#dlsmp fic

[scribbling-dragon]

22 with ranchers? >:)

all my love will be your breath

summary:

The first sign that something is wrong. That something is going to go wrong, is the prickling pain in his hand. Tango flexes his fingers a few times when the sensation reaches him, attempting to shake off the pins and needles as he continues working. The first flash of biting cold has him gasping, hand spasming as the pencil slips from his fingers. It clatters loudly onto the half-finished door he’s using as a makeshift table.

(ao3 link)

(3,085 words)

haha some good ol' ranchers angst. haven't written anything for double life in a hot minute so here you go! this was done for these writing requests - which are still open if you have any (and i am still working on the prompt i have left!!)

The first sign that something is wrong. That something is going to go wrong, is the prickling pain in his hand. Tango flexes his fingers a few times when the sensation reaches him, attempting to shake off the pins and needles as he continues working.

His hands ache, his arms sore from the work he’s been doing all day to fix up their ranch, just a little bit. A significant portion of the nearby forest has been cut down in his efforts to rebuild their farmhouse better than before. The previous iteration had been ugly, but good enough to house them. This new version – one that he’s actually drawn plans and created measurements for – will be better than the previous one could have ever been.

He pauses in his sketching; alterations of the farmhouse had to be made, when he realised that it would be too complex to complete within the time frame he currently has. He wanted to complete it before Jimmy returned from his mining session, wanted to have something to show off to him.

It’s a stupid thing to want, but he wants it nonetheless, and it’s looking good. Like it might be finished before night even begins to set in.

Progress has been helped along by Grian lending a helping hand – a helping axe, rather. It’s obvious what he’s going for, attempting to mend the burned bridges between their pairs. Tango had accepted the help with gritted teeth and a strained smile, willing to set aside his own anger for the sake of finishing the house before Jimmy returns.

He shakes his hand again, the bones in his wrist shifting with the force he uses, hoping to dissipate the feeling so he can return to his drawings. Instead of disappearing, the sensation only strengthens, until his entire hand is numb.

The first flash of biting cold has him gasping, hand spasming as the pencil slips from his fingers. It clatters loudly onto the half-finished door he’s using as a makeshift table. That, coupled with his not-so quiet gasp, draws attention to him.

“You alright?” Grian calls over from beside the log pile. He’s stripping the bark from them, forming them into neater planks than Tango would be capable of making with his own hands. He is not designed for the intricate details that builders manage to achieve, preferring complex and sprawling arrays – who has the patience to make sure every single plank is the exact same size? Grian apparently does, and it’s also why he shooed Tango away, his need for aesthetics overriding any sensible thought of this is someone I might have to fight to the death, why should I be helping him? apparently.

Tango isn’t going to comment on it. Not when it will probably reduce the draught that had forced him and Jimmy into one bed, beneath several blankets, to huddle and conserve warmth.

Simply the thought of that evening of closeness, of the quiet, stifled giggles and curling warmth that had nestled somewhere deep within his chest and not yet left is enough to make him feel warm from the inside out, the ends of his hair curling into small flames.

“I'm fine,” he grits out, registering the echoing silence that has stretched between him and Grian, the way the other still watches him, remaining fixated on the side of his face until he responds.

“Uh huh,” Grian tips his head to the side in a very bird-like manner, a wry smile crossing his lips. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Are they?

He hadn’t even noticed, both hands beginning to shiver and tremble, phantom pains no longer sparking over the backs of his hands and into the fine bones of his wrists. He flexes them experimentally, coming to the chilling conclusion that he can’t feel his hands at all.

Whatever it is that Jimmy’s experiencing, it’s left him with little feeling in his hands. Something that is beginning to crawl up his arms further. It’s startling and uncomfortable and- and not something that should be happening at all.

He feels out along the bond that tethers him to his other half, feeling along the string that has only strengthened during their time here. He pulses something resembling curiosity and worry along it, transmitting the feelings in the same way a redstone line would transmit a signal.

He still doesn’t understand how it works, and Grian is vague with the details of how it all works.

