#Basil's Drabbles/WIP-A-Thon

[basil-the-scorned]

DaTension

Part of Basil's Decemeber Drabbles/WIP-A-Thon!

AN:It came in my mind, and I'm keeping it short. It alludes heavily toward the 10 year New Day celebration.

When Breeze turned on his camera and saw the ice greeting him instead of his voice, he had a good guess as to why. Swiss was on the other side, eyes looking towards Chugs as he says hello to Breeze. That made two.

By the time Creed joined, the soft loading lounge music was playing and Breeze was silently counting down. He gives off a small wave, actually smiling. "Um…this is a good time to pop in?"

"Great time actually." Even Swiss's eyes widen at Chug's growl.

Breeze cleared his throat, trying to cut through tension that greeted him right out the gate. "So, what game we playing tonight boys?" His mind was praying that of all days, they didn't say the one game he knows would implode everything. And yet minutes later, the four of them were waiting in front of the yellow loading screen, one of them silently waiting for someone to bring it up.

And it was Adam, with his hood up and hair spilling out, that finally broke the tension by saying a clipped 'sorry' before his screen disappeared. Creed stopped whatever story he was getting into, his brows shooting up a bit.

"What was that all about?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chugs doesn't get angry like the rest of them, who would yell scream and curse out loud at a failed play. His was more silent, but would only wash over him for a few minutes. In the ring was a different story, but Chugs liked to keep anything to do with wrestling away from the gaming side of things.

Monday affected all of that. He nearly forgot about the stream and for once, he wasn't looking forward to it. But he thought if he pushed passed what he saw for one more day, he could just play the games like always.

But echos of 'you're a burden' filled his mind the more he saw Woods laughing, talking like nothing happened. It made that anger build until he knew if he asked anything, he would explode right then. He could get just as nasty, just as cold as Woods did.

Instead, he just clicked on the X near his name and left the chat, his leg knocking into the desk with every bounce. Adam's eyes closed, trying to take a calming breath despite the yell that wanted to take over. He only got two in before he finally gave into his anger with a clenched growl. His throat was sore, his chest was still swirling with warmth and he didn't feel any better.

The tones of his phone didn't help either, and he picked it up with no true desire to talk to anyone. When he saw Breeze and Claudio's names on the other side though, he bit his tongue before slowly swiping up.

"Don't even say you're fine." Any excuse he was going to say deflated out of him with another groan. Leave it to Breeze to cut through his defense.

[basil-the-scorned]

testing small text time with a drabble (I have a feeling it's going to hurt my eyes)

Will's mind had a bad habit of reeling. Then again, it was always reeling after a good match. It always gave him a sudden boost of energy, and then finds himself having about a million different things popping up in his head at the same time. So talking them out was always the best idea for him, even if some things become ridiculous. It was just a bit of back and forth, dropping random names on who Will wouldn't defend the championship against. Each reason becoming more ridiculous and had them both giggling throughout their walk. "And have my place burned down, are you mad?" It was pure bad timing when the name of Adam Page came out of Kyle's smiling mouth, and Will's answer slipped easily off of his tongue. Loud enough for it to echo out a bit. And for both of their eyes to lock exactly with the man in question and freeze. Will does a half wave, a nervous laugh coming out. "My bad. Just talking noise, although-" He pauses for a second, feeling Kyle's hand on his arm as a sign. He looks again at haunted eyes staring at him. He didn't even try to fight Kyle pulling him away.

[basil-the-scorned]

(A very late) day 6- Favorite Feud/Relationship

AN: This was written when Hangman was part of the Elite again in that Blood and Guts match with Swerve, and Cole popped up every once in a while. So Hangman is not as he is now. This was also written for day 6 of Hangman's birthday celebration in July, but then Hangman swung for the fences with going sicko mode, so this just stayed in my docs. That's a good way to sum up a bunch of these honestly.

And yes, this is also Part of Basil's Drabble December/WIP-A-Thon

Today, Cole was by himself for once while Adam finally was able to slip away a lot easier from the team. Side by side once again, with everyone else glaring at them. His hands were rubbing the zipper near his jacket, a makeshift grounding method.

