal. It was messy, and his hands were so sticky. He had to power through—while washing his hands once every minute or so—to open the second one. Cutting them into cubes was also an ordeal. Tommy wasn’t really sure how to get a block shape from a round watermelon, but by Prime he was going to try; and try he did. The results came with varied success, but he thought he did quite well with the geometric odds stacked against him. He gazed proudly at his cubed, sliced, half-round and broken pieces of watermelon.
Then it was onward to the lemons. It took Tommy shockingly longer to halve and wring the lemons dry of juice. He took the time to bring the shells of the watermelon and lemon peels out to his front yard. Rather than using them for compost now, he elected to wait until his lemonade business was done booming. If animals got their hands on the fruit remains while he was gone then it was no skin off his back.
Tommy wasn’t sure how to measure the lemonade efficiently. Thus, he elected it was time for some trial and error. Tommy strained the lemon juice and watermelon juice of pulp, then poured a random amount of just the lemon juice in a pitcher with sugar and water. He stirred it about and used the spoon to take the tiniest of sips. It was…
Repulsive, bloody hell! His face could’ve caved in from how hard he grimaced at the overpowering taste of lemon. Okay, now he can try again. He poured half of the pitcher’s contents into another, adding the same amount of water and sugar to both of them. Still too strong.
He repeated this process until he eventually wound up with nine pitchers of lemonade. He didn’t even have nine pitchers—he had to steal some from the kitchen of the community house. But now he had nine pitchers of lemonade over half full. That’s about 50% the job done. However, now he had to add the watermelon juice to the lemonade. Otherwise it’s not watermelon lemonade! It’s just… boring old lemonade.
He needed an additional four pitchers just to hold the watermelon juice before he could even pour it into the lemonade. Tommy took pride in his rather nice kitchen, despite how little he used it, but he did not have enough counter space for 13 whole pitchers total. Thus, he had many pitchers, some pink and some yellow, spread between his counter, sink, stove and table.
The things he does for money.
Tommy did his best to distribute the watermelon juice evenly into the pitchers of lemonade. By some miracle, he managed to fit all of the watermelon juice into the lemonade, and he stirred it together with the vigor of a man who has tasted success. It tasted like watermelon lemonade.
He had nine pitchers of gloriously pink watermelon lemonade. He beamed at them all. Now he just had to get them to a lemonade stand. Which was not yet constructed. …Prime above.
Tommy knelt not far from the Community House. Inside of the building, nine inconspicuous pitchers of lemonade were tucked away in the refrigerator. Outside, the blonde boy worked away, sawing wood, sanding it down and repeating the process.
Connor, in the midst of walking past, stopped to observe the obstruction of the path. It was Tommy! Connor liked to consider himself a friend of his, so he went out of his way to greet him. “Hey Tommy!” He called with a grin, waving despite the fact the other boy only glanced up for a second. “Keeping yourself busy? What’s all this? It’s only 11 in the morning.”
Tommy waved a hammer in his hand as he spoke. “Big things, big man. Big things. Swing by later!”
Connor cocked his head. “You, uh, need any help?”
“No, sir,” Tommy replied. “A big man, I am.”
Connor was admittedly bemused. Regardless, he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck as he began to walk off. “Sure thing, dude. Whatever you say. I’ll be back later,” he promised. Tommy often did whatever he pleased. He must be focused if he wasn’t talking Connor’s ear off about his plans. Whatever they are. Connor could come back later, per Tommy’s request. He was a strange guy, but that’s just how Tommy is. That’s just who he is.
It had taken hours of grueling work. Sweat, blood and tears spilled for the construction of this wonderful sanctuary. Beneath the summer sun laid an upright, spruce stand carrying a crudely stitched together sunshade. A sign was laid across the base of the construct.
Tommy Innit’s Lemonade Stand. 1 2 3 diamonds a glass.
Above the word lemonade, written in what appeared to be multiple crayons, read Watermelon.
Tommy had done it. His very own, money-making, upstanding, astounding, humble, glorious lemonade stand. He had to sacrifice some enchantments to keep the pitchers cool, guaranteeing that they wouldn’t turn warm and sour beneath the sun, but it was a worthwhile investment. He knew that it would pay off. The boy sat at his stand for about five minutes before the first potential customer arrived.
