December blues

by z_in_a_blue_box

Summary:

31 prompt responses to StarryEyedGazer's Decamber 2024.

Notes:

Let's get angsty about the Deca to round off our 2024!!!

Chapter 1: House

Summary:

You can only play House with a full ten players; with less than that, you have to stop playing pretend.

Our house, it has a crowd /
There's always something happening and it's usually quite loud

** ** **

Lungbarrow was loud. Loud with the stares and the rumours and the quiet judging whispers; their quiet when he entered a room was louder than any yelling the Cousins might throw his way. He was a small child, always had been, easy to kick around. To pick on. His father had left — maybe dead, maybe hiding — and his mother had moved him and his brother out to the desert, so he was in the House so rarely. But they had to go back some time. Back to the big House with it’s cruelty and scorn, back to his Cousins with their mockery and stares, and back away from Koschei. Koschei had been here, once, but they didn’t go into the House. Instead, Theta took his hand, and led him to the barn, his only respite — a little quiet. A little peace.

Now, Theta could not run. He had to face Justice: would they expel him from Lungbarrow? Was there even such a precedent? He didn’t know — couldn’t think, couldn’t care. He was numb all over. All the talk was about him; centre of attention, Theta the killer, Theta the disobedient, Theta who wanted to be called the Doctor, Doctor, some human word for the healer he wasn’t — what a promise indeed! Already failed. What an impossible jump to get from where he is now to what he promises to live up to.

He was numb all over, and the House was too loud with thoughts of him, and Koschei wouldn’t be there again to hold his hand.

** ** **

Our house, was our castle and our keep /
Our house, in the middle of our street

** ** **

Oh, what a majestic House his Oakdown was — it would be his, soon enough, if he kept to his studies and started acting like a Real Man. His father was doubtful; Koschei couldn’t think about that. Numb all over. Hand warm where Theta had clutched it tight to his heart (only one — tradition, with Oldblood houses like his) and promised he’d make it back home somehow. Safe and happy and they’d all be alright but now they’re dead and gone and there’s nothing left, nothing, no one…

The House was quiet. Mournful. Respecting his silence. But in his head it was loud with the one, two, three, four, you, fucked, it, up. Everything is your fault, said the drumbeat, said the voices in his head, too many to count. One, two, three, four, how loud, what music! And he couldn’t see beyond it. Couldn’t think about a future as a Patriarch of his noble House when his friends were dead and the love of his life was about to lose everything. Couldn’t look him in the eye; he was too numb. Numb in his solitary castle of regrets and self-blame; numb all over.

** ** **

I remember way back then, when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time, such a fine time, such a happy time
And I remember how we'd play, simply waste the day away
Then we'd say nothing would come between us, two dreamers

** ** **

Those two young men with so much to learn; never learned. Never will learn. Guilt and missed chances hold them back and they don’t take the leap and they don’t get their happy ending and that is right, Theta thinks, because he deprived two others of their happy endings. Millennia and Rallon deserve to be together and alive more than Theta, dumb, broken Theta-Doctor with his license to practice death and his manipulative toothy grin that sends poor Koschei spiraling every time, doesn’t he know it, and oh, what betrayal! What betrayal, what betrayal — friends leave and Koschei can’t look him in the eye and at least he has someone to pin it on, pin the tail on the donkey, because if he couldn’t point at Vansell and say there, that’s who made us fall apart, he wouldn’t be able to keep standing.

Brightshore and Stillhaven call for his head. His education will have to do; expelled with few witnesses and those who could stand to be in the same room with him still can’t call him their friend, not again, never again — they are broken pieces of a vase smashed by his bad decisions, and there is no turning back.

Together, long ago, the ten of them would have played House, a House of their very own, quiet and calm and so, so alive. The dream is dead; the fractured group will have to make do with returning to their own quiet, judging Houses, giving up that delusion of friendship which no Gallifreyan can be allowed to hold for long; the dream only worked with ten, and now, they have to leave it all behind. Wake up to the real world; no more playing House.

Chapter 2: Hook

Summary:

Jelpax need a hook for his thoschei fic. Mortimus helps.

Notes:

this one’s a bit crack-y but it’s nearly midnight again so I think I deserve a little crack

“Arghh!” Jelpax let out frustratedly. “I can’t think of a good hook for this story!”