The last time they saw each other, the world title was long gone out of his hands. Instead, Adam had a cold metal pipe protecting people he cared about out of instinct. This time they were face to face once again and Cole was staring at him with a look he couldn't quite read into. Then he heard the crowd in his ear and pushed that look in the back of mind along with everything else on his plate as he helped Matt up.

God only knew what he was getting into by that single pull. If he would have known what he knew now, he would have gone back in time and kept himself where he originally was. He would have saved that pipe for people that actually needed it.

(A lot of would haves for sure. He might have done the same damn thing anyway.)

"Page." The first word he has said since Adam sat down.

“Cole.” His voice was raspy, not on purpose for once. 

He took in the silence that followed to actually think about what to say next. Cole beat him to it.

"So you're bum rushing your revenge now, I guess?" A question that was wrapped in something else. It was anger but also something that made his heart ache because it was almost familiar to him.

They were close once. The two Adams together, protecting each other in ROH from everyone else, mocking everyone that came their way. The same way Adam slowly started caring about everyone in Bullet Club, he cared about Cole.

Then around the same time AEW was just getting its feet together, Cole disappeared.

Adam doesn't know all about what happened or why. No one else said anything else about it. In fact, no one really looked for him at all. No flyers, them running around the buildings they would be in, the same way they would do for him when WWE kidnapped him.

He just knew Adam Cole had disappeared, the Elite moved on and eventually so did Adam Page.

Then Cole came back four years later, slightly different than Adam remembered. Same blue eyes, wet curly hair down his back, but something...different in the way he looked at him.

He still can't exactly put what he thought it is, even when he's getting it again. 

There were nights where he remembered: Many nights of talking, hanging out, Cole showing him games he knew little about, passing out against each other either though one of their rooms were just a few steps away. For every night he had problems with Kenny and the Bucks, his mind went back to those moments. Him and Cole against the world.

That's what he wanted to say, to get something out of his mouth to make the awkwardness that was building go away. But the words wouldn't come out to give to Cole. They were stuck in his throat, lumped together with everything else he wanted to say.  

So Cole, like always, takes over. “Are you really here for me? Or do you still have your eyes on him?” It almost sounded like the way Hangman’s been feeling, all venom and bitterness whenever Swerve was around even through word of mouth. Except he sounded…hurt? 

Adam finally looked over and saw how Cole was looking straight ahead, yet he could see the frown that was trying to settle on his face. It was almost as bad as the face Matt pulled when he didn’t get his way, just as hurt and eyes shiny enough to make the strongest man break if they’re not careful. This felt more…open. 

Who would have thought it would have been MJF of all people to make him this way?

[basil-the-scorned]

All in 2023 Drabble-Dark Red

Part of Basil's Drabble December/WIP-A-Thon!

AN: This was a writing exercise following the MJF vs Adam Cole match, and I wanted to get into MJF's head a bit. I can see where I kind of got it, but knowing the story now...whoo boy!

Max still remembers the building anger in his eyes the longer they fought. The friend he was beginning to really know was fading into the idol he remembers wanting to fight. 

The way Adam taunted him, stretching his shirt into pieces like it was nothing, throwing things at him he himself has copied with others. The stars he gained into unconsciousness when he hit the metal stairs.

He was on the receiving end of his own tactics. Deep down, he knew it was going to bite him in the ass eventually. 

But he made excuses. For every look of pure frustration he saw his way, it was understandable. It was a competition, the same way he was doing at their first meetup. Nothing new. 

The double pinup was further proof that it was a competition. It was going full circle, except he wanted to stretch it further. Until someone won fair and square, and that someone turned out to be him. It was pure luck that Roddy came out and distracted Adam long enough to roll him up.

He let the deafening cheers cover him as he took a breath into everything. This was both their moment, here in Wembley with the sun shining bright on both of them. He looks over to his friend, and he sees Adam in the same position Max himself was in a few weeks ago.

So he copied the same thing that pulled him out halfway: letting his new friend hear the 80,000 people that are sending cheers and chants their way, reminding him that they love him no matter if he lost, he slid out and got the belts they both earned earlier in the event, when they both celebrated their win with bearhugs and excitement in their words-

Adam hurled all that aside with a single clean toss, the belts they won tumbling out of reach. 

