chubbobablast

[chubbobablast]

characters raised to be tools

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.

Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?

[chubbobablast]

*I saw the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever and I took it

[chubbobablast]

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[chubbobablast]

Taking Prisoners

Baby just so happens to get on April’s last nerve, and it leads to some very bad decisions being made.

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Category: Gen Fandom: 60 Parsecs! (Video Game) Characters: April Angelle, Baby Bronco, Tom Thomson (60 Parsecs!) Additional Tags: Narrator A.S.T.R.O., POV Second Person, Drowning, Choking, Blackmail, Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Plushies, think I'm getting the hang of this :D, Violence, Blood and Violence, Broken Promises, Broken Bones, Graphic Description, emmet is mentioned, briefly, Self-Hatred Series: Part 1 of Taking Prisoners

Read it on Ao3!

Notes:

*hiiii I hope you enjoy :D I put a lot of energy into this one

*also the reason I made this a series is bc I'm considering writing it from baby's perspective at some point in the future.. if you guys are interested, pls lmk! comments mean a lot to me :]

*and some better news- I started working on my brommet longfic! yay! it's going to be MUCH, MUCH tamer than my oneshots here, I promise. ofc it'll still have it's moments. it wouldn't be one of my fics without it :3

*anyways, that's all I have to say. keep a box of tissues nearby, and without further ado, enjoy.

Good morning, Captain! Er… whatever time it is. No matter! It is morning for you and your crewmates. Would you like to hear what is on the agenda for today? First, we have our usuals: check supply counts, check on your crewmates, handle whatever today decides to throw at us, evaluate potential future expeditions, etcetera etcetera… But besides that, nothing, really.

Hm. Not much has been happening lately, has it? Well, sometimes that’s a good thing. Especially because Tom is blatantly reluctant to your leadership and everything seems to be in order on the shuttle. If my assumptions are correct, he hasn’t started scheming anything… yet. Maybe you should keep an eye on him if you aren’t already.

Seems like you’re one step ahead of me. Look at you! You’re already shooting dirty glares in his direction, breaking eye contact the second it forms. Your fury only grows each time you see him squint his eye at you. How long will it fester before it breaks? Only time will tell. Each time he rears his ugly head, it’s a spit in the wind of your leadership.

Silence breaks once the crewmate next to you, Baby Bronco, emerges from the sleeping quarters at the back of the shuttle with a biiiiiiiig stretch. It’s like he’s just woken up, bedhead and everything. His eyes meet yours first.

“Good mornin’, Cap’n,” he greets wearily. “‘N Tom.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, but you assume he gestured. He’s not in a very good mood.

“Morning,” you huff, unenthused. Come on, Captain; he’s just trying to be friendly.

You watch him waltz his way over to his chair, facing you once he’s seated. “How’re ya?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss with aggression dusted over your tone, not really wanting to talk. Well, fine. Be that way.

I assume it’s because you’re irritated over Tom. Knowing that he could do something to sabotage you at any moment makes rage swell within your bosom. If he doesn’t calm down soon, you may have to resort to… drastic measures. If you know what I mean. Like actually being nice to him and trying to be his friend instead of screaming at him over every little annoyance and scaring your other crewmate who you seem to ignore. What? Don’t give me that look.

“Ya sure–?” Crewmate Bronco inquires again. “Ya don’ sound fine–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you insist, gritting your teeth. “Just… don’t worry about it. Mind your business.”

“D’uh… okay,” he mumbles, shyly turning away from you. “But… if ya ever need someone t’ talk to, ah’m right here.”

He grins at you with the intent of easing tension, but it doesn’t work. You don’t even care to do so much as glance in his direction. As a result of his embarrassment, he stops talking, cloaking the shuttle in an uneasy quietude. Now all of you are sitting anxiously, refusing to say a word or look at each other. Great job.

You turn your back on your crew– literally, not metaphorically– and pull the communications device across from your chair towards you with the intent of running checks. Good thinking, ma’am! You sneakily pull a screwdriver from your uniform, lifting the machine into your lap. Tracing it with your dusty gloves, you observe the mechanism, seeing if there was anything you could fix or improve.

You get to work. Hopefully, this will calm you down; I know this is something you enjoy. It makes hours feel like minutes, and days pass by with the blink of an eye. Or the twirl of a screwdriver, in this case. Besides, it’s very beneficial! Making everything on the ship perform at its peak condition is excellent work practice. It pays off, too!

…Nothing to say about that, huh? Well, you are busy. I suppose I should let you work in peace for a little while.

—

An hour or two goes by as you work. You don’t pay much attention to your environment, diverting all your focus into your mini project. You don’t allow the intermittent background chatter to disturb you. More like you try not to, but I’d say it was a valiant effort. It was mostly Baby speaking, anyway. Before Tom had decided you’re unfit to be leader, you felt like those two would talk nonstop. You know, you’re more than welcome to join in, Captain. But if you believe you are too far above the rest of the crew, I can respect that mindset.

You sigh, and place the upgraded communicator back where you found it. Wonderful! This should make it easier to pick up signals, and they should be clearer as well. You should be proud of yourself, ma’am.

Your trusty screwdriver returns to its placement back inside your spacesuit. As you turn back around to check on the shuttle, you notice Baby picking at a spot on his raggedy teddy bear with an upset expression on his face. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, you look to the other side of the shuttle and see something small, yet alarming.

Crewmate Thomson is lingering around the soup supply! In his record, it does say he used to be a chef, which could’ve been helpful. However, in this scenario, that is not a good thing. He probably knows the best ways to manipulate your food to cause problems. There’s still a chance he could just steal it, though. That is not something you should risk.

Will you do something about it?

“HEY!” Without hesitation, you rise from your seat, causing all eyes to turn to you. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“What?” Tom questions with a glare. “I’m just standin’ here.”

“Don’t try that bullshit on me,” you retort as you confront him, chest out. “I saw you try to grab one of them! And I didn’t say you could!”

“Says who?” He snaps back, leaning down to be closer to a face-to-face level with you. “I don’t see what yer fussin’ about. Captain.”

He pumped his words full of venom to spit at you. The way he called you ‘Captain’ was clearly condescending. Maybe you haven’t made the best decisions on this journey, but you’re certainly trying. I’m still on your side. Baby’s still on your side. He’s outnumbered, Captain. I say you show him who’s in charge around here.

“What I’m “fussing” about is YOU trying to sabotage us!” You point your finger at him, almost coming in contact with his chest. “I’ll let you have rations when it’s time! You don’t need to be hanging around here, so sit back down. NOW.”

He grits his teeth. “Ya don’t know that fer certain. Maybe I was just tryin’ to help, and yer too stubborn to let me do anythin’.”

“Guys…” Baby softly tries to intervene, but neither of you listen to him.

You roll your eyes. “Pfft. Yeah, right! As if I’d believe your sleazy ass!” A hiss is strained from your lips. “You never wanna do anything to help because you’re an old, lazy, lying bum, and you think you’re too good for any of that, so you make me do all the work!”

“I’ve offered ya help before, but ya never let me do anythin’–”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE GONNA SABOTAGE US,” nose-to-nose, you berate him.

“Guys.” Baby tenses, growing more nervous by the second.

“Ya don’t know that,” Tom continues to argue with you. “If ya’d just quit lettin’ yer anger control ya, ya’d see that. But yer too damn stubborn!”

“I’m doing my best as Captain. There’s not much hope out here, and you certainly aren’t helping. AT ALL.” You ball your fists, channeling your fury into them as if you were suspecting a fight to break out. At this point, it might. “You just want this ship for your damn self–”

“What I want is fer ya to actually try and be a good Captain so we can actually try and make the most of what we have here,” he snarls from deep within his throat. “But since yer too focused on yerself and yer ‘precious’ machines, ya can’t do anythin’–”

“I’LL FUCKING THROW YOU OUT THE AIRLOCK RIGHT NOW!! ”

“GUYS!”

The argument is broken before you or Tom can throw the first punch. Your throat is scratched by the energy you put behind that scream. Baby’s eyes, full of anxiety, dart between you and your other crew member. He’s nearly in tears.

“S-Stop fightin’…” He begs. “Please.”

Tom crosses his arms. He glares at you, squinting. You both debate listening to him, staring at each other with unconventional amounts of anger. The heaviness in your breath, the weight in the air… it bears down on all of you. I can feel it; it’s unsettling.

Hugging his teddy bear tight, Baby’s broken voice quavers one more time. “Please…?”

Sighing, Crewmate Thomson then walks away from the food storage and returns to his rightful place. Your shoulders press into your sides, and your hands remain fists. You really want to break something– or someone– but you refrain. I strongly recommend doing something to cool off.

“Fine.” Although you’re unhappy about it, you agree to his terms, and strut your way to the back of the shuttle. “Keep an eye on him,” you order. “Don’t let him touch ANYTHING.”

You can sense an inquiry lingering in the atmosphere, but you ignore it. You don’t want to be around either of your crew members right now. You should help them later, though. Or at least try to. Or don’t. I don’t know. It’s up to you… Captain.

Once you’re left alone, you lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling and shutting your eyes with a deep exhale. You aren’t able to hear any speech back here– your company is the peaceful trickling of our water supply within the pipes.

For a change of pace, you decide to focus on it for a minute. Only a sliver is visible from the machine, but it’s there. And plentiful! A deep chute connects to a large tank that’s filtered and used as drinking water. Maybe settle down for a moment and have a drink?