Tango doesn’t think even he knows, thinks this is all something that has spiralled a little out of Grian’s control, into something that he’s still grasping for, still attempting to regain control of. Either that, or his bond with Scar is frayed enough that he cannot transmit anything at all; his lack of knowledge originates not from a lack of control, but from a place of not experiencing it at all.

He waits a few, tense moments after sending the question across, waiting for a response. Any kind of response.

He crumples beneath the weight of what is returned to him, the sheer panic and pain radiating through to him is enough to make his head ache. He cradles it in his hands, in his numb, cold hands, and struggles not to cry out.

He can taste blood in his mouth, though whether that is his own sensation or something from Jimmy is unknown.

“Woah,” someone skids on the grass beside him, coming to an abrupt halt. “You are clearly not alright.”

“Gee, thanks for that,” he bites back, teeth flashing as he glares up at Grian. “What might’ve given you that idea?”

“There’s no need to be so rude,” Grian bites back, wings ruffling in clear agitation. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or should I just leave?”

Tango remains silent, staring mulishly at the ground he’s currently kneeling on. The grass is charred and ashy; somewhat of a relief that it cannot catch fire again, with the sparks jumping from his flicking tail.

“Fine,” Grian heaves himself back to his feet, the knees of his jeans stained with ash and soot. He brushes at them a few times, something that Tango watches from the corner of his eye, but only succeeds in smearing the ash further over his jeans and onto the palms of his hands. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find me if you improve your attitude.”

Tango feels regret as soon as Grian starts walking away, dead grass crunching beneath his feet.

He opens his mouth to call out behind him, beginning to rise to his feet before a burning sensation floods up his arms. It brings him low again, down to his knees once more in the wreckage of his home.

He cries out wordlessly, the sound transforming into a snarl at the end of it as he bites down on his tongue, embarrassed and frustrated with his own inability to do anything.

He wanted to fix this, wanted to repair the home that he and Jimmy had begun to call theirs, something that belonged only to them. And yet he failed at that, unable to even lift a pencil to fix this.

The burning fades fast, quick enough that he’s left choking on his own breath, throat constricting painfully as he shoves himself upwards.

His head collides with someone’s chin in his haste, and both of them fall back. He glares at Grian, who winces and then glares right back at him. “I just bit my tongue because of you.”

“And? What were you doing so close?”

“Checking to make sure you weren’t about to keel over.”

“I'm fine,” he sniffs. He stands up slower this time, ears flicking back and forth anxiously. He doesn’t know what it is travelling across to him, only registering the numbing pain that’s beginning to snake up his arms again, biting cold against his skin. But there’s something wrong, that much is easy to figure out. “I need to find Jimmy.”

“Obviously,” Grian scoffs. “Where’d he go?”

“Mining.”

Grian gives him a flat look. “You’ll have to give a few more details than that – where did he go? How long did he say he was going to be? What was he going to get.”

“Why do you care?” he snaps. He turns around then and there, shoving his way through the gate, wood clattering behind him as it bounces back into position from where he shoved it. It clicks open a moment later as Grian follows him out.

“Because I'm going to help you,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Tango doesn’t even bother to turn and face him, heading in the direction he remembers watching Jimmy disappear in. He’d been walking with a pep in his step, and Tango may have been slightly distracted by watching the way the rising sun silhouetted him, the way it framed his face just so-

Heat lances up his arms again, curling around his elbows, gone as quickly as it was there, as though someone dumped a bucket of water over the burning. The blistering cold returns moments later, hands beginning to tremble once more.

Grian snatches at one of his hands, both thumbs pressing into the palm and forcing his claws to splay out. “Hey!” He attempts to tug his hand out of Grian’s grip, but it just turns bruising in its strength and he halts his struggles as quickly as they had begun. He doesn’t want to cause Jimmy more pain than he’s already experiencing, even if his hand is almost completely numb by now. “What are you doing!”

“You have frostbite,” Grian shoves his hand in his face. “Your fingers are turning purple. How did you not notice?”

“I don't know if you’ve noticed, but my claws are dark anyway,” he yanks his hand free from Grian’s grip, and the other man lets him this time. Allows him to retreat a small distance away and observe his hands himself. He grits his teeth and suppresses a small growl when he realises that Grian is right. He’d just been too stupid to notice it before.