“What’s it about?” Said Mortimus, who was there for some reason.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Your boyfriend let me in.”

“He’s not my… hey, wait a minute,” Jelpax began, realising suddenly who he was talking to. “You’re gay, right? You must read a lot of fanfic.”

Mortimus let out a little ‘pthh’, blowing his black hair up away from his eyes, only for it to slowly settle back exactly where it was. “Stereotyping much?”

“Yeah, but, I’m right.”

“Yeah.” Mortimus leant against the door jamb, his blue Hawaiian shirt riding up behind him, revealing that he was not in fact wearing a long-sleeve thermal black top as Jelpax had previously thought, but a crop top. A long-sleeved, thermal crop top. Jelpax rolled his eyes — what was that about stereotypes again? “Why, is it a fanfic?”

“What, did you think I’m talented enough to write real stories?”

“Fanfic is real stories — it takes real talent. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mortimus interrupted firmly, a dog with a bone, not going to let Jelpax go without understanding. “All writing is real writing. Even shitty crack fics written at,” he looked at his wrist as though he was wearing a watch, “twenty-six minutes to midnight. So, what are you writing? And, be proud of it this time. Or else.”

Jelpax stood up defiantly. “Or else what?”

“You need me. Sit down.” Jelpax sat down slowly. “So, what’s it about?”

Jelpax looked to his side, ashamed, then back at the paper. “Thoschei fic.”

Mortimus laughed jubilantly, his eyes gleaming. “Ah, of course! You are the Academy’s primary thoschei connoisseur; glad you’re continuing. It’s always a joy to read.”

Jelpax looked up at him, eyes full of wonder — “You mean it?” Mortimus nodded exuberantly.

“Of course! I’d never lie about something like this. Or about most things. Generally, I’m a pretty honest guy.”

“Oh really? Whose weed did Drax get high on at Koschei’s last end-of-term party?”

“Ummins’” Mortimus answered without a pause, totally seriously. Jelpax rolled his eyes.

“That’s a probably-not-real guy from someone else’s deca fic — try again.”

“See, you shouldn’t know that.”

“Metafictional awareness — did you notice that we’re becoming more OOC, too? Our dialogue is blending together. Looks like our writer’s losing zir touch.”

Mortimus nodded again. “I think you’re right; we’d better get back to the Plot.”

“Good idea. Right, so, this fic is a slow burn with thoschei being idiots and eventually ending up together, but it’s missing something. Some other kind of conflict, to get in the couple’s way. I just can’t think of anything that would make the story more interesting!”

Mortimus furrowed their brow, moving closer to Jelpax. They placed their right hand on the back of Jelpax’s spinny chair, slowly applying or decreasing pressure in order to spin Jelpax back and forth, much to Jelpax’s annoyance. “Hmm. I think you’re right about the conflict — what about a person? Homophobic dad?”

Jelpax shook his head. “Don’t want to make Koschei upset with Reality.”

“Okay, okay… Borusa’s harsh grading putting them at risk of spending less time together because Theta might be put in a lower class?”

“Same problem.”

“Oh shit, that bad?”

“Yep. They’re hiding it, but Theta talks to Drax, and Drax talks to me.”

“And you talk to me… fascinating. How rumours are spread, in action!”

“Hush. Any other ideas?”

Mortimus drummed his fingers on his lips. “Hmm. Okay, how about this — another love interest. Someone who likes one of them, and that person isn’t really aware, but the other half of the couple is. A little tension, a little guilt — it’s the best aphrodisiac there is. Trust me, I would know.”

“Yeah, I get it, you’re slutty — I don’t really do smut, but the guilt angle could work for conflict. And of course there’s nothing like that in real life. Thanks, Mort — that’s really helpful. You’re not as bad as people say, you know.” Mortimus beamed at the compliment, then pushed at Jelpax’s chair one last time before leaving the room. Jelpax leaned forward and got back to writing, pushing his mop of curly red hair away from his face as he licked his pencil tip twice for good luck.

