- You suck at this.
- You’re just as bad.
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- You suck at this.
- You’re just as bad.

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hello blaseball community... here's a scene from @socksmaybe's fic vulnerability is not poggers :] Go check it and its accompanying works out if you like declan suzanne, the very well written complications of your undead not-boyfriend still being a total heel, and ABBA!
(click for quality, there's lineart and y'know, words in there)
[image description: A drawing of Tillman Henderson and Declan Suzanne. They are sitting in an empty parking lot. Tillman is squatting and has his arms wrapped around Declan, tugging Declan’s jacket that he is wearing so that it wraps around both of them. Declan is hiding his face in Tillman’s shoulder. /end image description]
From here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273412
"...Tilly? Is it really you?"
"You know anyone else this poggers? Of course it's me, dipshit."
so,,,, blaseball huh?

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familiar patterns, 1.3k
(this wasn’t long enough to be a Fic fic but i wrote it in one evening the day after declan suzanne got alternated no beta no nothing so i’m posting it here. no beta we die like tilly henderson)
this new declan opens boxes, shuffles through paper, rips apart this room to try and find something of the person he’s taken the spot of. he doesn’t, but the effort’s there.
edric, who apparently is/was his friend, who says they know what he’s going through, lends a hand. they don’t do much as declan leaves a storm of bedroom artifacts in his wake, of video game cases, of leftovers of someone else.
this isn’t right, they repeat, again and again. i want to go home, like a kid in the back of the car, i want to go home.
no emotion that’s worth having
words: 7846 fandom: blaseball relationship: tillman henderson/declan suzanne
summary: Tillman Henderson is not a person who cares about home, so of course he doesn’t miss Baltimore. Tillman doesn't care about people, so the Crabs being gone and Declan not calling is all totally fine by him. Who needs them, anyways?
(A study of homesickness, loneliness, undeath, and emotional conversations held on sea monster-shaped paddleboats.)
read on ao3!
tilldec, 17?
17. things you said that i wish you hadnt
“so,” declan starts. short. their voice is eerily calm, eerily level, and tillman can already feel the fight at the edges of the room. clenches his fists. “you’re going into the trench. with loser. and blowing yourselves up to close it?”
“yeah. what about it?”
“what about it- you know exactly what about it- dude, what the fuck are you doing?” there’s the loud. tillman can do loud. declan looks like he’s about to punch him, and he’s ready to punch back. “you’re just going to leave me and mike here? we’re a drift team, tilly, and you’re going to get yourself killed!”
there’s something low and angry in his chest. there’s something low and angry in their chest. a feedback loop of phantom drifting, playing over/and/over again. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? cringe. mad because you and m- townsend aren’t gonna get any of the glory, huh? you’d just love to sacrifice yourself for a fuckin’ purpose.”
“and you’d just love to get yourself killed because of some selfish- bullshit, huh?”
declan’s voice cracks. tillman doesn’t look him in the eye. “none of your fucking business, suzanne.”
“yeah. sure.” they shove past him. he doesn’t know where they’re going - this is their shared apartment, not a lot of places to run - but he knows they’re not coming back.
tillman doesn’t regret it. he doesn’t. (the low low low anger in his chest shifts into something else, and he doesn’t think about that, either.)
(feedback loop.)