“Jack! Jack Manifold!” Tommy cried, waving his hands about.
Jack Manifold was strolling the road ahead. He stopped and his head whipped around at the call of his name. When he locked eyes with Tommy he approached before being told to. “Tom! Mind explaining what this setup is?” Jack skeptically eyed the stack of red solo cups sitting on the stand.
Tommy reached down beneath the countertop, and on top of it he set a pitcher of pink lemonade. “Feast your eyes on my lemonade stand! All 100% nat-u-ral, baby.” He patted the pitcher. The scene was akin to a father patting his son on the head after a successful baseball practice.
“Three diamonds a cup, eh?” Jack read from the sign. “Bloody hell, mate, in this economy?”
“I am an entrepreneur, mister Manifold.” Tommy said decisively. Jack nodded and commented, “You’ve finally learned to say that word. Nice.” Tommy beamed. “Thanks. Been practicing.”
“Well, Tom, I’ll tell you what,” said Jack. “I don’t have any diamonds on me—I was just on my way to Niki’s, didn’t bring much—but I can give you what I got.” With this, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a Pokémon card. It was shiny, gold, and altogether very intriguing to the teenager bearing lemonade.
“I carry it on me. Not for any reason… I just like it. And you never know when you can show off. But I have a copy at home, you see. So I haven’t had anything to do with it. I suppose I could give you this one. I might trade it back later, though, with the one I have at home. I’m kind of attached.” The older man smiled sheepishly.
Tommy considered this offer. On one hand, he won’t be making any diamonds. On the other, it’s a really fucking cool card. “I accept this offer,” he declared. He took the card delicately, tucking it away in his own pocket. He then grabbed a plastic cup from the stack in one hand and a pitcher in the other. A glass of ice cold, delectably pink lemonade was presented to the older man. Condensation dripped down the side of the cup enticingly, despite it only having been full for a few moments.
“Thanks. Cheers, man.” Jack took the cup and knocked back a sip without a second thought. He gave a pause, then, and pulled the cup back to look at it with wide eyes. “Holy shit,” he said. “That’s… incredible, actually. Tommy, you never told me you could cook!”
“I can’t,” Tommy said, with a silent duh at the statement. “I made juice. That’s not cooking. If you want food, that’s gonna cost ya way more, big man.”
Jack huffed and shook his head. “Nevermind. Just, good job, seriously. I was expecting the worst.”
“What?!” Tommy shrieked indignantly. Before he could lunge over the stand to show Jack “the worst,” he was already walking off with a shouted goodbye.
“Whatever,” Tommy told himself. He looked at his pocket contemplatively.
Next came Sapnap. The netherborn looked as though he were rather preoccupied, scanning the horizon with a disgruntled expression. Tommy called him over regardless, because why would he care about Sapnap’s stupid problems? “What’s up, Sappitus Nappitus?”
Sapnap hesitated, a weird flash of something crossing his face before he answered with a fake-looking smile, as if Tommy were an annoying customer at Walmart or something. “Where’d you hear that one? Come on, man. You know my name.”
Tommy wondered for a moment if he should ask what was wrong. Quickly, he concluded he was not at all qualified for that, so he kept going like he always does. “Sorry, mate, you’re right. What’s hangin’, Sapilliam?”
“What?” asked Sapnap.
“Sapnathan,” Tommy said again.
“Stop,” Sapnap said, lips twitching.
“Sapphire.”
“Oh.” Sapnap said. “That’s… not as bad—“
“Saptholomew the XVI.”
Sapnap burst into sputtering laughter. He grabbed the edge of Tommy’s stand as he giggled, catching his breath. “XVI?” He wheezed incredulously. Tommy grinned at him, and Sapnap grinned back. It was real this time. So Tommy went right for the money.
“Buy my lemonade.” Tommy patted the pitcher beside him. At the other’s stunned look, he pointed to the sign below. Upon reading it, the netherborn snorted.
“Three diamonds, huh? You know how to drive a bargain, Tommy.” He looked at the pitcher dubiously as if appraising it. “Alright, I’ll try it. I don’t have diamonds on me though.”