Meanwhile, down the corridor, Theta and Koschei were giggling as they made out, thinking that they were being Super Sneaky and hiding their relationship really well, while a sullen Vansell watched them from afar. He desolately made a quick note of the incident — I doubt the CIA would ever need to know about Theta and Koschei’s relationship, but I’m supposed to report everything. Have to be useful. He sighed; Theta never thought of him as anything other than a nuisance. Koschei would shoot him the odd glance (his telepathy is excellent — maybe he knew), but for the most part, Vansellostophossius’s crush was unnoticed. Just like him.

Notes:

ok now it is actually midnight r i p

Chapter 3: Shake

Summary:

Theta, Koschei, Mortimus, and Drax try to make an advert. It's not going well.

Notes:

Continuing my tradition of doing these wayyyy too late at night.
The propaganda runs deep; anxiety disorders run deeper. Yayy!

“Shake! Shake! Shake! It! Off!” Mortimus danced in front of the camera holding the small bottle of generic, unbranded, absolutely disgusting looking milkshake. It was sludge. Nothing more. But he was dancing, Drax’s borrowed leg-warmers, 80’s style neon colours of pink on one leg and blue on the other (with bright yellow edges, because of course they did), jiggling up and down as he danced ridiculously. He moved like it was his job, his life, like he believed.

“You can sell anything,” Theta remarked from the corner, and Drax sighed.

“Cut!” He snapped a homemade black-and-white clapper board, idly decorated with the dinosaur stickers Mortimus got Ushas (the ones she never used because they were ‘too silly’, but the largest one was missing and possibly, just possibly, under her pillow). “Theta, you ruined the take! We have to go again.”

“Who cares? We’re going to fail anyway. The writing is terrible.”

“Hey!” Koschei sat up from the bench opposite. The group were in the courtyard outside the Academy entrance, trying to finish their psychology homework — learning how to write a convincing advert, to play on the fears and desires of the public in order to pull on their wallet-strings. The propaganda starts young on Gallifrey; the teaching-kids-how-to-manufacture-propaganda starts younger. Koschei, who had written the script, didn’t really care what happened, but he felt he ought to say something anyway, so he wouldn’t be forgotten. “I’ll have you know that Taylor Swift is a fucking brilliant writer, and that referencing her can only go one way: well.” He crossed his arm indignantly. Theta snickered.

Drax rolled his eyes — “You and Theta can flirt later. What matters is getting this done so — ”

“So you and Jelpax can hang out?” Mortimus finished. Drax fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s okay, we all know you want to see him — this’ll all be over before you know it!” He beamed. Koschei rolled back so he was more fully on the bench, but Theta came forward and placed a hand on Drax’s shoulder.

It’s okay, he smiled as he sent the words to his friend telepathically, you don’t have to pretend around us. We’re all like you here. Koschei felt Theta’s mental activity flaring and sent a quick wave of jealousy, but Theta knocked him away playfully with a rather rude hand gesture. Most people can’t really communicate tone over gestures, but that doesn’t matter when you have telepathy.

Shut it, he needs comfort.

From a fellow queer? Koschei sent back, and Theta remembered how he used that word when they first met — the way his father had taught him. ‘What are you, a queer?’ Oh, look how far he’d come — we’re all like each other here. We’re queer and we’re in love and our rage can fix the world.

Drax fiddled with the camera. “Alright, take it form the top — Mortimus? And — ” He shut the clapper loudly. Despite his mild protest earlier, Koschei remained quiet throughout the take, as did Theta, as Mortimus shook violently to unheard music (added in the editing stage) and Drax played with his camera settings. Frustrated at first, he eased as they continued — maybe they would squeak by with a passing grade after all.

Notes:

Drink Gevity! https://tardis.wiki/wiki/Gevity

Chapter 4: Chip

Summary:

A chip off the old block.

Notes:

Okay so full disclosure I misread the list and wrote a whole long thing for tmrw instead of writing this and then I realised the mistake and I was too tired to write something longer, so, that's why this one's so short.

A chip off the old block, they’d say, as Koschei stood by his father’s side at another social function. He’ll be running the business in a few years, follow in his father’s footsteps.

A chip off the old block, they’d say, back when Theta still did well in school. He’ll be just like his brother and everyone will watch what he does like he’s their favourite celebrity.

A chip off the old block. The Doctor makes the same mistakes as he did when he was a child; the ghosts of his friends and loves lost to madness and guilt watch over his shoulder in judgement as he picks up another rock.