“He’s somewhere cold,” Grian surmises.

“Wow, give it up for the genius over here,” he mutters. He thought it was quiet enough that Grian wouldn’t have heard him, but he still turns on Tango with a furious glare.

“I’m helping you,” Grian hisses out. “Be a little more grateful.”

“You're atoning for your soulmate,” Tango fires back. “Don't make up something when we all know it’s a lie. Why even bother when you're one bad situation away from abandoning him entirely?”

He halts the moment the words spill past his lips, born of frustration rather than anything more malicious. Still, it has the effect he was going for a few moments ago – before his rational thinking and decision-making capabilities caught up with him – and Grian’s face closes off, going dark and angry.

“You don't mean that,” Grian tells him. “And you don't know what you're talking about either.”

“Fine, maybe I don't,” he acquiesces. He won’t apologise, not when Grian won’t accept it from him, but he can still feel a little guilty. “But I also don't want to be stood around chatting about this while Jimmy- dies! Or whatever it is!”

“Freezes to death,” Grian corrects. Then pauses and lights up, turning on Tango with none of his previous anger, an inspired gleam in his eye. “Frozen!” He yells, like that makes any sense at all, gives him any clue to whatever leap of logic Grian just made.

“Uh,” he says smartly. “What?” And winces a moment later, heart thudding hard in his chest as the cold retreats for a moment, before cascading back in like- like snowfall. Like snowfall! “Frozen!” He yells back at Grian, grinning like an idiot before he gasps, chest stuttering with the panic that pulses over to him, flooding his senses with a nervous energy.

“The mountain is this way,” Grian tells him, yelling slightly with the frantic energy that has overtaken the two of them. Tango wouldn’t consider them allies – wouldn’t consider them even friendly after Scar’s little escapade at their ranch, but maybe they could start something somewhat like an alliance after this? Provided they manage to find Jimmy. Provided that they're even right. “Come on, come on!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming!” He breaks into a sprint, even as his chest feels as though it’s being compressed, something heavy weighing down on his ribs and preventing his lungs from expanding properly. The burning in his throat and his lungs only spurs him on further, legs turning numb from both the cold and the exertion as he makes the first leap up the craggy clifface of the mountain.

A blur of colour shoots up past him, Grian splaying his wings out when he reaches the top to slow his descent, touching down delicately as Tango continues his mad scramble up the side. His numb hands falter a few times, but he digs his claws in a little harder as he climbs further, easing himself into it until he’s as familiar with the rocks as a mountain goat.

Grian hops from foot to foot at the top, and as much as Tango wants to haul himself over the edge and lay there for several hours, maybe even a lifetime, he shoves himself upwards onto his feet as soon as he can, ignores the burning of everything. The burning that could be him but could also be Jimmy -wherever he is.

It doesn’t take them long.

Not with the laughter travelling clearly through the cold air, carried to them on a sharp wind. He doesn’t even need to think it through before he veers in the direction of the voices, the taunting that reaches his ears.

He flares so hot that it probably reaches Jimmy over their bond, and clears a circle of snow around him.

“Oh, look who’s arrived!” Joel turns to him with a smile, arms outstretched. “Took you long enough.”

“What are you doing?” He can see Grian backing up from him out the corner of his eye, but can’t find it in himself to care as he flares up. He doesn’t even care if he sets fire to this whole damn forest. All he can focus on is the slight movement of snow at Joels’ feet.

“Nothing,” Joel shrugs. Scar, behind him, at least has the decency to look guilty…Scar?

He whirls on Grian. “You knew?”

“What!” Grian shrieks out, outraged and shocked all at once. “How was I meant to know! Why do you even think I knew?”

“Scar’s here!” he yells, gesturing towards the offending person. “You're telling me he ran off and you didn’t think to check where he’d gone?”

“I was helping you all day! How was I meant to know he came up here to do something like this?”