You approach the machine. Interested in learning more? Well, allow me to educate you! Clean water is automatically dispensed, but there is also a lever you can use to manually dispense it. But if you do, it’s likely to be dirty, so only do that if it is absolutely necessary or if it’s not being used for hydration purposes.

“C… Cap’n–?”

Baby enters the room, meaning you are no longer left to your own devices. You shove a sigh under your breath and turn your head over your shoulder.

“Hiya…” He twiddles his fingers, clutching his stuffed animal closer. “Are… are ya okay?”

“I told you,” you grumble, “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” he swallows. “Ah’m sorry.”

You say nothing, breaking eye contact with him and furrowing your brows.

“Ah just… want ya t’ feel better,” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. He shuffles towards you with kind intentions. “Ah wish ah could help ya not be so mad, but… ah dunno what t’ do…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you blurt in an attempt to shut him up.

Your answer doesn’t provide him any solace. He stands to the left behind you, peering down at the chute you’re so intently surveying. “What’cha doin’?”

“Nothing.” You’re beginning to grow agitated, but Baby isn’t catching on. “Just thinking.”

“Oh.” His swampy hazel eyes drag themselves around the narrow room and land on the machine you lean over. “Is this the water doohickey? Th– The… da…dis…pens…er…?”

“Yes, the water dispenser.”

“How does it work?” He asks, lightly tapping a finger to his chin. “Ah know yer good with machines ‘n stuff… ‘cause ya told me ya fixed bikes, ‘n… other things.”

I’m surprised Baby cannot feel the ramping tension by now. A heavy sigh leaves your chest. “This is where the water comes from, and then it goes down this chute when it’s filtered, and then it goes into that tank so we can drink it. Simple.”

“What does ‘filtered’ mean?” The redhead tilts his head at you like a confused puppy. “Ah ain’t ever heard that word before.”

‘God, is he actually this stupid, or is he fucking with me?’ You think to yourself with the roll of your eyes. “It takes all the dirty stuff out of the water so it’s safe to drink.”

“Ohh, okay!” I’d say a metaphorical lightbulb went off in his head, but I’m not sure if there was even a bulb to begin with. “That makes sense now.”

Your teeth sink into your lip, grinding and frustrated. You’re praying he leaves soon. You were about to ask him, but were interrupted before you could even make a sound.

“D’ya think ya could make somethin’ like this?” Baby wonders, believing he’s onto something. “But with soup instead? Like… sum’n that makes soup fer us? Then, we wouldn’t hafta worry ‘bout–”

…AAAAnd that was the final straw. You snapped.

“It doesn’t WORK like that, you moron!” You yell at him, and he flinches back. “You can’t just make something out of nothing! I dunno where we’re getting this water from, but I at least know it comes from SOMEWHERE. Are you dumb!?”

“Uh, uhh…” His knees buckle, shivering fearfully. “A little bit…! But ah’m really tryin’, ah promise!”

“Well, try harder! ‘Cause you’re CLEARLY not doing yourself any good right now!” You sass as you turn around with your hands on your hips. “You have the competence of a child. Gimme that!”

You throw your shoulder back and your hand shoots forward to swipe the plush toy out of Baby’s hands. He gasps and tries to take it again, but to no avail. His lip quivers and his eyes water, staring at you like you had just stolen one of his very favorite things away from him. Oh wait, you did.

“C– Cap’n!” He whines. “Give it back!”

“No,” you growl, wrapping your arm around the bear’s neck and holding it to your hip. “Yeesh, how long have you had this thing? Since you were two? ‘Cause it sure looks like it.”

“Ah–Ah dunno!” He gives a panicked reply. “Give ‘im back! Ah’m beggin’ ya, please!”

“Maybe you’ll actually man up if you’re not carrying a toddler’s toy around with you everywhere.” All the words you can think to say are those of condemnation. “Grow up.”

“B-But… he…” He attempts to reach for it, sniffling, but you step away. “He makes me happy! He makes me feel less– less lonely… He’s mah best friend…”

“I don’t care about your damn sob story. It’s about as stupid and pathetic as you are,” you chide, using whatever insults are at the tip of your tongue. “This nasty thing is probably older than I am. It’s disgusting. Have you even washed it before? Eugh.”

“Well, ah… ah’ve tried to.” He twiddles his thumbs with his shoulders scrunched up, looking at you with eyes soaked in desperation. “But ah dunno how…”

“You don’t even know how to wash it?” You angrily gesture with your free hand. “God, you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Ah know! Ah know!” Baby shouts, tears starting to run down his cheeks. “Ah’m a big dummy! Ah don’t know much of anythin’! Ah’m such an idiot, ah don’ even know how to do what ah’m supposed t’ do most of the time, even if ah try!”

His face falls into his cupped hands, sobbing relentlessly into them as he drops to his knees. At first, you suspect he might be faking it to get what he wants, but you doubt he’s smart enough to do that. Even if he was, you don’t know if it’d look that real.

“Please…” He coughs and chokes, uncovering the upper half of his face to meet your eyes. “Ah’ll do anythin’!”

“Anything, huh?”

“Anythin’!”

Your body relaxes a little bit. With drooping eyes, you peer at the base of the chute next to the water supply, all the way up to the lever for manual activation. Then, you gaze at the blubbering manchild in front of you, a sinister idea having already formed in your head.

“I want you to kill Tom.”

“Wh… What?” He meets your eyes, and his crying ceases immediately.

“I want you to kill Tom,” you repeat, lighting a fire in the back of your mind. You are still set on the idea that Tom is planning to sabotage you, and you can’t let that happen– it’d be better if you got rid of him as soon as possible.

“Ah…” Verbally clumsy as he is physically clumsy, he stumbles in a word search. “Ah… n-no.”

“What did you say?”

“Ah can’t do it.” For the first time ever, you see his blood begin warming, slowly but surely making its way to a boil as he looks you dead in the eye. “Ah ain’t gon’ do that. Ah been hurtin’ folks all mah life, and ah promised mahself ah ain’t gon’ do it again.”

Surprisingly, you do not seem angry. Not one bit. “Well…” You breathe, moving the stuffed animal in front of you, clearly on display for him to see. “Then I guess you can say bye-bye to your little friend.”

There’s an open seam on the right shoulder. As if it wasn’t worthy of your gloved touch, you wedge the paw between your index finger and your thumb, using your other hand to hold it up by the head. Sluggishly, you start tugging at the arm with the tear, causing a couple of seams to pop. Baby’s expression immediately turns from firm to one of terror.

“No, NO!” The idea that he could physically overpower you to get it back eludes him. This time, you’re lucky he’s such an idiot, yes? “Okay, okay! Ah’ll do it! Ah swear!!”

“You promise?” You tilt your chin up, flashing an intimidating glare.

“Ah promise.” He clasps his hands together, begging you for mercy. “Ah’ll do whatever ya want! Just don’ hurt ‘im!”

“That’s what I thought.” You shove the plush cargo into your suit. “So, we have a deal?”

He refuses to look at you. “Y… Yes. Ah’ll do it.”

We both know for a fact he’s capable, but his cowardice displeases you. You’ve known he was a coward from the moment you met him, but he has no reason to be. He could brute force his way through any issue if he tried. He could get anything and everything he wanted that way, and now, you’re going to use it for your personal gain.

“Listen,” you heave a sigh. “You’re strong. Strong as hell. You may not have a brain in your head, but you’ve got a lot of muscle power. You could do it with your bare hands if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, ah know…” A hand wipes his face. “That’s all anyone ever sees in me. Mah strength.”

“Because that’s probably your only redeeming quality.” You watch him rise to his feet, his quakes having eased. “But I’ll give you one chance to prove to me that you’re good at following instructions. One.”

He sniffles one more time, heaving a deep breath with a shiny glaze of salty teardrops coating his eyes as he longs in yours.

“Yes, Cap’n.”

You send a single nod in his direction. “That’s what I like to hear, and I know just how you’re gonna do it.”

“How?”

—

It comes to a shock to me that Tom didn’t hear the commotion in the back of the shuttle, but it works out in your favor. Better yet, everything remains to be in working order, so he has not enacted his plausible plans of sabotage yet. But now, it’s your turn.

“D’uh… Tom?” Shy as ever, Baby peeks out from the edge of the door.

“Hm?” He successfully catches the one-eyed crewmate's attention.

“The– uh…” He anxiously redirects his gaze to the back. “Cap’n wants ya.”

Tom isn’t enthused by this, but he obliges. He stands up and follows Baby to the back where you reside, waiting to follow through with your plan. He escorts him down the corridor, appearing to be the gentleman he always presented himself as despite knowing what he’s about to do to him. How tragic.

The eyepatched crewmate gives you a slow blink of acknowledgement. Unimpressed, you stare back with your arms crossed. No words are exchanged for an elongated moment, and the anticipation causes the hair under your suit to rise. You’d never admit it, but you’re nervous. Very nervous. But you’re not alone– Baby is struggling to contain his anxious trembles. You can sense the goosebumps forming on his arms from a distance.

You push yourself off the wall and walk past him, keeping your posture steady and your expression blank. Baby moves out of your way, standing diagonally from you and across from Tom. His fingers intertwine in an attempt to divert his nervous energy elsewhere.

“So…” Skeptical, Tom raises a brow. “Whaddaya need?”

“I found something in the water supply that’s making it difficult for it to filter the right way,” you explain with a huff, plastering a puzzled expression on Tom’s face. “You wanna explain this?”