Tommy crossed his arms. “No diamonds, no shoes, no service.”
“Alright, alright. How about, uhh…” Sapnap reached into his inventory, squinting at nothing Tommy could see. Then he pulled two emeralds out of the air and held them out in his hand. “Yeah? Deal or no deal?” He quirked an eyebrow.
The blonde teen scoffed, turning his nose up at the offer. “Hardly the same as three diamonds. Are you trying to scam me? I can blacklist you, you know.”
Sapnap was sincerely lost. The expression on his face was that of a child who was told a sucker wouldn’t pay for their mom’s electric bill. “Really?” He asked. The emeralds were eyed skeptically. “I thought your family had a weird thing for emeralds.”
Tommy’s brain halted to process this. He wasn’t wrong. Emeralds were strangely favored by Phil and Techno. They had matching earrings and everything. Wilbur had whined about it until he got a matching one, or so Tommy has been told. Absently, he ran a finger over his very much not pierced earlobe. Well…
“I changed my mind!” Tommy shouted. He leapt forward and swiped the emeralds from Sapnap, who yelped at the sudden movement. “I’ll take them. I love them. A cup for you, then.” And so Tommy poured Sapnap a glass with a burning conviction.
Sapnap, for some reason, turned his head away in a very conspicuous way when he took the first sip. Then he looked at the cup much like Jack did, and back at Tommy. “It’s great!” He exclaimed as though shocked. Which is, quite frankly, offensive.
“Of course it is!” Tommy chided him, “I made it!”
“All on your own?” Sapnap asked with a frown. “How?”
Tommy thinks of the stolen watermelons, and 74 lemons on his kitchen counter. “Tommy Innit trademark secret,” he lied shamelessly. He would not admit that he walked back and forth from his house and this stand about four times just to bring the lemonade over.
Sapnap gave him a look, a weird look, one Tommy didn’t like because it made his chest feel weird. Then the older man ruffled his hair with zero warning. Tommy squawked and slapped at him until he stopped. “Yeah, keep your secrets,” Sapnap said. As he turned away with the cup in hand, he asked Tommy for a favor. “Tell me if Karl swings by,” he told him with a pinched expression once more. “Alright?”
Tommy was left at his lemonade stand once more. He squinted up at the afternoon sun and wondered who may still be sleeping in as he poured a cup of his own.
“Hey, Tommy!” Called a cheerful voice from afar. When he looked in its direction he was met with the bright faces of none other than Badboyhalo and Skeppy, on an apparent stroll yet not following the path.
“Hello Bad Boy,” Tommy greeted with mock formality, separating the demon’s name as he was prone to do. “I saw your son a few minutes ago. He was a right bitch. I think you should have yelled at him more as a child.”
“Language,” Bad corrected with a frown while Skeppy laughed. “I see you’re making yourself a business. Lemonade?”
“Baaaad,” Skeppy said with a drawl. “He’s obviously selling apple juice! Are you crazy?”
“No he’s not, you muffin!” Bad shouted, waving the other away as though he were a pest.
“It says apple juice right there!” Skeppy cried. He pointed at the bottom of the lemonade stand.
“It does?” Tommy asked. He furrowed his brow. That can’t possibly be right. Tommy Innit does not make mistakes, except for when he does. He leaned out of the little booth to glare at the sign below. Tommy Innit’s Lemonade Stand, it read. 3 diamonds a glass.
Skeppy laughed hysterically while Tommy leveled him with a disappointed stare he may or may not have borrowed from Technoblade.
“Skeppy, stop messing with children.” Bad gave him a very stern look and ignored Tommy’s indignant yell about not being a child. “You owe him a cup now! Come on, cough it up.” Skeppy did, offering up three diamonds with a good natured grin.
“Wow, just one?” Tommy tutted. “None for Bad? Wow. Quite selfish of you, mate.”
Skeppy’s smile turned into something sinister. “Of course not, who do you take me for? Obviously Bad and I are going to share.” He gave Bad a really gross half-lidded look, even throwing in a comical wink. The demon raised a brow at his antics. “Skeppy,” he scolded, “you’re being ridiculous. And stingy.”