Chapter 5: Show

Summary:

Magnus takes Mortimus out for dinner and a show. Their friends follow the pair, wondering if this really is a date.

Notes:

this is the one I wrote yesterday when I misread the days lol

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“And a show.”

“Right.” Magnus said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to ask Mortimus out, like they’d done it a hundred times before, but his downcast eyes and fidgeting fingers gave him away. He passed a tangle-toy from one finger to the next, staring at it like it held the answers to the secret of the universe.

It wasn’t normal. Mortimus was staring; mouth slightly agape, couldn’t believe his ears. Magnus? Of all people, Magnus?

“Okay! Sounds fun — pick me up at eight?” All Magnus could do was nod.

---

Millennia tucked her head in the crook of Rallon’s neck, eyes still focused on the stage in front of her. “This is nice,” she remarked, matter-of-factly. A serene peace had washed over the pair; they were still. One of those Couple Moments. So totally zen that where they were didn’t matter, so long as they had each other.

“I’m glad you like the show. I wasn’t sure…” Rallon trailed off, scratching his head with one hand (the one Millennia wasn’t pinning to his side). His girlfriend giggled.

“It’s not the show! It’s you!”

“Me?” He said, in mock surprise, before pointing to himself mutely.

“You!” She booped him on the nose. “You, taking initiative, finding something for us to try together. It’s good, trying new things, and, trying them with you… it’s nice.” She snuggled in closer. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered, and he blushed.

---

Magnus had dressed up in a burgundy suit with matching tie. He’d slicked his hair back, handing his date a pretty red rose at the start of the night — what a gentleman! He’d been nothing but polite, with maybe a touch of awkwardness, as Mortimus sat opposite him, floral dress clinging tight to his legs, bemused, trying to work out why the stoic leader of their little gang would bother humiliating himself for a night with him. The proposition was so out of the blue — he must have had a reason, some other agenda, and yet…

“I can’t figure you out.”

“Do you have to?”

Mortimus nodded seriously. “Yes. I have to figure everything out. But you? You’re a mystery.”

“Do you like mysteries?” Magnus asked, twisting spaghetti onto his fork and raising it to his lips. He wasn’t trying to be coy, or sexy, but suddenly, Mortimus wasn’t so sure about this all being some manipulative ploy. His eyes were innocent. Mortimus cleared his throat.

“Come on, you don’t want to be late for the show.”

---

As the pair took their seats, Koschei nudged Theta, pointing out a tall figure. “See? I told you he’d bring him.”

Theta smirked. “Alright, alright, maybe he does like him — good catch. Hey, Kos?”

“Yeah?” Koschei turned to face him, brilliant blue eyes dazzling him for a moment, making him lose concentration. He had that effect on a lot of people — it was the psychic undertones, or something. Like a fragrance, making anyone who got too near all heady. Maybe Theta was getting used to it, though, because he recovered quite quickly. Maybe he liked that he was getting used to it.

“Why’d you bring me? You hate puppets.”

“But you don’t, and I like you,” Kos said, not missing a beat. We all make sacrifices.

The lights dimmed and the curtains swung open slowly, creaking as they went, as the first string rightened to bring a small wooden figure with bright hair up onto the stage. “Hey, Kos? Do you ever think, given the right circumstances… do you think you could learn to like puppets?”

Koschei, who had turned back towards the stage, looked at Theta once more. “I never learned to like puppet shows because my father always taught me they were too childish. But maybe, with the right teacher, I could learn to like them?”

Stars, I hope I’m the right teacher, Theta thought as he placed one hand on Koschei’s shoulder, looking into his eyes intently, and began leaning into his warmth for a kiss.

Millennia reached out to hold her boyfriend’s hand as Magnus allowed Mortimus to lean against his side (just an experiment, he told himself) while Koschei finally learned about puppets.

Chapter 6: Right

Summary:

Theta is wild and uncontrollable; that's why Koschei loves him. But he knows what's coming all too well, because he can tell right from wrong, and Theta? Blinded by hunger, morality does not hold him back.