Tango hisses out a breath filled with smoke and a little flame, uncaring of the way soot coats the inside of his mouth and the back of his teeth. He can scrub the taste away later, when his hands are no longer numb and his heart doesn’t feel as though it’s going to break to pieces.

He surges forward, ducking beneath Joel’s arm when he tries to block him and plunging a hand into the powdered snow. He scrambles around, ignoring the yelling that starts up behind him, grasping and reaching blindly until he finally finds something solid amongst the numbing cold.

He holds on tighter and yanks backwards, using his body weight to pull Jimmy free from the snow. He falls back with the force, when the snow finally releases its victim, allowing him free of the snowy prison he’d been trapped in for however long.

He’s shuddering so hard that Tango’s afraid, for several long moments, that he might just vibrate out of his skin, teeth chattering so hard he might bite off his tongue.

He pays this little mind, pulling Jimmy close to himself and stoking the fire in his core as much as he can, pressing his forehead to Jimmy’s, wincing at the clammy feel of it. He sits there, in his circle of melted snow until Jimmy blinks his frosted lashes open, squinting up at him.

“Hey,” is all he says.

“Don't hey me,” he bites out, frustration from a source of worry and fear and panic and everything but anger, stress making him feel like he’s on the edge of some great drop; any movement would send him over the edge, and then he might do something even more stupid like start sobbing right here. “I didn’t know where you were,” he tells Jimmy quietly. It’s loud enough to carry, now that the yelling behind them has stopped.

Tango doesn’t turn to check on their companions, focusing only on Jimmy, on the way his extremities are no longer purple with cold, returning to a slightly more healthy pink tint, cheeks rosy with the cold.

He steels his resolve then and stands, ignores the small sound of panic that Jimmy makes, the way his cold hands wrap around the back of his neck, as though Tango would ever drop him. His arms are beginning to burn with exhaustion, muscles trembling, but he refuses to release Jimmy. Not when he’d almost slipped away from Tango completely.

He ignores the apologetic look from Grian, ignores the guilty one from Scar. Ignores Joel entirely.

Jimmy presses his face against his neck, speaking words that Tango can only make out because of how close they are. Words spoken so close to his skin that they're almost branded into it. “I can walk,” he says, embarrassment colouring his voice and his face.

“I know.”

“Then…”

“I want to carry you,” a stray feather brushes against the exposed skin of his neck, brushes just below his chin in a way that makes him shiver. “Besides, I think you're quite enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teases, hoping that it might make Jimmy smile, at least a little.

The embarrassment and flustering will keep him warm until they're back at the ranch, where Tango can wrap him in blankets and offer him warm drinks. And maybe he’ll sit alongside Jimmy, within that cocoon of blankets, warm him with the flame stoked somewhere deep in his chest.

Jimmy tightens his grip, though it is no longer from fear of being dropped, and more to press himself closer to Tango. To his warmth.

Despite himself, Tango flushes, and prays that Jimmy can’t feel it.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Double Life SMP Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Characters: Secret Life SMP Ensemble Additional Tags: Double Life SMP - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different Soulmates, not certain how else to tag this Summary:

Jade to green to gold to scarlet Names will fade and eyes will darken Lives will end and blood be spilled, Worlds that fall once all are killed.

Winter's cold brings sleet and snow, Love that dies and hates that grows. Eighteen souls, but now nine hearts; Lives entwined to break apart.

* * *

A Double Life AU featuring all eighteen members of the Life Series and different assignments of soulmates. Updates on Tuesdays.

[daisy-mooon]

dear the long-suffering Pearlescentmoon fandom trying to find fics that are actually about Pearl:

go onto advanced search

go to character tag and enter Pearl's character tag

go to "any field"

then type "summary: Pearl"

hit enter

you now only have fics with Pearl in the summary of the fic

profit

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[zedif-y]

Summary:

A loud slam, like doors banging open– “HEY!” Impulse whips around, and– He hears the pattering of footsteps on the hardwood, laughter and voices mingling together from their back door. Above the stairs, he sees a wide, playful grin. Grian cups a hand around his mouth, “Who’s ready to party?!” The color drains from Impulse’s face.

---

Chapter 13 of my impdubs fic is out!