“Come on, Bad!” The blue-clad man cried, throwing himself at Bad. The size difference was also comical. Everything about Skeppy was comical, really. Tommy quite liked him when he wasn’t being a bitch. “It’d be like an indirect kiss! Can you imagine that? Us? Like we’re kissing? But we’re not—“
“Stop!” Tommy groaned, “stop, stop. Just stop. I’ll give you two, for fucks sake. Just stop being weird.”
“Language,” Bad said half-heartedly. He looked rather frazzled, though (disgustingly enough) only because of Tommy’s presence rather than Skeppy’s dumb antics. Maybe he was upset Tommy had to hear that too. Good. Tommy was very not happy about this arrangement.
I’m getting scammed, he thought to himself as he begrudgingly passed over two cups for the price of one. At least the two of them sang his praises over the lemonade.
“What kind of apples did you use?” Bad asked with sincerity before they left. It took Tommy an embarrassing moment to realize he was being fucked with. He hoped that they fucked off and the lovely shining sun would fall on both of them. They’re both right bastards. They deserve each other.
A pair of stubby and scarred hands covered Tommy’s eyes. He froze against his better judgement. “Guess who!” A particularly shrieky voice bleated from behind him. Tommy relaxed once his mind put together the pieces of the puzzle. “It sounds,” Tommy said loudly, as though being blinded had also deafened him, “like an annoying bitch!”
“Damn, he got you there,” Ranboo said solemnly.
Tubbo ripped his hands from Tommy’s face to clutch his heart. “Boo! How could you? Verbally abusing me in front of our son?” He gestured angrily to the piglin clutching his pant leg. Michael stared at the colorful fabric of the stand’s sunshade as though it might whisper the secrets of the universe to him at any moment.
The baby piglin tugged at Tubbo’s leg, pointing at the stand with wide eyes. Tommy grinned devilishly at the exasperation in Ranboo’s sigh. “A lemonade stand, huh? That’s great, Tommy. But children don’t have diamonds.”
“Who said it was for children only, boob boy?” Tommy sniffed. “Besides, parents have diamonds. Eh? Eh?”
Ranboo looked at Tubbo skeptically, who gave them a sheepish look back. They looked back at Tommy, deadpan. “No, parents don’t have diamonds. You place too much trust in our financial integrity when we married for tax benefits.” If Tommy was upset by that statement, then Michael was crushed. The boy looked at the pitcher with a longing that Tommy didn’t know toddlers could experience.
“…Fine.” Tommy grabbed the three diamonds he had at his disposal (a sham, really, considering the number of cups he sold) and offered them to Michael. The piglin took them graciously, smiled at them for a moment, then looked at Tommy with confusion written across his face. He was at a clear loss for what to do next. So Tommy pointed to them. “Give them to me,” he said. “Then I’ll give you a cup. Yeah?”
Michael’s eyes lit up with understanding and childlike excitement. It gave Tommy a warm feeling that made his face melt into a smile against his will. The piglin gripped the gemstones tighter and offered one diamond to Tommy with determination that could raze armies to the ground.
…Okay. So they’re, like, halfway there.
“All of them, Michael,” Tommy explained. “Give them to me.” In response, Michael waved the diamond around with a little grunt, clearly fed up with Tommy’s stupidity. It was with great reluctance that Tommy gave in and poured a cup for the child. The piglin took it with great joy. Adorably enough, when he took the first sip he actually squealed, stomping his feet and thrusting the cup at his parents. Ranboo stepped cautiously away from the juice sloshing over the side.
Tubbo laughed. “Yeah? That good, Michael? Honestly, I expected it to be poisonous, coming from Tommy.”
Tommy threw his hands up. “Why! Why does everyone keep saying that?” Seriously! What was so inherently bad about him that people seemed to assume even stuff he makes will come out faulty?
Ranboo tugged their sleeves down, staring at a point over Tommy’s shoulder. “Well, you’re Tommy. You just kind of bring chaos everywhere. It’s fun to be part of, but sometimes it totally blows up in your face. Well, most of the time, actually. I guess I just kind of assumed that the moment you stepped into a kitchen it’d, like, blow up and vomit knives at you or something.”