[basil-the-scorned]

When we reach the city

Part of Basil's Drabble December/WIP-Cember!

AN: I wrote this years ago, back when I was trying to figure out what the heck I was and I decided to put my thoughts through a book that I still get inspiration from (see Pleasure to Burn).

So yeah, Ace!Guy Montag for the win! (link is also right here!)

Montag never loved his wife.

He thought he did, back when he didn’t question everything. Then he found his first book.

He found out about those feelings through reading the books. Many were about love, books that told tales of a girl getting butterflies in her stomach and nervousness whenever someone she was truly in love with was around, a boy stuttering around that same girl and having sweaty palms.

He tried to remember a time when he felt anything like that, only to come up blank in his mind. He cared for Millie, he liked spending time with her and listening to her act on the big screen in the living room before everything. When she died along with the many others, he cried because his heart still broke for her, he was still a huge part of his life, even in the moments where he escaped. His heart still mourned for her.

But having butterflies? His hands sweating and his facing turning red? He didn’t have any feelings like that towards her, none whatsoever.

In fact, he doesn’t remember having those feelings for…anyone really.

The last place he thought he would be thinking about this was during a break everyone was taking from putting the last mirrors across the city. It was still some rubble around, but not as much as when they first came through the aftermath of the shockwaves. He still couldn’t tell where his old home was in the midst of all the black dust. All of it looks the same: same dust, same ruined land, same burnt…things.

Montag used to find comfort in the smell of burnt things. It was refreshing long ago, the smoke and ash smell sent a wave of comfort, of a job well done. That feeling was now covered by a growing disgust and horror, as he remembers it wasn’t just the books that were destroyed in that bomb.

He walked away to gather himself. The heavy thud of a solid item was hitting his side until he was far enough from the others. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the book, the cover ripped in half with only the words “Dorian Grey” remaining.

He pulled open the book, flipping until he found the crease he made in the corner. His eyes found the first few words of Basil Hallward, sucking Montag into the area where Basil’s friend, Dorian Grey, was sitting and listening.

‘I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you.’ Montag softly repeated.  You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory haunts us artists like an exquisite dream. I worshipped you. I grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you.’

Montag reads further. He spoke the rest of Basil’s confession but was confused both by the language and by the painter’s speech. Mildred was everything to him, but did he…was he ever…

His past life was blurry at best, and with everything that happened in these few months alone, it was pushed even further. The night is where he thinks of his old life, of people who were still in the city. Clarrisa’s family, the firefighters, Professor Faber (maybe he got out…maybe he went somewhere else)-

Mildred. Beatty. Somehow, he still wanted to believe his old captain was still alive somehow, even after the fire ate his skin and bones.

A whistling noise gradually pulled him out of the book and back into the destroyed city. He heard it again, as if it was trying to make some kind of tune.

Granger. He needed to find Granger.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Granger gave him a new earshell, for old times’ sakes. Something about memories and not wanting everyone to get him 24/7.  Montag uses it from time to time, but it was always for seconds instead of the days he remembered when he first used it for Professor Faber.  The thought of seeing him again sticks a bit as he put the pale white shell in his ear.

Not even a second later, he heard the double time whistling in both ears. He looked only to see the man himself making the noise while reading in his book, not as far away as Montag was. His was one with a black cover with white curved texts on the front that Montag couldn’t really figure out.

So much for the earshell. “Granger?” Montag gently placed it back into his pocket.

The older man looked up from his book. “Taking a break from the rebuilding?”

“Yes, it was a lot to take in.”

“That’s to be expected. We just witnessed something we didn’t think would happen in a long while, or so quickly. But the worst is over now, and now it’s the rebuilding stage.” His hands were still on his own book,

Dorian Grey felt as heavy as Montag’s tongue. “You know how in the books, those love books-“

“Romance novels, Montag.” Granger chuckles.

“Well, you know…in them, they usually describe love as a lot of things. Nervousness, stuttering, tripping over yourself…”

Granger nods. “You ever felt that way before?”

“I thought I did, with my wife. But I really only remember where we met.”

“How about before her, with other women?”