[timetocommitcrimes-ao3]

Summary: Scar and Pearl decide to move out into the jungle together to take a break from their respective soulmates.

I. do not really like this fic anymore, but i do stand by it. this is how dl ended trust me <3

[froganni]

For your consideration: Pearl panics when she gets cold because of lingering DL trauma. (Powdered snow, yippee!)

In Secret Life she wakes up with a start because she accidentally kicked off her blankets and woke up freezing. She goes to check on the Mounders to make sure they're still there and she's not alone.

And maybe they have a cuddle pile where she can make sure they're all warm and safe. That's all she needed really, a little warmth.

[parissfrogg]

I had an idea the other day where jimmy’s wing got damaged when he and tango lost their fist life in double life. Tango felt super bad about Jimmy not being able to fly even a little so he did what he does best and redstoneificated a wing brace as a substitute

Idk thought this was a cute idea

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

~

Bee was staring at him.

Grian's teeth itched, making him more aware of their sharpness, especially the sharpened canine points in this form, the feathers on the tops of his wings puffed up with energy. "Fifth time is the charm." he muttered, as he set the wrapped barn in the railcart and tried to position it just so so it would explode if jostled. He fiddled with the sharps on his belt. But he knew, Grian knew, his teeth weren't as sharp or as itchy as he wanted them, as he saw in Scar's actions now that he had undergone the change. Ok, Scar, maybe that was a place to start talking….

And Bee was staring at him.

"Ok," he said, "I know this is my place to do this, because if Scar tells me to mess someone up, then I can. Think of it as…. I'm his weapon."

Bee fiddled with his protective vest and leaned back, that was good, he thought.

[cloudtastrophie]

Hey all, guess what 😏😏

CHAPTER 11 BABY! After a few month break this bad boy is back 🎉

[scribbling-dragon]

prompt idea: ranchers are very tired from rebuilding their ranch and so don’t think twice about just falling into the (one) bed together

they wake up in the morning Very embarrassed and flustered (and maybe admit some feelings 👀 👀)

moment of peace

summary:

Sleep.

He hums to himself, turning to look at the bed, shoved in the corner of the room, pressed up against the wall and facing the door. He thinks, maybe, it was done so it was in the best and most defensible position, but right now he can hardly think through his sentences without them becoming muddled with exhaustion and confusion.

Sleeping…seems like a good idea right now.

(ao3 link)

(1,839 words)

didnt quite get to the admitting feelings. but they are so somft in this. it's unbelievable (what's also unbelievable is that you wanna reblog this soo bad. ooooh. yeah, you do (is this working?))

His hands ache, dirt caught beneath the fingernails when he turns them over to look at them. He’s almost surprised at the lack of blisters, from the way his skin burns in odd places, just beside the joints, warm to the touch despite the cold evening air. He clenches his hands, watching as they shake for a moment, knuckles turning white, before he relaxes them again.

His entire body feels as though it is weighed down by leaden weights. His shoulders ache from stretching his arms above his head for the whole day, muscles overused from the rebuilding of the ranch. He aches down to his very bones, the ache long-settled within him- he’s been aching since the sun reached its peak, but he hasn't had the opportunity to stop.

The ranch is looking…better. The smell of smoke still fills the air, and he can no longer tell if that’s his imagination, or if the stench of charred wood is simply lingering around the ranch, as though it remains as a warning- a reminder. The grass is burnt and crisp underfoot, of no use to anything they might want to use it for. It spreads, too, a wide patch of browned grass, circling around the entirety of the building.

He pushes the door open, almost tripping over his feet in what could have been his most embarrassing entrance to a room he’s ever made. Tango looks up as he stumbles in through the doorway, bracing an arm against the wall to prevent himself from faceplanting into the floor.

Tango looks just as tired as he feels, ears drooping and tail dragging behind him on the floor, collecting dust and dirt, as though he’s too tired to hold his tail up. Jimmy’s own wings sag behind him, though they're far too short to come anywhere close to dragging on the ground- far too short to be anything but an inconvenience.