“Yeah, that sounds right,” Tubbo agreed and nodded. Tommy wasn’t sure how to feel about those sentiments, so he settled for indignance and spite. “Well,” he said sharply, “if it’s so blow up-y and vomit knives-y to you—“
“Don’t say those like they’re actually adjectives,” Ranboo interjected.
“—then you’ll just have to taste it and blow up yourself.” Tommy poured two glasses of lemonade and slammed them on the countertop rather aggressively. Some of the mixture splashed the wood and painted it a darker color. Ranboo eyed the lemonade with great trepidation despite Tommy’s very obvious declaration. “I don’t know Tommy,” they mumbled, “it’s really pink, so I can’t tell. How many lemons did you put in this?”
Tommy blinked at the cup. It did nothing back at him, which is quite rude, but quite fair as well, because it is a cup. “74,” he admitted. Tubbo went bug eyed for a moment, eyeing the pitcher with greater suspicion than Ranboo, which is unfair because unlike the enderman he does not have a water allergy.
“74,” Ranboo repeated with a faint voice. “Right, um, what about sugar? How much sugar is in it?”
“Counting calories or something?” Tommy asked in lieu of answering. “You don’t need it, you’re a stick. If my mum saw you she would probably tie you to a table and make you eat more. Well, she’d do that no matter who you are, actually. She does it to Phil too, which is very unnecessary because he’s kind of getting a little round, if you know what I’m sayin’.” Ranboo did not seem enthused by this statement, so Tommy added much quieter, “a lot. A lot of sugar.”
That seemed to be a good enough answer for Tubbo, because he grabbed both cups eagerly. Ranboo mumbled to themself. “Well, with the lemon and the sugar, that should lower the pH levels by just enough.” They grabbed the dryer of the two cups from Tubbo’s hands and took a hesitant sip. When they didn’t keel over and die immediately they took a bigger one. “It’s not bad,” they said, voice colored with pleasant surprise. “A bit spicy, but not bad.”
Tommy frowned at that last comment, but was stopped from pointing it out when Michael slapped his hands on the stand’s base. He held up two crayons. Where he got those crayons was beyond Tommy, but without waiting for permission the young child sat himself down and started coloring on the wood. Tommy looked to the thing’s owners but they didn’t look inclined to stop their child. Probably because Tommy wasn’t actually bothered by it, but that’s not the point! He helplessly shook his head and sat back down. Business is hard work.
The three of them had not left when his next customer arrived a few minutes later. Niki’s pink hair was recognizable to Tommy from any distance. Luckily for him, she came straight to the stand. Jack was beside her. “Hey Toms,” she said with a twitching grin as she took in the small lemonade business. “I see you used my secret recipe.”
“Guilty as charged,” Tommy replied with his hands held up. “The water, lemon and sugar combo was just too genius.”
He and Niki chatted good heartedly while Michael continued scratching away at the stand with a crayon, one of them having been exchanged for another cup before her arrival. Tubbo and Ranboo were curled up on the side of the booth, and no one paid them any mind. Jack swapped Tommy’s card for an identical one that looked much newer, likely due to its lack of use. Niki left with a cup for her and another for Jack, paid for via some lovely danishes. Tommy wondered briefly how she knew he was accepting barters when the sign very clearly stated otherwise, but he didn’t mind. Her pastries were the best in the world. He split them with his friends as they whittled away time.
Sam came by with Ponk and Puffy in tow. They went straight for the stand when they saw it. At this point, though Tommy didn’t bother to question it, people had stopped asking about his stand; they stopped asking why he set it up or when. Puffy said it was a good “independence exercise” and paid him some gold earrings of hers. Ponk praised the sunshade and offered him a rather full bag of vegetables and fruits, though Tommy wouldn’t know why on earth she had been carrying those around. Sam eyed his pitcher suspiciously.
“Raspberry?” He asked like he knew it was wrong. Tommy shook his head and told him that no, it was not raspberry, though he would love to plant those. He informed the creeper hybrid dutifully that it was watermelon instead. “Watermelon,” Sam repeated with resignation. Ponk giggled. “Who would have thought you’d take the time to grow ‘em?”