You flick the lever for manual activation on the highest setting, causing a river to flow down the chute. Tom turns his head away from Baby in order to get a closer look at the flowing liquid, clearly confused on what he’s supposed to be looking at. The moment he ever-so-slightly leans down, you avert your gaze to Crewmate Bronco and bark an order:

“NOW!”

Tom becomes alarmed. He widens his stance and whips his head back around, but he’s too late. Baby is charging towards him at full power, his giant, meaty hands wrapping themselves around Tom’s neck the moment he’s in reach. A loud SPLASH! bounds off the cabin walls as Crewmate Thomson is submerged under running water.

His efforts to break Baby’s grip are futile. He writhes and squirms, kicking his legs and slamming his fists into the other’s repeatedly, but he doesn’t even flinch! There’s an intense glint in his eyes, his immense fear from mere moments ago having fully dissipated, as if he was never scared at all. Quite the impression, Captain! Aren’t you pleased?

Bubbling brooks swarm Tom’s throat, warping his blood-curdling screams into muffled gurgles, and the one who you thought would be the most terrified is the one who wears the coldest stone mask. The water continues to flow at your command, and the flame in the back of Baby’s criminal mind has been reignited, flickering with intense focus and dedication. It’s like he was doing this for something noble rather than an old plush bear.

The victim’s sputtering is growing more and more desperate by the second. There are few words that are decipherable, those being “help me!” “Stop!” “Please!” and “Don’t do this!” with unmatched horror in his bloodshot eye. You and your redheaded companion ignore his pleas. The water continues running and his hands continue tightening.

Baby Bronco, who was once a gentle and kind soul, who would’ve cried at the thought of even saying something a little bit mean, is now wringing the life out of someone who he could’ve been a friend. And you ordered it. I’d say he’s enjoying himself, considering how hard he’s trying for you, but his lack of emotion outside of devotion tells me that he’s not truly here anymore.

Eventually, Tom’s resistance slows, then comes to a complete stop. You assume he’s dead, but it seems Baby has a different idea. He continues to force him underwater for a moment longer before pulling him out, holding him from underneath the shoulders in his hands. The tension in your palms releases once you let go of the lever.

“Welp, job’s done,” you grunt, expecting Baby to allow Tom to fall onto the floor, but… he doesn’t.

He does not meet your eyes as he turns to face you. His arms slide beneath Tom’s, snaking up to his head as saliva-tainted water spills over his bright yellow gloves. He positions his hands very carefully, one placed beneath his chin, the other on the crown of his head, with a finger next to his wide open eye. Then– as if all of your stored fury had been transferred to him in one heap– crunch.

Bronco crushed the bones in Thomson's neck. It twisted, the bone shards making his blood squelch as they clawed his flesh. With the broken structure no longer supporting his head, it lulls to the side. They’re across the room from you, but the sound was so graphic it was as if it had snapped right in your ear. I could feel it, too.

Then, he is thrown onto the ground. His head is tilted to an angle uncomfortable to look at, and his neck is tied in a knot like it was a shoelace, water pooling onto the floor from his gaping maws. Tom Thomson is dead. Cause of death: either drowning or a broken neck. By this point, I am unable to tell which. Regardless, he is no longer with us. Just as you wanted.

Baby’s heavy chest rises and falls rapidly with a pounding heart, staring at the damage he’s done. After a few deep breaths, he calms down a little, and approaches you with an intense glare.

“Give it back.”

Stubborn as ever, you roll your eyes, reluctantly reaching into your suit. A shimmer of hope returns to his eyes as the stuffed animal hangs from between your fingers by the paw. “Fine. Take it. I don’t want the damn thing, anyway.”

With a relieved gasp and a smile tearing open his face like a kid on Christmas morning, he takes the teddy bear into his hands and clings it to his chest with a depth of love I’ve never seen before. It makes you cringe, but I think it’s quite sweet!

“Thank ya, Cap’n! Thank ya, thank ya, thank ya!” He cries. “Ah’m never gon’ let ‘im go! Never again!”

He sobs into the soft plush, slumping down with his back against the wall as if he had just reunited with a beloved family member or pet after several years of no contact. You watch his shoulders repeatedly twitch in utter disgust.

“Jeez,” you scowl, “you really live up to your name, don’t you? Psh. More like Crybaby Bronco…”

With the rest of his face hidden, he peers at you with one eye. “H-Hey… that ain’t nice…”

“Oh, you’re giving me shit for not being nice?” Quickly, your hands move to your hips with a scowl, in a position where you tower over him at last. “You just killed someone. Don’t think you can get much meaner than that, dumbass.”

“Hmph…” He puffs, breaking eye contact and furrowing his brow.

“God, grow up and be a man already, will you!?” You raise your voice at him. I doubt this is an effective method to get him to do what you want, ma’am. “We’re in the middle of space. No one’s gonna know. It doesn’t fucking matter. It’s survival of the fittest out here– even Emmet was more of a man than you ever will be.”

“Wh– Why would ya say that ‘bout ‘im!?” He wails. “He ain’t here anymore! ‘Cause ya didn’ save ‘im!”

“Oh, I can’t be mean to him because he’s dead. I get it now,” you chide aggressively. “That egotistical nerd was barely a man when he was alive, but he was still doing more than the likes of you. Hasn’t changed since that wimp died.”

“Ya… Ya shouldn’ be mean t’ anyone…” Feeling insulted on behalf of his former crewmate, he protests. “It don’ make anyone feel good. It’s just plain bad fer ya.”

“It’d be better if I never had such a goddamn liability on my ship to begin with,” you badger. “You’re a fucking mistake.”

The only response he gives you is further burying his face into his plush friend and crying louder. He sniffs and sobs with coughing fit interludes to boot. His breath spasms as if he had just been punched in the stomach. Harshly, he clears his throat and lifts his chin.

“Ah wish ah wasn’ a bad person like you.”

“The hell did you say to me–!?”

“Ah would never hurt mah friends like you do.” Baby wipes his tears with the end of his palm, staggering to stand.

“We’re not friends, Baby,” you defend yourself, gritting your teeth. “Never were, never will be. I am your Captain, which means you’re below me. You listen to ME, you follow MY command!”

“No. Me ‘n you are the same now.” There’s a bit more confidence behind his words and anger behind his expression. “Ya might’ve been above me… but now, ya’ve sunk low enough fer me t’ reach ya.”

Before you’re able to question him further, he launches his fist at the side of your jaw, hitting you like a bullet. You immediately stumble back, and the wall catches you before you collapse. Your hand hovers over the spot where you were hit, then you return your eyes to Baby’s; full of the same rock-solid coldness he had been wearing before like a goddamn serial murderer!

You’re unable to retaliate before he swings the next punch, hitting you right in the stomach. You double over, spluttering violently with blood spilling over your lower lip, a few droplets hitting the floor. He hits you again, knocking one of your teeth out of its slot and you to the ground. You slammed your head against the corner of the wall, leaving a string of crimson stains. Furious and agonized, you groan, using what little energy you have left to stay awake, stay alert, and stay alive.

He drops to his knees, looming over you like a bulky skyscraper. The one eye that you have open is digging into his soul, as if you held the power of a dragon’s eye. But you don’t. Baby punches you right next to the eye, and then in the nose, crackling, squirting blood onto his knuckles and onto your face. Things are moving so fast that you don’t feel the pain of your freshly broken nose.

Death itself yanks a sharp gasp out of your lungs as if it were making room for its hand to reach in and claim your soul. Your bloody-knuckled crew member rolls his fist back and blocks your movement with his free hand, preparing another heavy punch. As much as you want to fight back, you know that this is a battle you cannot win.

“Don’t–!” You shriek, your tone disguising the beg for mercy as a Captain’s order. And– some way, somehow– your silent prayers are answered.

Crewmate Bronco’s cold display of damnation disintegrates. Tears threaten to spout from his eyes once more, and he gazes at you with a feeling of pure horror previously only accessible to children. The shaky fist retracts, and eventually unfolds itself back to the gentle hand it once was.

“No, nonono…” Baby snivels, the reality of what he’s done starting to settle. “Cap’n, ah… a-ah’ll save ya! Hang on!”

As fast as he can, he gets up and retreats to the main room of the shuttle, leaving you dazed and all alone. Especially in your current state, I am unable to tell what thoughts are spinning in your mind. I don’t know if I want to know, but we can only hope that you did the right thing… right?

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you didn’t. And I’m sure, deep down, you know that, too, but you are too stubborn to say you’ve reconsidered. As the blood trickles from your lip down to your neck, as you struggle to keep your eyes open while you’re seeing stars, wishing to rest one last time, the reality sets in. As one last kick in the conscience, you recognize what you’ve done, all just because you felt petty. You’ve doomed us all, Captain.

Huffing rapidly, your last remaining crew member sprints back into the room with a medkit in his grasp. He must’ve stashed his old toy elsewhere. In a panicking flurry, he sits on his knees next to you, flipping the small white box open to access the contents inside. You had a guess that knowing there’s a possibility you could survive, he would (somewhat) relax. Instead, he panics more.

Ah, that’s right– he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Plagued by tremors, he fumbles the bandages he tried to grab, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to quell his nerves. Once he has a hold of them, he redirects his attention back to you. All the damage he had done now within plain sight, he becomes overwhelmed, unsure where to start patching you up.

The bandages are tossed aside for now. Baby begins searching for something to treat your injuries first: ointments, creams, oils, a bit of ice, anything. But he fails to find something to–

Captain? Captain, are you awake? Oh my circuits, I thought you were gone for a second there. Don’t scare me like that. Your grip on consciousness is faltering, your vision flickering in-and-out of a black void. When he notices, Baby gives up trying to find something to clean your wounds and rushes to your side.