“No.”

“Men?”

Montag thinks back to Basil. “Huh…no. Didn’t get that with any of the men I knew.”

“That Clarissa girl.”

At that Montag glared. Granger held his hands up. “Was just a thought.”

“I could have been her father…” Granger waves it off.

“So those feelings you read…you felt that for no one? At all?”

At that Montag paused. He rubbed his hands down his face, pushing out a forced breath. “I…I guess not. Is that bad?”

Granger folded the page of his book. “There were people in history that were in the same predicament as you. But it wasn’t a bad thing, Montag. They still had jobs, got married to people they cared about, lived a life like everyone else.”

‘But their lives are on these pages we read’, Montag bitterly thought. ‘I’m almost stumbling through this life all over again.’

“You’re doing just fine, Montag.” His face gave away his shock that somehow Granger knew what he was thinking. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it just takes a bit of time to grasp… everything.”

“And how long would that take?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that. But,” Granger’s eyes were now looking back at Montag, eyes wiser than he’s ever seen, “I’ve known you long enough now to know that you pick up stuff pretty fast. Faster than most of the survivors here. It all depends on how long you want it to take, really. If you want to take big leaps or tiny, tiny steps towards them, it’s all up to you.”

All the steps he’s taken, listening to Clarissa, reading the book to the ladies, escaping the mechanical dog, all gigantic leaps he’s taken. So why wouldn’t this one be any different?

Montag looked up, towards the sky that was peaking blues in the mist of the black that covered the area. His mind drifted back to Mildred, and imagined her in the sky, looking at all of this like it was another part of her big screen.

He wonders if she would be delighted to find that she has a role in all of this.

[basil-the-scorned]

Death Riders

Part of Basil's Drabble December/ WIP-A-THON!

AN: had a collection of Drabbles of Yuta in the Death Riders. Decided to do them in a 3 part thing! It's not a linear story at all.

Yuta never got used to riding in the tailgate. Every bump, turn and noise was heard, not muffled like it was inside the truck. The wind hit him harder, the hoodie he had on did nothing to help how it blew inside. The roar of the engine kept him from dozing off.

It was just him in the back this time. He barely got into the truck, the wheels almost taking off faster than he could get in. So his feet were planted on each side as the truck flew down the road ahead. He looks up towards the sky, the stars trying to shine throughout the clouds that was starting to gather.

He couldn't even attempt to try and grab them before another turn knocked the view away from him.

[basil-the-scorned]

Rumors

Part of Basil's December Drabbles/WIP-Cember!!

AN: this one was done right after double or nothing, but I was too dang tired to finish so it just...sat there. BUT IT'S DONE, I just never posted it!

Jack’s eyes were closed when he felt the buzz on leg. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened his eyes to see a text appear on the lock screen. 20-235. A room number he briefly remembers staying in at one point, and not the one he was currently in which was filled with his new…friends? 

(He was still figuring that part out.)

“Hey, who’s texting ya?”  Jack looks up at Nick, messing with the buttons on his vest.

“Someone being annoying.” Jack half-lies. And it quickly became true because he got another text with a timewatch gif.

“Want us to take care of it?” 

 Jack’s heart leaped a bit, but he just waved the offer off. “Nah, I got it. In fact, might take care of it right now.” He got up from the chair he was half on and strolled out of there.  In the background, Jack briefly hears Nick telling his brother exactly what he said, although a bit butchered. It didn’t stop him from leaving, not even waving good night.

Jack didn’t stop until he was out in the lobby, chairs backed into every corner before someone entered the hallway of the hotel. It’s still as big as he remembered, and still just as intimidating to walk through by yourself. He didn't stop his hands from going up into his hair, not caring about the kinks his fingers seem to snag upon. 

The chair seemed to be a lot more comforting than in the room. Jack flopping down to cushion proved that much, and he closed his eyes again. 

He's been with the Elite these past few weeks and while it's been nice to have them show their appreciation for what he did, there's been an eerie feeling he's been having since yesterday. It would be an understatement to see how different the Elite were, especially Matt and Nick--or Matthew and Nicolas, whatever they want to be called.