Notes:

thoschei cannibalism vibes/Theta destroying everything he touches, everything he loves, because that is who he is. yayyy

He places flowers in his boyfriend’s hair and they nestle in the yellow straw, playful, slipping between strands carelessly. The petals fall and the stem never does; there is nothing left. He wonders softly if it can always be like this. Theta doesn’t know right from wrong; Koschei can’t teach him. He’s wild and free and uncontrollable. It’s what he loves, but it’s also what he fears. The stars themselves cannot contain him; he is too hungry, taking in too much; he will eat the suns and their planet and their friends and even his Koschei, and that still will not be enough. He will keep eating people he loves in a desperate hope to satisfy what can never be full, his sense of adventure, adrenaline addiction; he will never be satiated. Too out of control; if he knew right from wrong, maybe, he could be reigned in, but then he would not be so wild and free and beautiful.

Chapter 7: Paint

Summary:

When a teacher makes Mortimus feel small, the Deca come together to help him make a statement.

Notes:

sorry guys another late one - don't look at the time haha, it's totally still the seventh! what do you mean! Anyway, for this to work, you have to just ignore that Gallifreyan's blood is orange. For the purpose of this fic's themes, no it isn't!!!

Red is the colour of rebellion. Paint sloshed up against the sides of the can, drops cascading out and onto the hem of Drax’s robes. He didn’t care — it was too bright to blend in, but he liked his clothes a little messy. Fits with the whole ‘anti-conformity’ vibe he preferred to bring to the function. Some good irony in wearing my school robes to protest my school being assholes.

His fellow troublemakers were behind him, inconspicuous, waiting for his signal. Well, trying to be inconspicuous, anyway — you know how those three are. Un-blend-in-able. And yes, that was three —  Mortimus had joined the Troublemaker Trio for this particular outing. The excursion was, in fact, for Mortimus’s benefit — a teacher had made him cry. He had made himself pretty, made themself pretty, as a form of self-expression tied directly to his queerness. That’s how they’d put it to Drax, when he was explaining it so eloquently, but his face was red and blotchy from crying — couldn’t hide that. Didn’t want to. He had always been the most obviously, unapologetically queer of the Deca, which meant he faced the most backlash. He was used to the calls of ‘slut’ from his peers (including Magnus), but he knew he had the support of his friends (especially Magnus. Always, always Magnus). But in a class with none of the rest of their little group, already having a bad day, they’d broken down. Couldn’t defend themself in the moment (not that it would have made a difference to the teacher’s attitude). He had cried with his bright pink nail-polish that Millennia had carefully painted on the night before (it glowed in the dark, so bright; bright as he could be if he was allowed to shine). He’d enjoyed being pretty. Being yelled at like that — it deflated him. And none of his friends could bear it.

“We’ll show ‘em,” Drax had promised, and Theta had put one hand on his shoulder in solidarity. Koschei was in the corner, hair long for the first time in decades, enjoying individualism since he no longer had to perform the part of the perfect straight boy for his father. Disownment had all kinds of perks. But watching his friend be denied what he had gained, well, that just wouldn’t fly.

“No way are we letting them take any of what makes you away. Not a bit. Drax is right, we’ll show them.” His blue eyes were big and serious, always so serious, and Mort knew Koschei would do anything to save him. They all would. Even Magnus. (Especially Magnus).
“You know I’m in! Come on Mort, what’ll make you feel better?”

Since the teacher didn’t have a car they could key (or steal and crash, if they really wanted to be expelled that badly), they’d gone with Mort’s second idea — painting the town red. Red was the colour of the grass they ran in when they were free from school. Red the colour of blood. Red the colour of rebellion.

“Ah-hmm!” Drax coughed, as nonchalantly as he could manage in close to full daylight (he was worried about drawing attention to the group). Theta and Koschei appeared from behind the bushes, together as always, making a beeline for a point just slightly past Drax. Thete first, then Kos, dipped their oversized wall brushes into the paint Drax carried and brushed it against the wall as they passed. Mort was close behind them. He dipped his whole hand in, coating his skin, then feeling his fingers scraped and rubbed raw as he smeared the paint onto the wall as he passed.

Drax stopped, listening. No screams, no, ‘hey, what-are-you-doing’s — no one was around. He nodded. The other three swivelled, coming back to do more damage to the school’s property — no more fascist ideology in your classrooms! Down with uniformity! We will fight back! The paint smeared across the wall, and Mortimus laughed inside. His friends would always have his back.