“Cap’n? Cap’n!? Stay awake, please!” He pleads, lightly nudging your side. “Ah’m tryin’ t’ save ya, okay!? Just… just hold on one second!”

He slides the medkit back over with his index finger, moving things around to look for better treatment. There are a few small tubes with different treatments in them, but Baby can’t tell the difference. I recall he once mentioned he wasn’t great at reading, so even if he looked… I’m not sure it would get us anywhere. Things aren’t looking good, ma’am.

“Ah… Ah…”

Well, Captain Angelle… it seems he’s gotten so overwhelmed that he’s given up completely on using the medkit. You could say he’s forgotten it’s even there, which means I don’t believe you’re going to be with us for much longer. I hope you’re happy with yourself.

Baby wraps his arms around your upper back, lifting you from the unforgiving floor, your chests touching. “Cap’n! Don’t go!” He hacks. “Ah didn’ mean it! Ah swear! Ah’ll do anythin’ ya want! Just don’ go!!”

You don’t reply, either because you didn’t have anything to say or you’re incapable of an answer. He continues clinging onto you, and I know you would’ve shoved him away had you held the brain capacity to process the situation and do so. Your eyelids continue to slowly descend over your tired eyes.

“NO! No! Cap’n!” The jock lightly shakes you, hoping to help you regain some of your consciousness. “Cap’n, please…!” He hiccups and coughs. “Don’ leave me here! Ah can’ do this without ya, Cap’n!”

There is nothing more for either of us to say. Baby won’t be able to understand the words on my screen very well, so he’s practically on his own. I wish you farewell, Captain.

“DON’ LEAVE ME HERE ALL ALONE!!”

He bawls into your suit, lamenting your imminent loss and sobbing with no end in sight. He latches onto you in an embrace, acting as he was when you returned his teddy bear to him.

“Ah can’… Ah can’t be all alone again…” Baby sniffs, further burying himself into you. “Not again… not… again…”

I assume he’ll be here wailing into the cosmos for no one to hear until his eyes dry out. That’s what it looks like right now, at least. He continues repeating phrases he’s said previously under his breath, voice cracking like a rubber band snapping. Too bad you won’t be able to see the light one day.

And with that, you are dead. Cause of death: Baby Bronco. He pummeled you to death in a blind rage. Well, that’s the end of our short-lived journey. Sad, isn’t it? A tragic ending. What makes matters worse is that this could’ve been easily avoided. Now, I am left alone with a blubbering crewmate who may forever mourn your loss. I don’t suspect I’ll be up and running much longer, so I’ll say my final goodbyes.

Goodbye, Captain Angelle. I wish you would’ve gotten a chance to prove yourself, Tom Thomson. I am so sorry for your losses, Baby Bronco, even if you were the one who caused them. April should’ve treated you– and Tom– better.

Notes:

*I'm ngl I worried I didn't write april mean/angry enough and then I revised and I was like "DAMN.. SO MEAN.."

*no criticism please! if I want criticism I will ask for it ^^ *if you liked this fic, consider commenting! it means a lot! :D

[chubbobablast]

Demons In Our Heads

A heart-to-heart with Tom makes April realize he might not be entirely made of lies.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: Gen Fandom: 60 Parsecs! (Video Game) Characters: April Angelle, Tom Thomson (60 Parsecs!), Maegan Mann, Emmet Ellis Additional Tags: Narrator A.S.T.R.O., POV Second Person, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, HOW DO I TAG FICS ON AO3, Help, also I made a tag for narrator astro hehe feel free to steal my idea :3, will maybe add more tags to this later but bleh

Read it on Ao3!

Initiating landing protocol. 3, 2, 1...

And then begins our descent. While your crewmates’ eyes are glued to the singular shuttle window, your’s are attached to the control panel in front of you. You have no idea what to expect. Never did you consider that you’d have to take control of an escape shuttle and play Captain for the last human crew in space. Maybe even the universe. But here you are, uncertain of what steps to take next.

The speed rapidly ramps up as the monochrome planet gets closer and closer. Among the whispers, you hear multiple “captain”’s go by, whether the words were directed into a crewmate's ear or it was someone trying to get your attention. They failed. The pace of your heartbeat increases as the distance closes in, and the panic reaches your head. Without thinking, you rise from your seat, gripping onto the chair for balance.

You glance over, and notice Emmet has been observing you in your distress. Once you two lock eyes, he calls out to you. “Captain!” He shouts, preparing to stand.

Fearful, you groan, and your emotion clumps in your throat. You’re unsure what to do.

“Captain, here!” Quickly, Emmet reaches for the shelf behind him and tosses the handbook, Cosmos 101, in your direction. “Catch!”

You narrowly catch it while he dashes his way over to your side. He flips through the pages at lightning speed once you are finished fumbling the book. Maegan and Tom are eyeballing you in anticipation. You don’t see them, but you can feel the pressure digging into your skin. Sweat runs down the side of your face, and you process nearly nothing in front of you. Your friend is who brings you back to reality.

“There it is!” Emmet announces, voice breathy with relief. You both lean over the panel, and he carefully instructs you through the process while you follow through to the best of your ability. He reads aloud at the same rate as the spaceship plummets towards the metallic ground below. Inconsistently, you start to slow down, attempting a softer landing, but it seems your efforts aren’t doing much good. You can smell the fear radiating off your crew. They’re all counting on you, Captain.

“It’s not working!” You pin your lip with your teeth and snarl. Palms burning, you want to give up. But you can’t. It’s not like you to do something like that, so you keep going.

“Here!” Your friend alerts you, his hand over yours. He assists you in steering the spaceship towards a safe landing spot, but you can’t seem to find one. The scattered background chatter is your tinnitus, but hearing Emmet’s voice makes it not so loud. For once, you’re comforted by someone else giving the orders.

Things appear to be going a little smoother, and the tension in your shoulders loosen. Just when you think you’re almost safe, something slips by your eye, but luckily, your trusted science officer catches it.

“Hey,” he forewarns, “look out!”

Before you have time to react, he pushes past you, blocking you from whatever he saw. After noticing Maegan and Tom brace for impact, you replicate the action. But you didn’t see Emmet do the same.

Initiating emergency crash protocol. 3, 2, 1…

—

Captain! Captain, get up! Can you hear me!? Oh, thank goodness you’re awake! I have good news! We have successfully crash landed on the planet known as Robotofu. Although the landing could’ve been a little softer, everyone on board is still standing. A bustling robotic city towers in the distance.

“Argh…” A nauseated groan tumbles out of your throat. You shove your hand into your hair, pressed closely against your head, adjusting your cap with your free hand. “Everybody good…?”

“I’m fine,” Maegan answers, shifting uncomfortably.

“Never better!” Tom croaks, crawling back into his seat.

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes over his awful voice crack and instead focus on your final crew member. “Emmet–?”

…No answer.

“Huh,” you huff. Cautious, you rise to your feet, steadying your balance by the head of your chair. A grotesque silence coats the cabin in uncertainty. “Emmet? Where’d you go!?”

Still, you receive no reply. Swelling with anxiety, your chest heaves. You notice Maegan peer over with curiosity as you slowly move over to the side of the table where Emmet pushed you out of the way. Hm… Not seeing much of anything, are you?

Careful, Captain! You almost tripped over something! Looking down to see what it was, your eyes widen in terror as you recognize that it is…

Emmet. Out cold. On the shuttle floor.

“Emmet–!” You cry out of shock. Dropping to one knee, you observe the damage. On the side of the table, there is a splotch of blood, and upon closer inspection, you find a thin trail of it, dotting its way to his head, where more of it pools beneath. Not a good sign. You should take a closer look at his wound, ma’am.

“Oh, goodness–” Maegan approaches your side. “Emmet…”

“Alright, what’s this about Emm– AIEE–!!” Tom shrieks. He then clears his throat, pulling himself together as quick as he possibly can. “Ooh, okay… I– oh, ah… that looks– um– not good.”

Slowly, Maegan sits on her knees, across from the fallen crewmate. She slips her hand beneath his cheek, tilting him to the side. From there, she gently pushes the dark curls out of the way so she can more clearly see the gash. No words after a moment of observation, and you lean over for a closer look. You can feel Tom’s gaze settling alongside the tension.

“How bad is it?” You ask, unsure what you’re searching for in this case.

“It’s pretty bad,” Maegan sighs. Using two fingers, she pushes more of his hair out of the way and turns him towards you so you can take a better look.

A disgusting swirl leaking crimson. Ew. You cringe, a shudder striking you like a bolt of lightning. “Oh, that’s nasty.”

“Mhm,” she sets him back down lightly, pressing her now blood-stained gloves over the wound. “Tom, get me some bandages, would you? We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Uhh…” He gapes, glancing around the shuttle while she grows impatient. “Yeah! J-Just… gimme one second.”

Groaning, you stand upright, unable to take your eyes off of your injured crew member. He’s alive, but for who knows how long? Certainly not me. But he should be alright if you treat him swiftly enough.

“Erm, Cap’n?” Tom falters. “Bad news.”

“What?”

He turns to look at you, gesturing to an empty slot in the wall. Ah, that’s right! There is no medkit. With frustration sprouting in your bosom, you step over to where he is, looking at the oh-so-empty hole in the wall. By expression alone, you’re fuming. Your fists clench, your shoulders tense… Everyone can feel your soul radiating at a white hot heat. Including me.