When he left Tommy was one trident richer. Not what the Brit would’ve selected for his own payment of choice, but it’s badass anyway.
Connor returned with Callahan beside him. They polished off the pitcher and Connor laughed at him when he pulled another still-cold pitcher from beneath the stand. They left Tommy with a toy race car and an original VHS of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, for some reason.
Business boomed. As the afternoon bled into the evening Tommy chatted with an insane amount of people and wound up with an insane amount of things. He hadn’t expected so much success! Yet here he was, greeting people he hadn’t even seen in over a month—Eret, Fundy, Foolish and Slime, Purpled (who took a cup home for Punz), Hannah, Karl looking notably lost but still grateful and parched, and Big Q himself with his stupid brother Wilbur, who both seemed strangely excited about his interest in business. Boomer came by with Eryn, and Ant with a hesitant gait, and Aimsey with a bundle of daisies, and Tina with homemade wind chimes and Seapeekay with a strange amount of sunglasses to give him.
Tommy didn’t even know some of these people even still liked him. Yet they came, and some came back for seconds, and they all offered what they had that Tommy secretly knew wasn’t worth his dumb lemonade, and he didn’t even know how half of them heard he had a lemonade stand! He was firmly convinced there was no way they all happened to walk past the Community House by coincidence. Yet why would they be here? Why for him? He was baffled, and by the time evening faded and night was beginning to roll around he was just beat.
He was alone, now, resting with his cheek squished against the countertop as he reeled in his exhaustion. He was beyond thrilled to see so many of his friends and acquaintances again. Truly, he was. Maybe the lemonade was just that good, he wondered idly. Kristin always did make it the best. Tommy wondered where she was at that moment. He wondered if it was sunny wherever she may be. He wondered if she wanted a glass of watermelon lemonade, or knew just how good it was.
“Tommy?”
Before he could even really register who was speaking to him, Tommy perked up. He met the eyes of his father. He smiled. “Phil,” he called, just because he could. He had nothing to say, but he had to greet his dad. Beside him, unmoving as stone, was Techno. They both looked at him the way they do when they get gross and mushy, but Tommy let it happen this time. He stared right back at them as they took in his hunched figure, then the pitcher beside him, and then the stand itself.
“You’ve caused quite a fuss,” Phil said as he appraised the sunshade. He reached up and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “We were just coming up for some errands. When we got here, though, no one had anything to talk about but you. Imagine our surprise to see such a busy town for the first time in… well, I don’t know. Ever, maybe. So this is what you’ve been up to, you little shit?”
Techno shuffled closer, grabbing the pitcher from right under Tommy’s nose and pouring two cups. “You have to pay for those,” Tommy complained half heartedly. He had half a mind to kick the stupid pig in the shins. His plans were thwarted by the wood separating them.
Techno held a cup out to Phil, who took it with a gleam of a little extra life in his eye. “Ah,” he said gently. “Yes, that’s right. Watermelon.” To his friend, he said “Cheers, mate!” And they drank in unison. The smile on Phil’s lips grew ever softer. “Just like Kristin used to make it,” he commented.
Tommy felt considerably more energized as he sat straighter. “Really?” He asked.
Phil’s eyes crinkled with joy. He had crows feet; something Tommy never bothered noting before. “Yes. Different each and every time.”
“…What,” said Tommy. At that Phil and Techno shared a loud laugh, chuckling as though they were both in on some secret inside joke that Tommy wasn’t privy to. Techno shoved his father by the shoulder and he shoved right back.
“Why don’t we help you pack up for the night, mate? We brought some baskets and haven’t gathered anything yet.”
Techno seemed rather amused by all the random things Tommy had to squeeze into the wicker baskets. The piglin poked and prodded with questions while Tommy filled him in on each and every item that seemed just a bit stranger or more mundane than the rest. Phil laughed again at the absurd amount of lemonade pitchers behind the stand, but the joke was on him, because Tommy only had one left anyways. He was thoroughly prepared for this outing, and now had one left for his own fridge at home.
…Home. It didn’t seem so appealing to Tommy right now. It never did, really. He shooed the thoughts of it away and focused on what was in front of him.