“You’ll probably get more than one detention for this, you know,” a voice came from behind the four —  Millennia, smiling, hand on her hip as she produced another paintbrush. Rallon was with her, tsking at the delinquency but happily carrying another can of paint nonetheless. “You know, this is making me want to dye my hair red again.” She started painting flowers on the wall around their words.

Jelpax appeared next — “They can’t put all of us in detention. Well, they can, but maybe you won’t suffer so much this time if I’m rotting there beside you.” He always cared about Drax’s ridiculousness, worried one day he’d get himself into the kind of trouble he just couldn’t escape from. Thank Rassilon, then, that Drax had a sensible friend like me looking out for him, or who knows what might happen — that’s what Jelpax always had to tell himself, a little mantra that smoothed over any concerns about getting involved in Drax’s schemes, as if he minded the trouble for the sake of his friend.

They all continued to paint for several minutes more, mostly in silence, until Ushas joined the group. “You’re all getting in so much trouble for this.”

“You will, too.” Another voice, another good friend — Mortimus flirted with Magnus the same as he did with anyone else, but his hearts skipped a beat whenever they got close. He came. “You’re here with these idiots.” He sighed wearily, as if he hadn’t chosen to join them of his own free will. With friends like these, maybe he couldn’t just choose not to. “And, I suppose I’m an idiot too.” Mortimus smiled as Ushas rolled her eyes affectionately, then Magnus turned around so he could be look-out while the group wondered if Vansell would show up — “would be a funny way to get a full house. Can’t even get that for our scheduled meetings usually, but of course we all show up for criminal activities,” Koschei joked as Theta splattered another random spray of colour onto the drab wall.
“Even if he doesn’t turn up, so what? At least we’re all here. That’s what matters.”

And the Deca (minus perhaps Vansell) would always come through when they needed some support. Right then, in that moment, Mortimus felt their love drown out the assholes and the bigots and knew that his friends would always have his back. (Even Magnus. Especially Magnus).

Notes:

Becuase it's late it's not what I wanted but I hope it still conveys what I want it to - this is about queer rebellion, and queer love, and queer love through queer rebellion. It's been a hard year for us all, but we've got each other's backs. Look around you. Your fellow queers are ready to surge up, to show you that you are loved. I know we're all scared, but no matter how bad things get, we'll always have the community. We will always have each other's backs, no matter what. So, if you're in need of some queer love and support, please don't hesitate to reach out this winter, okay? To helplines, to friends, to support groups and soup kitchens and food banks and shelters and getting involved with your local grassroots networks and finding your people. Don't wait. We need each other, now more than ever.

Chapter 8: Enemy

Summary:

“Oh.” Mortimus went quiet. “So, it’s begun — we have a traitor in our midst."

The gang play paintball.

Notes:

AHAHAHA I’m so evil for this!! Hope you all cry reading this!! Hurt no comfort but the hurt isn’t to a character it’s to the readers (: minor nsfw references because I’m in A Mood — think less innuendo than Torchwood, but more explicit than Moffat. Slightly Koschei-focused but I've sprinkled in lots of relationships (like, all the relationships. All of them), not just thoschei!

“AHHH I’M GOING TO JEFF THE KILL YOU!!!” Mortimus shouted, and nobody understood what he meant, because nobody else cared about other planets’ obscure pop culture. Still, it did give away his location, so his loving friends could shoot him. He felt the impact and looked down. Blue. Damnit. He lowered his guns.

When Ushas had suggested a game of paintball to relieve the group’s tension, Drax had gotten that wicked gleam in his eye, and immediately came up with a way to make it convoluted, seemingly just to annoy his friends. However, instead of being annoyed, Koschei jumped at the chance to understand a whole new set of rules, while Theta jumped at the chance to shoot his friends. Before Drax could finish saying, “imagine if Sardines sucked and we shot each other a lot,” the entire Deca had gotten on board. The gameplay, as carefully concocted (from a bizarre, nonsensical idea of Drax’s) by the formidable team that was Jelpax, Rallon, and Magnus, were as follows:

One of the ten of them would be the shooter, with blue paint in their gun. They would advance on the other nine after a five minute head-start, allowing them time to hide, rally, plan, jack off — whatever they desired.  The shooter would track down the others and shoot them. Once you were shot, you joined the shooter, and helped track down your teammates. However, one of them was secretly carrying red paint, and was a one-hit shooter, so anyone who was shot by them was out of the game. The red shooter would be out if they were shot by a Blue. Last man standing wins.