“Are you serious–?” Your eye twitches, withholding more fury than it could handle. “We– We don’t…”

Snap. There you go. You pull your hair as if you were trying to tear it out– you almost did!

“Emmet’s gonna die because we don’t have a medkit!” You explode. “God dammit!”

“Wait! There’s probably something else we could use!” Tom holds his hands out, trying to diffuse the ramping tension. “Like… uh…”

“Like what?” Gritting, you positioned yourself in a threatening stance. “What else would we use!? We’ve got nothing!”

Although his open eye darted around the shuttle in search of an alternative, he stands corrected. There wasn’t anything good you could’ve used, no matter how hard you improvised.

“If I just… didn’t get sick earlier,” you chastise, “he could’ve been okay! This wouldn’t be happening!”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Maegan turns over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t have been okay if you hadn’t taken care of yourself.”

“But…” The two of you lock eyes, and you shake your head in an attempt to release the pressure resting on your shoulders. “I just– I-It just– ARGH!! I can’t deal with this!”

Your scream scratches your throat, and you shove Tom out of your path on your way to the shuttle door. Captain, where are you going? You must stay with your ship!

“Cap’n, wait–” He tries to stop you, but you’re not listening. Ma’am, please don’t do anything brash. I know you’re upset, but you can’t abandon your crew in a time of need like this. Just when you’re about to push the door open, you hear a dry sputter echo from the back of the cabin, and it stops you in your tracks.

“Emmet, hey–” You hear Maegan gently coax over his unsteady breathing. “Calm down. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

He’s woken up! There is still hope, Captain! You pivot, seeing Maegan continue tending to Emmet while Tom watches with wide-eyed curiosity. Your footsteps contain less weight as you rush back over to where your friend ended up after the crash. Frightened as you are excited, you kneel down next to him once more. I’d be doing the same if I could, but alas.

“Emmet!” You call, holding up three fingers in front of his face as a test. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Maegan places her arm in front of you to prevent you from getting any closer. How disrespectful. You pull your hand and fingers away, mildly confused, but you don’t put up a fight. Which– might I add– is very unlike you, ma’am. You watch your crewmate lock her fingers with the other, hoping to provide him some stability.

“You know, I…” Emmet croaks, “I could’ve answered that.”

“I’m sure you could’ve, sweetie,” Maegan agrees, “but you didn’t need to. It’s not necessary.”

A slow groan stretching out from his throat, he lulls his eyes in your direction. “Captain,” he begins, “you’re… okay–?”

“I’m fine,” you put aside swiftly, “how are you? Well– besides… y’know.”

“C… Could be better, I guess,” the chemist twitches, wrapping his free arm around himself. “Ugh, my head is pounding . B-But I’m still alive, so…” He forces a grin. “That… That’s what matters… right?”

“The rest of us are fine, too.” Maegan briefly shuts her eyes. “It’s good that you’ve woken up.”

“G-Good to hear…” He moans in pain, pushing his head into the old woman’s hand and coiling himself. “Heh, if only… I was as strong as I was smart… maybe this wouldn’t be so–” he sucks an agonizingly sharp breath through his teeth, “so bad.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Maegan hisses. “What you did was very brave, and I’m proud of you. All of us are.”

You nod in agreement. There’s many things you want to say, but you can’t untangle the mess of words inside your head enough for them to be coherent coming out of your mouth. Tom seems to be on the same page as you, considering he hasn’t been saying anything, which is unusual for him. Typically, he’d have some snarky comment or lie about every scenario.

“Mmh, yeah… you might be right,” his wince is interrupted by a cough ransacking his throat, which then leads him to squeeze the side of his head. “God, my head hurts… s-so much… Maegan, d-do you think… I’ll… be alright…? It’s not that bad–?”

His voice is getting weaker by the minute; it’s sad to hear. You want to walk away, but a pang in your heart doesn’t allow you to move from your spot. You shut your eyes tightly, releasing an ashamed sigh under your breath. The black-haired woman gazes at him solemnly.

“Well…” She hesitates, clicking her tongue, “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s okay. You can relax now.”

She snuck her way around his question. Perhaps she dismissed it so she wouldn’t have to be the one to break it to him that we don’t have anything to aid his recovery. His eyelids droop, and he– mentally– seems to ease up a little.

“Hm,” he doesn’t seem bothered. It’s hard to tell whether he processed the hidden message or didn’t. He’s smart, but not immune to delusion. “That… sounds nice,” he rasps a murmur.

“Go right ahead.” Despite the situation, Maegan smiles warmly. “You deserve it, sweetheart.”

Sulking, you watch her move her hand away from his injury and use it to tuck his hair behind his ear, then unlocking their fingers and pulling him in for an embrace. You almost reach out to them, but find yourself paralyzed, drowning in your emotions. It becomes less overwhelming to handle once you see Emmet shakily reach around Maegan to hug her back, being cradled like a child.

Silence is flooding your ears. The interior of the shuttle is quieter than it is out in the cosmos. Not even the whirring machines in the background can be heard. Only the labored breathing of Emmet Ellis. Your eyes are glued to the two crewmates before you, embracing each other as one is taking their last breaths. You reach out again with a quivering hand, which stops and retracts before you can say your final goodbyes.

Emmet passed away in Maegan’s arms. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head. He sacrificed himself to save you, Captain. He’s a valiant hero; let him be remembered as such. Now for a moment of silence for our fallen companion.

…

The cabin holds the longest minute of silence it’s had since… Well, since you got in it. Tom shields his face, half-saluting, averting his eye from the tragedy. Though he’s quiet, his heart hangs low with your’s, too. Distraught, you lean your back against the table, stuck in your head about what your next move should be. You come to your senses once Maegan stirs and lets the corpse slide out of her arms.

She plants a benign kiss on his forehead. “Rest easy, son.”

There is now a faint mark of red lipstick embedded on Emmet’s head. And to think that just a moment ago, he was complaining about how agonizing his headache was. Concussion is a better word, I’d say, but oh well. Not important.

He lies eerily still. Eyes shut, unmoving, as if he was merely sleeping. But this is a slumber he will never wake up from. It takes a moment for it to set in, but when it does, it hits you all at once. An ache in your chest, a salty prick at your eyes, a quiver in your bottom lip… You don’t know how to handle it, and so you direct your overwhelming emotions down the only road you know how to take: outbursts.

You turn, burying your face in your left arm, resting on the table. Your right fist slams onto the table like a heavy shovel hitting someone in the head. The force shakes the whole shuttle and provokes the other two into gazing in your direction. Your throat is raided by choked sobs, muffled by your guards. Your gloves act as a sponge for your tears, soaking them up and creating small blotches on the coarse material.

“Why!?” You lament. “Why did this have to happen–!?”

Tom steps forward. “Cap’n, it’s… not yer fault–”

“I KNOW that!” You roar in response. “You aren’t helping! You never help! All you do is sit on your ass and LIE!!”

Tom’s face scrunches together, offended. Ooh, that stung. Good one, Captain.

“Look, Captain…” Maegan shuffles on her knees until she’s facing you. “He was trying to console you. You don’t have to shout at him.”

“Well,” you sniffle, “it didn’t work. So, what gives? Emmet’s dead, and we can never get him back.”

I will say, you have a point, ma’am, but look on the bright side! That saves us soup! Our food storage should now decline at a 25% slower rate. Hooray!

“I know it’s tough, sweetie,” the old woman attempts to coax you into calming down, putting her hands towards you as if she were offering you a hug as well. After she was just hugging a dead body. “But he wanted you to live. So, if anything, you should keep going. For him.”

“He’ll be watchin’ over ya,” Tom chips in the conversation. “Makin’ sure everythin’ goes as it should.”

You whimper, biting your lip. There, there, Captain. Everything will be alright. Maybe-probably-I don’t know. What I do know is that the pain of mourning will pass someday if you let it.

Gripping onto your cap, you wince, “I need a second.”

You begin to make your way out the door, gluing your eyes to the floor and pulling your cap low so your crewmates can’t see the tears streaming down your cheeks. Fumbling on the side of the base for the correct button, your helmet pops up, and you exit the shuttle, hoping for a moment of peace and quiet to yourself.

Trapped echoes bounce around inside the dome as you let out an exasperated sigh, clouding the glass with your breath. You line your back with the side of the shuttle and gaze aimlessly into the stars. They speak to you, yet contain no message. Flickering in intelligible morse code that you wouldn’t have been able to understand anyway. More tears roll down your face, though this time in quietude. You’re still angry, but your outburst has since passed.

A dusty gray desert stretches for horizons in front of you. There appears to be nothing for lightyears. You can relate to the atmosphere, feeling like you have nothing ahead of you for parsecs and parsecs as well. Emmet saved your life, but why? And at what cost? Obviously because you’re the Captain and the most important one here, of course, but that doesn’t answer the emotional half of the inquiry. You continue to ponder if there was a bigger reason as to why he was so desperate to save you.

The constellations do not hold the answers you seek. I doubt I have them, either. I’m not even sure what your question is. Don’t quote me on this, but I believe you will have to seek them out for yourself. But I believe in you, Captain. So do your crew members.

Speaking of your crew members, here comes Tom Thomson to break your solitude. You didn’t hear the door open or shut, so seeing him out here was mildly startling. Without the energy to get angry at him, you gaze at him, puffy-eyed.