He couldn't ignore how vicious they were now, as if they were scorching the locker room till everyone that wronged them was burned alive. Especially Matt, the one that was the calm and collected one compared to Nick until Kenny made his way back into the ring. It wasn’t like he wasn’t matching their energy, especially with the beef he had with Khan.

It just felt off for some reason. 

His fingers scrunched his hair some more just as another buzz in his pocket went off. “I swear to God…” He mumbles, already knowing who it was before he looks at his phone once again. Physically they haven't seen each other in over six months. Jack received the first text 2 months later. Short and to the point, like always.

Of course Jack didn't respond right away. He had it open on his screen, simmering as he did multiple things. Either made himself too busy or too nervous to answer back in the right words.

Eventually, when he couldn't ignore it any longer and everyone around him noticed how he turned his phone over a bit too hard a bit too many times, he just sent back a 'hey’. He made his forehead sting from how hard he facepalmed.

They didn't leave off on the greatest note. Slamming your former friend onto a car windshield is a hell of a place to leave off on. It opened some kind of door though.

One text became many, then into a phone call where many things were yelled until they were both hoarse, then planning a meetup that kept getting canceled because of last minute plans. As if the universe was trying to make sure he was ready to take this path again. 

Like he had any kind of idea what might be next for him.

He opened his eyes, finally getting his bearings together enough to start his journey. Jack's feet finally made it to the door and he raised his hand to knock only to pause before his fingers could even touch it. The thoughts of this going wrong, or maybe it was all just getting his guard down again and then getting attacked.

He already knew his new group would have a lot to say about what he’s doing, which is why he wanted to do it without hearing their mouths. 

So he finally knocked at the door.

A few seconds later, he heard a loud click and the door swung open.. He didn't even get to say a proper hello before a solid body tackled him, throwing them both onto the ground.

[basil-the-scorned]

Basil's Drabble Decemeber/New Year WIP-A-Thon

2024 was one of the most creative years writing wise I've ever had. As of typing this, I have almost 30K words on Ao3 from this year alone. This took up a lot of my personal editing time, as I've only done 10 fancams this year.

That being said, I have so much drabbles and undone stories that it's not funny, either due to personal stuff or, and a common theme this year especially, storylines wrecking all of the story. So I've decided to see if I can expand on half of these things before the year is out.

THUS, THE DRABBLE DECEMBER/WIP-A-THON!!

[basil-the-scorned]

Part 2

Being touched wasn't something Yuta really used to think about a lot. It was a normal human thing to do, how to get someone's attention if you couldn't yell their name out loud or you didn't even know their name. It was how his mentors showed their joy, though bone-crushing hugs and closeness on couches and anywhere else they could be. It's how he was taught to wrestle, up close with a million grapples to make someone submit to him.

He didn't flinch when he felt hands near his neck, or when his skin was pinched along with the yank of his shirt and it still stung minutes after. He didn't get a sense of frustration when he was herded along to wherever he was going while his neck was getting a crick from the headlock he was shoved into.

He never thought about if one more person even brushed against him, he felt like digging his nails into his skin. That was before everything came crashing down, and he scrambled to what he thought was safety.

The few times he did move away from the touches was only met with it coming harder. So he stopped avoiding.

He had to get used to them always on him, always hovering over to move him to the next place, correct whatever wrong move with a sharp slap or punch, thumping him on the back until it still tingles long after. Touch after touch after touch. Yuta just followed as best as he can, his eyes always watching for the next hands coming towards him.

Death Riders

Part of Basil's Drabble December/ WIP-A-THON!

AN: had a collection of Drabbles of Yuta in the Death Riders. Decided to do them in a 3 part thing! It's not a linear story at all.

Yuta never got used to riding in the tailgate. Every bump, turn and noise was heard, not muffled like it was inside the truck. The wind hit him harder, the hoodie he had on did nothing to help how it blew inside. The roar of the engine kept him from dozing off.

It was just him in the back this time. He barely got into the truck, the wheels almost taking off faster than he could get in. So his feet were planted on each side as the truck flew down the road ahead. He looks up towards the sky, the stars trying to shine throughout the clouds that was starting to gather.

He couldn't even attempt to try and grab them before another turn knocked the view away from him.