Once Magnus had finished reading out the rules, Theta’s objection that it seemed to foster a sense of division rather than comradery was silenced by Magnus’s death glare.
“Theta, I want to shoot my friends. It’s either with paint, or with my dad’s blaster, so, shut up if you want to stay alive.” No one ever knew if he was joking — Theta decided to play it safe, and stopped speaking.

Magnus was, of course, the Blue shooter, and was quick to begin the hunt for his friends. Millennia and Rallon were the first to be got by Red — out with two quick bangs — but after that it was more difficult. The pair had made some kind of pact to stay together (ride or die, in games as in life), but the others had been more clever — after initial consultations with the rest of the team, they’d split up, Koschei psychically organising other meeting points. He could feel when someone's loyalties changed, but he wouldn’t say when it happened — wouldn’t want to give the game away. Despite his strong mental link with the group, he had no idea who carried the red cartridge.

Ducking and weaving between trees to the sounds of gunshots, he met up with Mortimus, as the pair had planned, behind a forked trunk that provided some protection.
“The lovers are dead.”
Mortimus shook his head. “You take these things too seriously, Koschei! They’re just Blues now.”
“No, I mean, Red got them — either that, or they decided to skive off the rest of the game so they could kiss. I saw them, behind the cabin where we started. Covered in red.”
“Oh.” Mortimus went quiet. “So, it’s begun — we have a traitor in our midst.”

“AAAAAAAAA!!!” They heard a scream and looked out towards the open clearing as a figure with short brown hair and large specs came hurtling towards them — Jelpax, desperate for protection.
Could Red be Drax? He looks shaken up enough for it. Mortimus transmitted to Koschei, then gasped as Jelpax crumpled dramatically before them. Well, paint does hurt. Standing up slowly, he cocked his gun — his glasses were splattered with drops of blue.

“Run!” Mortimus yelled, and he and Koschei separated as quickly as they could. Beelining for the cabin, Koschei wondered — could he ever do to Theta what whoever was chasing Jelpax did to him? The answer was easy — of course not. Not in anything more than a game, anyway. Stupid thought really, but they were getting older — even silly games made them think of their future. Of how Prydonians became when they graduated, all traitorous and asshole-y. Well, the Deca already had the asshole part down — whose to say if betrayal would follow? Koschei shook his head, then ducked in as Mortimus yelled something about Jeff.

Inside the cabin, Drax was perching on a hay bale. “Hey.”
“Hey. So, anyone else dead? Apart from the lovers, I mean.”
Drax shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen. Red must be playing the long game — I think Mort just got turned, and I think Jelpax might be, too, but I haven’t seen Ushas all game. Magnus probably wants to go after her himself. Your boyfriend’s also been hiding out somewhere, as has Vansell — a lover’s tryst, you think?” He grinned cheekily, and Koschei swatted at him half-heartedly — all those ‘thansell’ jokes were getting a bit old.
“So.”
“So.” The two sat in silence for a few moments, broken up only by the ‘rat-tat-tat’ of distant gunfire. “I don’t think it’s you,” Drax blurted out, and Koschei smiled.
“I know it’s not you. You’re easy to read, Drax — if it was, I’d know.”
Drax tilted his head. “So, not Theta then? I mean, you two are inseparable — you’d know, right?”
Koschei looked down at his shoes, and Drax felt a little lost, like he’d made some offhand comment about bazookas and Kos had just been reminded about a bazooka that had killed a loved one. “I don’t know. We had this fight the other day, and… I think I’d feel it, but, maybe he’s the only one who really could hide from me too, you know?”
Drax blinked. “Uh, sure. Wanna talk about —”

“OUT OF MY WAY LOSERSSSS!!” Ushas came barrelling in as the boys jumped to their feet, heading for the door in case she was covered in blue. She wasn’t. She rolled herself up from the floor and grinned. “I knew you two would be hiding like cowards. Thete, Vansell, and us three are the only ones who aren’t either blue or out now, if you hadn’t noticed. Magnus was gunning for me, but I think he wants to take out you all first — he’s got some idea that I’m Red. I think he’s just hoping I am so he gets to fulfil his psychosexual fantasies, but — hey, where are you going?” As soon as she’d said the word ‘Red’, the two had scarpered. She rolled her shoulder blades, relishing the chance to stretch in an empty area, while elsewhere, guns were going off again.