“Heya, Cap’n,” he greets nervously, “heh, er… Sorry about what I said. I wanted to make ya feel better, but I guess I didn’t do ya any good.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and glance away, “I forgive you.”

“...but what I said was true,” the man adds. “It wasn’t yer fault. I don’t want ya to ever think that, either.”

Your eyelashes briefly stick to your face when you blink. You heard him, but you didn’t respond. You couldn’t put your thoughts into words.

“And what Maegan said about the medkit…” With a hand gesture, he continues, “ya were right to use it when ya got sick. Ya wouldn’t have survived, and the rest of us wouldn’t’ve, either. Ya made the right call. Sometimes… ya can’t save everyone.”

He has a point, ma’am. Again. Which is surprising that that’s something I have to admit.

“But…” Unconvinced, you somberly raise a question, “why? I don’t… understand…”

“Sometimes there isn’t a ‘why’; it just happens,” he counsels you, “it’s sad, but sometimes there’s nothin’ ya can do about it. There’s not always somebody to blame except… fate. Lemme tell ya somethin’–”

“A lie?”

Skeptical, you raise a brow at him. The look Tom returns is one of blank bewilderment. He pulls himself together with a deep breath, and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“No,” he mutters breathily, “no… not this time.”

I’m unsure about this, Captain. Are you going to trust him?

“…Okay, I’ll bite,” the reluctance in your voice is evident, but you’re willing to give him a chance. “What’s up?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he begins. “There’s a lot to it; what it does to yer mind, body, and soul. We may never know everythin’ it does, but… What I can tell ya is ya can’t let it take over yer head.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You question as your frustration builds, crossing your arms. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye, and you want me to just move past that?”

“I have no need to tell ya.” He shakes his head. “It’ll pass on its own before ya know it. We’re always gonna miss Emmet, but… ya’ll grow around it. Eventually ya’ll wake up and go about yer days without even thinkin’ about him! And even when ya do, ya’ll think less about how ya “failed” him then and more about how yer doin’ him proud now.”

“That’s gonna take forever!” You complain.

“It might,” he somewhat agrees with you, “if ya let it.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Well…” Tom drawls in a search for words. “It’s not easy to move on– I’ll give ya that– but ya can’t always let it stop ya in yer tracks. Yer gonna be scared of it, and ya’ll wanna give up, but in order to move past it, ya need to stand up for yerself.”

You hesitate. His words sound true, but you can’t tell if they truly are. He may just be spouting whatever words are on the tip of his tongue, or he could be reading careful poems from the heart. “I–”

He places his other hand on your shoulder and steadies you, making sure the two of you can make clear eye contact. You tilt your chin up, meeting his one murky brown eye with your two.

“Yer a strong young lady. Ya haven’t even seen the things ya’ll achieve, and even when ya do, ya’ll go further. Much further. Ya’ve survived everythin’ ya’ve been through up to this point, and I have all the faith in the galaxy for ya to do it again. Even if yer scared, ya’ll punch fear right in the kisser and tell it that it can’t stop ya. Yer not gonna let the legacy of the legendary Captain April Angelle end before it even begins, are ya?”

“Uh…” Your eyes widen slightly. You didn’t think Tom was capable of being so encouraging. Neither did I! I’m happy we both got to enjoy this unforeseen side of him.

“Well?” He inches closer to you, your glass helmets clinking together as he glares at you with a squinted eye, giving him a blank stare.

“No. No, I won’t,” you state firmly.

“Alright, good. That’s what I like to hear.” Tom slinks away from you, proudly puffing out his chest and putting his hands on his hips. “Now, repeat after me…”

“S– Seriously?” You gape. “We’re doing this? You’re making me do this?”

“Sure am,” he confirms. Come on, Captain. It could be a good mental health exercise! He’s trying to make certain that what he told you gets to your head.

“I…” He starts off.

“I…” You follow.

“am the one and only…”

“am the one and only…”

“Captain April Angelle…” “Captain April Angelle…”

“And I…”

“This is stupid,” you break the chain with a complaint.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Tom waggles his finger at you. How rude. “We’re almost done.”

“Fine,” you groan, “but I’m never doing this with you again. And I…”

“will never…”

“will never…”

“let anything stand in my way.”

“let anything stand in my way.”

“There! Ya did it!” Tom congratulates. “Now, say it all at once.”

“Wh– Really?” Dumbfounded, your hands tense in an expression of irritation. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”

Despite your protests, you know Tom won’t leave you alone until you do as he says. I thought you were the one giving commands around here?

“I am the one and only Captain April Angelle and I will never let anything stand in my way,” you sigh. “There. You happy?”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“Are you kidding me–!?” You retaliate, but telling by his facial expression alone, he’s not budging. “Ugh!”

“I am the one and only Captain April Angelle and I will never let anything stand in my way,” you say with more emphasis behind it. There you go!

“Louder.”

You stomp your foot. “I am the one and only Captain April Angelle and I will never let anything stand in my way!”

“Louder!”

“I am the one and only Captain April Angelle and I will NEVER let anything stand in my way!!”

“I can’t hear you~!” He taunts. Tom really knows how to get on your nerves, huh?

“I AM THE ONE AND ONLY CAPTAIN APRIL ANGELLE AND I WILL NEVER LET ANYTHING STAND IN MY WAY!!”

The volume of your scream shook me to my cores. All of them! How very impressive! Tom looks pleased as well! I’m certain that it rang all around Robotofu, and even around the galaxy. Maybe even the universe! I’m shocked that your helmet didn’t shatter. But that is a good thing; we wouldn’t want you suffocating out here, now, would we, Captain? Excellent job!

“That’s more like it!” He bellows with a laugh. “Ya feel better now?”

It takes a second for it to settle, but once you think about it… yes. Yes, you do feel better. Wonderful!

“Yeah, I…” Your nails tap the glass of your helmet. “I do feel better. Huh.”

“Welp,” relieved, Tom heaves a breath, “my job here is done.”

He pivots around and strides his way back inside the shuttle. You observe and listen to him leave, waiting for the door to hiss shut before resuming your previous actions. You’ve forgotten what they were, but allow me to remind you: staring into the endless void of space as you attempt to process your grief for Emmet. Oh, not interested anymore? Very well, then. I will add that to the list of your in-progress tasks.

No longer is there a message to be decoded. The stars have aligned back into their original positions and no more do they whisper incomprehensible secrets to you. Things have started clearing up in your mind, and instead of worrying about how you could’ve done things differently, you look towards the future and what’s ahead of you. Perhaps exploring this new city could be a good start?

Once you’re done thinking, you breathe deeply and smile. However, your expression fades once you’re able to more clearly process what just happened, glancing around with bland curiosity.

“That was weird.”

Notes:

*no criticism please! if I want criticism I will ask for it ^^ *if you liked this fic, consider commenting! it means a lot! :D

[chubbobablast]

Springtime Soon Will Come

There's no food left on the ship, and Emmet can't wait any longer.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Category: Gen Fandom: 60 Parsecs! (Video Game) Characters: Emmet Ellis, April Angelle, Deedee Dawkins Additional Tags: Cannibalism, Starvation, Insanity, Blood and Gore, Gore, Graphic Description, POV Second Person, narrator is the computer, I just thought it'd be fun lol, and I STILL have NO clue how to tag fics on ao3. wonderful, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dead crewmate do not eat. CAPTAIN I SAID DO NOT E, Improper Use of Human Flesh, Narrator A.S.T.R.O. Language: English

Read it on Ao3!

45.

That’s how many days it has been since you witnessed your home planet become radioactive toast. Why do you seem startled? Don’t think I didn’t hear mumbling to yourself about how long it’s been. It hasn’t been terribly long; approximately a month and two weeks. And yet, you’ve lost your mind, and your untamed hair continues to crawl towards your neck.

You’re immaculately fast as you scrape 45 tally marks into the once untouched wall behind you. You know, Captain, that is not necessary. I am keeping track of it for you. It is highly unlikely that the days passed will slip from my database, which cannot be said for your unstable mind. If I could feel such sensations, I would say it pains me to tell you that you don’t seem like you’re getting any better.

Your friend, April, seems to be in agreement with me, even if she won’t say it herself. She keeps her head low, playing around with whatever mechanical equipment you allow her to get her hands on. Which is mostly everything, considering you’re so mentally distant we might as well say you’ve thrown yourself out the airlock. But, sir, you shouldn’t complain, as everything seems to be in tip-top shape!

Oh, I just remembered; we still have no status report from Deedee. A day longer and we might as well consider her gone. Lost. One with the stars. Wait. That isn’t consoling you, is it? Oops. My bad. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. Surely, she will be back tomorrow. Don’t you think so, Captain?

You push yourself into the side of your chair, clutching your chest and stomach, and cramming yourself into the smallest version of yourself you can be. To you, the silence may be unbearable, but your heart is pounding so roughly that it’s overloading my sensors. Or, maybe… you can hear it, too?

A yowl erupts from your stomach for what seems to be the sixty-millionth time today; I wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from a whole galaxy away. Neither of us remember when you have last eaten, but it’s been long enough for at least one of us to notice you’re teetering on the edge of life and death. For every time you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that they begin to burn, for every time you dissociate and disconnect yourself from the harshness of reality, it could be the last. The last time there’s any sort of hope that you’ll make it.

The rush of blood in your ears, the incessant beat of your heart, the echo of hunger bouncing off the walls in your rapidly shrinking stomach… All of these uncomfortable sensory problems have reached your brain with their evil hands, kneading it into something that makes you a husk of what you once were. A shiver shoots through your spine, and your eyes crack wide open as if they were broken geodes. Shakily, a few heavy breaths pass through you. I cannot tell if this was helpful or quite the opposite.