“What did you mean by that?” Tommy asked as Phil carried the only two pitchers that belonged to him back to his house. Techno was stuck shouldering Tommy’s… payment.
“Kristin was just as bad at measuring as you are, mate,” Phil said with a faraway look. It was nostalgic. Not in the bittersweet way that made you sick, but in the happy sort of way that only super old men like himself can be. “She could work her way around the kitchen like nothing else, but never in her days did she pick up a measuring cup. She measured by heart, she would tell me. Or with a wife’s intuition. But the last time I ever had her lemonade… Well, it was summers ago, I’m sure.
“But I swear that this time it tasted just the same.” Phil gazed at Tommy with nothing but love as they pushed open Tommy’s front door. He set one empty pitcher in the sink and the other in the fridge. “Or maybe my memory is failing me, and I’m just too much of a sap to know the difference.” He chuckled to himself.
Techno shrugged two baskets onto the table. “Careful, Phil. Your age is showin’.”
They ribbed each other in the middle of Tommy’s kitchen. It had never felt more like his home. It had never been so full of love. Tommy yawned, and as if it were as easy as breathing, their conversation waned just enough to focus on him for a moment. “You’ve had a long day, kid,” Techno gruffed. “Arent’cha owed a nap or somethin’? Got a pacifier around here?” Tommy slapped him in the chest, which of course did nothing.
Phil sighed. “Boys, don’t fight. Tommy, to bed.”
“What?” Tommy said incredulously. “This is my house! I’m a big man! You don’t tell me to go to bed anymore!”
“Fussy,” Techno mumbled. He grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and began steering him toward the hallway. Tommy hissed and spat and cursed, but it didn’t do anything to prevent his fate. He got Techno off his case just long enough for him to change into pajamas, and then he was being pulled out of the bathroom and pushed into bed.
“This is ridiculous, I’m an adult man,” Tommy grumbled petulantly.
Phil nodded along placatingly like he was a toddler, looking around the room until he found Tommy’s nightlight, which is mortifying because how did he know? Maybe fathers are just like that, Tommy supposed. Or maybe it’s just a Phil thing. That seemed more likely.
The pair of men drifted toward the door, and Tommy became aware of the little bubble of safety that he’d begun existing in the moment they had greeted him, because he felt it rapidly begin to shrink until it threatened to disappear entirely. “Wait!” He called. The two turned around, looking at him patiently as they waited for whatever he would say next. But Tommy didn’t have the words. He fought his mind and his tongue and yet neither produced a single word. Not a single scrap of common sense, not an excuse, not a single reason for them to not leave him.
When the silence stretched on, Techno and Phil shared a look. It looked as though they were having a conversation with just their eyes, yet it wasn’t really an argument. Phil glanced at the window. “It’s getting dark quickly,” he noted. “Do you think we could make it back to the house in time?”
Techno scratched at his chin as he assessed the position of the sun, or whatever nerds do. “Doubt it,” he gruffed. He looked at Tommy. “Kid,” he said. “We’re stayin’ here for the night.”
Tommy snagged his chance while it was in front of him. He couldn’t believe his luck today. “Whatever. I don’t have a guest room, but I have a couch and a chair. Don’t fuck up my house.”
The two stepped through the doorway again with an air of satisfaction. “G’night, Tommy,” Techno said as he walked away. Phil lingered, one hand on the doorknob as his eyes slid over Tommy’s sleepy form. “Goodnight, Tommy,” he said. He slid the door shut.
A warm feeling embraced him. One he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt like he was five years old again. He was tired, in a dark room with a nightlight, curled up beneath his blankets. The curtains were drawn back so he could see the stars, and Phil and Techno were just a door away. He let himself sit in fantasy for a moment. He soaked in the dream that maybe a younger, brighter Wil was in the room beside his, and Kristin was in the kitchen humming a tune as she made herself a mug of tea. Maybe Tubbo even stayed the night and was just out of sight, curled up on some blankets on the floor.
Then he let himself fall out of that fantasy. His eyes fluttered shut and he drifted to sleep with the knowledge that for one night, two people he loved were there with him, and that was wonderful.
Just as he succumbed to sleep, belatedly Tommy realized that despite all the fuss he had caused, he was only one diamond richer.