Covered in blue, Koschei lowered the gun he’d been aiming at Jelpax, then turned to look at Magnus. “She’s in the barn, if you want to go fulfil your psychosexual fantasies.” He turned and stomped off, searching for Theta. Come on, it can’t be you…

Jelpax and Drax stood, eye to eye, Drax’s gun with the green pellets (they kept blue ones with them for if they were turned, but otherwise used random colours) clearly nearing empty. He smiled at his oldest friend, and repositioned his gun.
“Could you shoot me? Really? The boy you’ve sat next to, cried into my shoulder, let me braid your —” Yes. Yes he could. Drax reeled a little from the blow, blue smattering across his chestplate.
“It’s a game, Drax.” Jelpax hoisted his gun over his shoulder, then extended a hand out to his victim. “Come on, let’s go kill Vansell.”
“Yayy!” Drax said, and Jelpax shook his head fondly as the two picked their way through the trees.

Koschei ran towards the only other structure in the area — it was falling down, condemned, abandoned, useless to anyone but the Deca and their stupid games. If no one else had found the two, well… there was nowhere else to go. They had to be together, and, any moment now, one would shoot the other, and then all the rest of them, if Koschei didn’t reach him first. One boy was about to be covered in blood, no, red paint, why was he thinking blood? If he could only focus…

He was nearly at the ruins now. That’s really what it was, the whitewashed pile of rotting planks barely enough to conceal one person, let alone two. They must be close together there, cramped, entwined, sweaty and adrenaline-filled and — focus. Darting forwards from behind the nearest tree, he could sense at least Theta’s presence, and possibly one other person’s — he must have been right about their hiding place. Steading his gun, he advanced, and — Bang! A gunshot from behind the planks, and the forest floor was splattered with red.

He was out of time.

Notes:

amogus coded hehe

Anyway, if you didn’t get it, this was about who really broke up the Deca, hence being left ambiguous who Red was.

Chapter 9: Cozy

Summary:

Rallon and Millennia are happy and nothing bad happened (:

Notes:

Actually publishing it on the right day!! A hurt no comfort drabble for your consideration (:

In another universe, Rallon holds Millennia loosely, gangly arms draped over her shoulder as she twists her head up to look at his smile as she explains some niche piece of video game lore from something he’s never played. They’re cozy and comfortable and it all worked out. A happy ending, immortalised in the morning light.

In this universe, Theta stares at the broken strings of a marionette, trying to pretend that the fading evening light didn’t make it’s hair look blue and it’s clothes look like their old red Academy uniform, transformed into felt for a new wooden toy.

Chapter 10: Light

Summary:

Guilt is a heavy thing.

Notes:

Angst fic because today has been tough. Obligatory Rock Murder Drabble

The rock was light in his hands; so much adrenaline coursing through his system that he barely felt the weight. The guilt was heavier, though; crushing him like a boulder, so much bigger than the one he’d used to take a life. He’d thought, in those moments after blood had splattered his cheek and Koschei had surfaced, gasping for air, that the guilt would be lighter than the bruises on Koschei’s face from Torvic’s heavy hand, but he was wrong. The guilt outweighed the pain and he couldn’t take it anymore; it wasn’t light enough to carry another step.

Chapter 11: Lost

Summary:

She is so lost... So very lost...

Notes:

Writing this at 3:40 am while at a trans protest - I feel the love and the rage and the pain and the loss. Feels appropriate for this fic.

She hears the song and it kills her a little because it is one she can never sing. It is a melody for the living, sung for the lost and alone, and it is for her but her wooden jaw can never form the sounds again. She is cast in a dark cupboard and deserted and forgotten, and this song reaches her but it cannot save her. 

Somewhere, the universe sings for it's lost children, the forgotten, the abandoned. Someone doesn't have to form the words; the song is there anyway. The notes form on lips that do not exist and she drowns, despairing, but the music makes it beautiful.

Notes:

IDC THAT IT MAKES NO SENSE OKAY?? I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN A LONG TIME AND WELL BE GRATEFUL FOR WHAT YOU GET. I LOVE YOU