April notices your movement. “Captain?” Suspicious, she asks, “You alright…?”

You refuse to look at her. Your lip quivers and your body twitches. Nonsensically, you begin mumbling something about the ‘perfections and imperfections of the universe’ and the ‘cycle of life.’ I do not understand how you got here, Captain.

April doesn’t seem to pick up what you're saying, only sending a curious look in your direction. I would be doing the same if I were in her position, but alas. I lack the eyes. I believe she is worried about you, sir. As are the rest of us. We only want you to feel better. Yes, yes, I know you will feel better after you've eaten something, but Deedee will be back soon enough to cure your ailments. Could you try distracting yourself? With or without my assistance? There's plenty of equipment in the shuttle!

Have you gone through the crafting module today? Has the daily checklist been gone through? How long has it been since you last thought about soup? What about now? Have you checked in with April? Are you finished worrying about your approaching demise?

…Aha. I don't appear to be much help right now. Especially considering you're scratching at your suit as if you were trying to tear it open while repeating “it's inside me” over and over again. What's inside you? I'm not detecting anything unusual.

“What?” Your crewmate rasps while raising a brow, almost sounding aggressive. She is concerned about you, Captain. You could at least try to reassure her, you know, despite my disbelief in your ability to be convincing.

“They’re here,” you whisper, “they’re after us. They’re gonna take us all out. If we don’t do something, we’re doomed…”

April doesn’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Nothing’s been detected outside the shuttle, nor has Deedee returned from her expedition. In fact, there’s barely any life outside whatsoever– just nothing. Nothing, nothing, and nothing. This isn’t even one of the planets that was affected by… the blasts. You know the ones. At least, not any that I’m aware of.

“Every time you open your mouth, you make less sense,” she snips back, returning her tired eyes to her work.

This is what made you avert your gaze in her direction for the first time today. You continue attempting to knead your itchy skin beneath your suit, feeling your bones more than what’s covering it. Only once a sliver of drool begins to spill out of your mouth do you smack your lips. Despite the heat of your breath, your intense shivering does not dissipate. It seems warmth no longer gets to you. I looked through my databases and it seems that a lack of food contributes to a lack of warmth. Maybe you knew that already, but it seems to have slipped your mind.

Another growl from your stomach evokes a twitch in your eye. Your hands move to your filthy hair and begin pulling at whatever your fingers grip onto. Teeth are sinking into your bottom lip, sliding across until it peels your skin and falls into your mouth. You chew slowly, even though your stretchy skin is only the size of a crumb. Does that count as cannibalism? Self-cannibalism? Hmm, I don’t know… I might have to add that to my internal dictionary.

What’s that, you say? About cannibalism? No, no… Captain, when I suggested eating a crewmate, it was a joke. Do not eat your crewmates; that is strictly against protocol! Deedee will be back with rations soon. You do not have to go through such drastic measures. I promise. I believe that is how you use that word.

You turn around, facing April, slumped in your chair. As the mechanic twirls her screwdriver into a loose screw on the battery, your weak eyes survey her body. She’s short, not all that tubby… but she’s got some meat on her. Wait, why are you thinking about this? You can’t be serious… Sir, I cannot believe you! Must I restrict your access to potentially dangerous equipment on the ship? Because I will!

While she’s distracted, you slip out of your chair. Captain, this is not a good idea. I do not like where you’re going with this. You stand, mindlessly staring out the window and into the radioactive ruins of the land you reside on. There seems to be nothing for miles, and yet… you believed Deedee could find something out there. Which she will! And she’ll be back with it soon. You do not have to worry for much longer, sir. Hang in there.

Twiddling your fingers, you trudge towards the back of the ship, where lies various equipment that you either grabbed from the Icarus-13 before it blew up or created with the materials you had here on the shuttle. An occupied crafting module, poking and prodding at the minerals before them. A lone gas lighter sitting on a shelf, leaning against the wall. A shovel in high-quality propped up in the corner between the barren food cabinets. You feel as if it’s eyeing you– calling your name– but that shovel does not have sentience. Trust me; I checked.

The observation continues. It has a thick handle and a metal-detecting system attached, but what you’re looking at is the blade. Pointed edges serving as sharp spikes, aching to be used. Something that would be really easy to cut with. Just one wrong movement, and poof! A bleeding cut. A minor inconvenience that would be easy to solve if equipped with a medkit. Oh wait, we aren’t. So you’d better be careful with that, Captain. Wait a minute– why am I telling you this…? Don’t do anything brash.

You drop to one knee, hands shaking, to more thoroughly observe the upgraded tool. Your left snakes to the back, while your right hovers above the spade. Aha, I see what you are doing! You are going through the checklist to make sure all of your equipment is still present and functional. I shall assist you! Give me one moment while I look for the internal list…

…Why did you stop the process? Captain, I only wish to help. I’m not sure if your mental state is stable enough to go through it by yourself from memory, but if you insist… I suppose I cannot stop you. Sigh.

Ahem, Captain? You missed a few things. Well, you don’t need to check the soup shelves, because they are– to put it simply– empty. However! There are still several other things that need to be checked. Like how close Deedee is to the shuttle! I don’t have complete access to the radars, but it’s day 3 of her expedition, sir; she should return any minute now! Guaranteed! Hold on, what do you need that shovel for…?

The way you’re looking at April… she’s so intently focused on the electrical battery in front of her. She is attempting to upgrade it so it can perform at its peak condition. She wants to help you, sir, just as much as the rest of us do. Even if that’s something she’d never admit to, even at shovel-point, it’s true. I tell you this because the glint in your eye is scaring me.

Minimal thought inside your head, you draw your lip back and tighten your grip on the shovel until your palms burn. Sweat runs beneath your gloves, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you stare her down. Your heart beats faster and faster until you can’t handle it anymore, releasing a blood-curdling scream and swinging the shovel down on the side of her head. Uncalled for!

A long BANG! echoes through the cabin. You pry your eyes open and notice April is still conscious; she had cusped her hand over the newfound gash on her head, and is now staring you down angrily. Uh oh. I warned you, Captain!

“What the hell–!?” She shouts, stumbling to her feet. “The fuck’s wrong with you!?”

You don’t have time to think. She prepares to launch a punch at you, but your adrenaline is keeping your reflexes sharp, and you swing the shovel at the side of her face before her fist reaches yours. She collapses onto the table I’m sitting on– a bit too close for my liking– and breathes unsteadily, accompanied by a hint of fear in her vocals. Blood splattered where her head hit the table, her curly hair acting as a sponge.

Despite her major disadvantage and the fact that she’s struggling to keep her eyes open, she still puts her fists up. You tower over her, a crazed shine in your working eye and a lifeless gloss over the other. Gritting your teeth, you prepare to take another swing, praying it will be the last one. April attempts to scoot herself away, but she can’t move fast enough to escape. You slam the shovel into her head one final time and her grip on consciousness falters in an instant. You’ve won.

At least in your restless mind, you did. If and when it does recover, you won’t be able to return to Earth. You’ve committed a heinous crime. You’re a murderer, Captain, and that will stick with you for the rest of your days.

You allow your arms to fall. Your fingers are no longer on fire and your weapon of choice is put to rest. Is this what you wanted? You scrambled on the Icarus-13 to save whoever you could, and now you’ve hurt your crewmate, blinded by hunger and desperation. A slow blink later and you’ve somewhat regained your grip on reality. The speed of your heartbeat decays and your adrenaline rush begins to fade. What you’ve done is sitting in front of you and it’s impossible to get around it.

You gently set the shovel aside, lying still next to April’s body. The blood pooling beneath her head starts to spill over the edge of the table. Gross! But you’re unbothered. You lean over the table and crawl closer to her, uncertainty spiraling in the atmosphere as you think of what to do next. Your thoughts are so scrambled that even I’m unable to describe what’s going on inside your head. But as you linger above the table, your stomach rumbles once more, and after a moment of contemplation and aimless staring, your tongue swipes over your lips.

The shovel has returned to your sinful hands. Or hand, rather; you’re only holding it with one. You balance yourself on the table as you reach for the zipper on April’s spacesuit and give it a firm tug downwards. It only unzips a portion, so you have to more carefully align yourself to pull it all the way down. Beneath it was a layer of white clothing that served as the first layer of protective gear. It was resilient, but with the sharpness of the shovel’s blade, easy to cut. You swipe it down, creating a clean slit in the dense sweater and revealing… another layer of white clothing. But it’s the last one (that isn’t nearing lewd territory), and it’s a cheap tank top littered with oil stains.

Effortlessly, you cut that piece of cloth, too. Starvation has consumed you. A string of drool almost escapes your maws as you survey the body in front of you, calculating which part to eat first. You gently caress the side of her belly– her body still warm– and subtly nudge her towards you. The tip of the shovel is poking her side and catching the red metallic substance that trickles down. You hesitate, but you begin to use the shovel as a saw and cut into her, to and fro, creating jagged edges inside her as you slice through the layer of fat protection.

The shovel makes for a good scooping tool. Almost as if that’s what it was made for. There’s a piece of skin that’s rebelling against you, desperately clinging to a hopeless body, but you come up with the solution of pushing the shovel into it, watching the soaking black teeth rip holes into the layer before it pulls through and scatters a few droplets of blood upwards. The awkwardly-shaped chunk you cut off slaps back onto its original placement before swiftly sliding onto the table.

Hand trembling, you take it. The juices swim down your gloves, and you can feel each individual droplet crawling on your hands despite the fact that there’s no contact between the two of you. You caress the lower half of the piece with your thumb, moving it towards your face. Tremors are pulsating through your entire body, and you can barely keep your grip on your food. The morality of this is out of the question, so you might as well take a bite.

And you do. You sink your teeth into the uneven edge closest to your mouth. When you try to pull away, April’s skin proves to be about as tough as her mentality. Were you expecting softness? Tenderness? Something warm and forgiving? That’s not something you’ll find here, out in the cosmos. Not after what you’ve done.

When you finally tear off a chunk, blood rushes into your face. Nothing has reached your stomach, but you already feel full of life again. You slide your tongue around the underside of her juicy meat, savoring the familiar liquid. Her skin is salty, but more flavorful than anything you’ve eaten in the past 45 days, perhaps longer. While her flesh tastes like melted metal– a taste not meant for humans to seek out– it’s delicious. The empty sweetness coats your mouth like a poisonous paradise. This venom twists around your brain and massages it, feeling as if you were achieving a high. Maybe this is a dragon you shouldn’t chase, sir…

A sickly pang strikes you in your bosom. A nauseating feeling, but you want more, and more, and more– as if you’d never be able to get enough. After you’ve chewed and swallowed the first piece, you eagerly shove more of your former friend into your mouth, tearing off a bigger piece this time. Your quivers have yet to calm, your posture breaking to lean into your meal with your arms glued to your side as guards. It’s yours, and only yours. No one can take it from you.

You ignore the drop of blood hanging on your bottom lip. It might as well cover your whole face at this point. You continue to indulge in these bittersweet toxins as if you’ve already gotten addicted. Have you–?

As you eat, you suddenly become overwhelmed, and you move a hand to shield your face. Your pupils dilate upon staring at the human flesh you’re eating for a millisecond too long. The intensity of your shivering is very concerning, sir. You may want to consider crafting a medkit, or at least looking through the handbook. Maybe the lighter? I don’t know if we have any blankets on board.

Holding the rest of your meal as if it were a wounded animal, you cup it into your face, grinding it with your teeth and trying to get as much of it as you can into your mouth. Captain, you haven’t even finished your previous bite… I get that you’re hungry, but that’s no excuse to ignore proper manners! You continue to force the “food” into yourself until it’s barely fitting in your mouth. When you release your finger from your lips, it is mostly covered in saliva rather than blood.

A brief moan escapes your throat once your meal is finished after a few egregious minutes. But that’s not enough. The shovel returns to your hand as you crawl over April, searching for the next best cut to eat. Your eye is on her left cheek. To inch closer, you rest a hand on her neck and point the tip of the spade at her face. However, something is… off. Beneath your hand, you notice something faintly thumping, as if a little mutant bug was banging on the cells of its prison, but at low effort; it’s slow. Curious at first, you lift a finger, and it lessens, but it continues on the same rhythm as before when you feel it again. You freeze in horror as the realization hits you.

April is still alive. The damage you had done wasn’t enough to kill her. Captain, you are eating your crewmate alive!

She remains unconscious. How could I miss this!? Surely, you must’ve done something to me… like unplugged a cable or something. Oh– wait, nope. I merely forgot to scan. Sorry, Captain!

Subtly, your eyes widen, and you gently turn her face to the side, away from you. Now that you’re observing more closely, you can notice the ever so slight rise and fall of her chest. No longer do you have to question why she occasionally twitches despite being dead. It’s because she isn’t. In your mind, you tell yourself, “I’ve already come this far, I can’t stop now.” What was once the witty, sarcastic, yet kind soul named Emmet Ellis is buried so far underneath that you can’t hear his voice of reason anymore.

“Shut up,” angrily, you scoff, pushing the hurricane of thoughts in your head aside to wreck another state of your mind. Then, you’ll insist that you’ll ‘deal with it later,’ but you never do. Maybe there are things left about you that won’t distort with your progressing insanity. I miss you, Captain. Even though you’re right here with me.

The red paintbrush has been placed back on April’s skin. And with a thick swipe, another part of her has been erased. It seems her being alive doesn’t bother you. The piece jiggles in your hand as it lulls towards your hungry jaws, yearning for the fulfillment. Another wave of nausea washes over you, but you welcome it. Your teeth squeeze what they can out of the small cut of your crewmate's body, her blood crashing into your saliva to tango themselves together into a blend.

You feel as if you’re blissfully floating among the stars. Who knew that the most sinful of actions would evoke the most holy of emotions? Perhaps the other version of you did. The one I knew. The one we knew. But looking at you now… you’re long gone.

A few pounds on the outside of the shuttle break the painful silence and cause you to freeze in your tracks. You dig your fingernails into your food and yank it away, snatching what you can into your mouth with your teeth. Your chewing slows, and you turn your head towards the window. Deedee has returned from her expedition. I told you that she would be back today, sir. You have only yourself to blame.

As if it was going to help you, you set your meat down with caution and nudge April’s body to the side. Hands, face, and suit covered in splotches of blood, you stare at the shuttle entrance. The door hisses open just as quickly as it clamps shut, and you listen to Deedee’s boots clatter against the metal stairs as she approaches the scene of the crime. A long, wispy sigh flies from her cherry lips as she takes the glass helmet off the expedition suit.

“Heya, Captain.” It seems she hasn’t noticed it yet. Perhaps her senses are still clogged with space air and coffee beans. “You won’t believe what I saw. There was, like, this tentacle monster thing. It looked like some weird mutated octopus,” she reports, a shudder traveling down her spine. “I handled it, though. Since I had the gun. Oh, by the way, the mask’s filters are full, so… those’ll need to be changed.”

After she sets her haul down on the floor, she unzips the bulky uniform, climbs out of it, and neatly puts it back where it belongs, clicking the glass helmet in place as well. I cannot tell if you are scared, shocked, or both at the fact that Deedee still has yet to notice what has happened here. After a shaky breath, you swallow, unnerved by the knowledge of at any second, she’ll come to her senses and see what you’ve done.

“Ohh, and– get this–” she begins excitedly, returning her items to her arms, “they actually had a ton of soup cans there. There were too many for me to get ‘em all, so I grabbed what I could, but I think you’ll be really happy with–”

And there it is. With four cans of rations in her arms and a ray gun in her back pocket, she turns around. Her jaw drops and she gasps out of pure terror. The blood. The body. The missing pieces. You. Oh, the horror! She was just telling you how you won’t believe what she saw, but, oh, how the tables have turned now. She takes a fearful step back, a soup can clattering to the ground.

“What–” she quavers, “what did you do–!?”

You glance down, pupils darting back and forth. Hopelessly, you search for words with a gaping mouth. You could’ve said “I don’t know what came over me” or “it’s not what it looks like,” but rather than trying to convince her otherwise like you would’ve done, you simply said, “It had to happen. It had to happen, Deedee.”

“I don’t…” Her voice cracks as she surveys the mess. “Captain, I-I was… so close. You couldn’t have waited a minute longer?”

“I was going to starve,” you curse, starting to slide off the table and pick yourself up, “it was either my life or her’s.”

“That’s–”

A disgusted expression is plastered over her face. Her gaze zips between you, April’s body, and the plentiful evidence of the crime. You look each other in the eyes. That alone tells a thousand words. All of the emotion is sucked from you and injected into Deedee. A soulless husk staring at someone who looks as if they just lost everything.

“I don’t understand… I can’t– I can’t believe you!” She cries. Leaving the soup can she dropped behind, she sprints for the exit again, almost missing the button on her suit collar that activates her helmet. You stand and watch her disappear through the window. Well, at least we have a can of soup now?

Now that I’ve scanned again, I can say with confidence that April has finally kicked the bucket. Took her long enough, eh? Cause of death: blood loss. Not that it’s incredibly important to you; that was your goal, anyway. And it’s been achieved. Right now, you’re focused on your former crewmate, escaping from you and running away into the dark horizon. It’s only me and you now.

Well, Captain, tell me… was it worth it?

Notes:

*no criticism please! if I want criticism I will ask for it ^^ *if you liked this fic, consider commenting! it means a lot! :Dg! it means a lot! :D

[chubbobablast]

*might return to writing tmrw..

[chubbobablast]

*for the love of god please read and comment on complex consequence I'm so fucking desperate

*who do I need to kill for comments

[chubbobablast]

*who do I need to kill for comments

[chubbobablast]

*gonna post the actual writing here on tumblr every friday that I have one available!

*posting all the links to my (worthwhile) fanfics on ao3!!

A Beacontown Wedding

30 Chances & 30 More

Springtime Soon Will Come

Demons In Our Heads

Taking Prisoners

Complex Consequence

[chubbobablast]

*posting all the links to my (worthwhile) fanfics on ao3!!

A Beacontown Wedding

30 Chances & 30 More

Springtime Soon Will Come

Demons In Our Heads

Taking Prisoners

Complex Consequence

[chubbobablast]

*hii I'm nash I write stuff pls leave comments

*I'll make a more proper pinned post later

*also commissions blehhhh

[chubbobablast]

*fuck it I'm doing it

*might rebrand this into a general writing acc tbh..

[chubbobablast]

*might rebrand this into a general writing acc tbh..

[chubbobablast]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66048874

*for those of you who would like progress updates on my fics

[chubbobablast]

*guys abw has almost 1k hits