He nods in greeting to Tango, feeling far too tired to summon the words to give even the most simple greeting. Simply speaking seems like an insurmountable task, his entire body aching with fatigue as he simply stands there, blinking, and attempting to decide what to do. The ranch is rebuilt- rebuilt as best as it can be with the resources they have, at least. There is a roof over their heads once more, shielding them from the elements, and the holes in the walls have been patched, preventing the wind from snaking in and nipping at their skin as they attempt to sleep.

Sleep.

He hums to himself, turning to look at the bed, shoved in the corner of the room, pressed up against the wall and facing the door. He thinks, maybe, it was done so it was in the best and most defensible position, but right now he can hardly think through his sentences without them becoming muddled with exhaustion and confusion.

Sleeping…seems like a good idea right now.

Yeah. Seems like a really good idea, actually.

He shuffles towards the bed, sinking down onto the very edge of it. It creaks beneath his weight, the bedframe dipping towards the floor as he begins to pull his shoes off, nudging them aside with a foot, before he flops back on the bed.

He grimaces as he lands on his back, face twisting as he lands on his wings. Several feathers twist, misaligned from a long day of being buffeted by the wind. If he thinks about it too hard, which he’s trying his very best not to, he can feel each individual piece of dirt and grain of grit lodged between the feathers in his wings.

He can feel a small pulse of concern and confusion across the soulbond, and he rolls onto his side, completely lacking in grace, turning so he’s facing towards Tango, back to the wall. His partner stares back at him, still stood by the chest he had been rooting through when Jimmy entered.

The tip of his tail flicks across the floor, gathering more and more dust. It’s like…a really large feather duster. But if a feather duster was made from fur rather than feathers. He frowns. He’s not sure what that would actually be called- or if such a thing actually exists. Still, Tango’s tail continues to collect dust, simply gathering it up. He frowns a little deeper, staring at it as it continues to sweep across the floor.

He shuffles down the bed a little, pulling the blanket up from the bottom of the bed, tugging it over his shoulders. It’s a little thinner than the blankets he’s used to, but he cosies into it anyway, tucking it beneath his chin, watching as Tango continues to move idly about their small house.

The sound of shifting fur, the soft sound of Tango’s feet padding over the wood, is something familiar to him. Even with the few days they've spent together, the sound has become something he’s grown used to, listening out for it when they lapse into silence. Tango has a habit of making small noises, filling the silence with small sounds.

The first time Tango made a chirping sound, so similar to that of a cat, he hadn't realised Tango had been the one that made it. Only once an odd feeling of embarrassment that wasn't his own washed over the soulbond, did he realise it had been Tango. He hadn't mentioned it, noting Tango’s slightly red face and tense posture, and leaving it alone.

He hums beneath his breath as he works, too, tail twitching along with whatever beat he’s keeping to in his head. With Tango around, the silent moments are never truly silent- they're quiet moments now, filled with the small noises Tango makes as he works, moving about their ranch.

He allows his eyes to slip shut, tugging the blanket a little tighter around himself, content to listen to Tango moving around. He listens, drifting closer and closer to the edge of sleep, as Tango rummages around in their chests once more, the soft sound of items shifting against each other almost drowning out the sound of Tango’s voice completely, muttering to himself as he looks for something specific.

He’s not sure what Tango mutters, not the specifics of it at least, but the sound of his voice is familiar, something he’s grown used to- grown to expect since they've been partnered together.

As such, it’s easy to fall asleep. Laughably easy, to simply sink a little deeper into the bed and relax, letting everything drift away.

=== === ===

The first sensation that he registers, on the verge of waking up, is that there’s something tickling his face. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, one that makes him squirm slightly in an attempt to escape from the tickling feeling. He stills, rather abruptly, when instead of managing to push himself away from the source of his minor discomfort, he’s instead held in place by a slowly tightening pair of arms, accompanied by a short groan.

That’s enough for him to open his eyes, despite the fact that the sun is barely risen and it's still too early for anyone to be moving about the server. At least, anyone with a little self-respect. People like Pearl are up at all hours of the night, though he’s not sure whether it’s with the purpose of inconveniencing Scott, or simply plain-old insomnia.

Still, he is very much awake right now, and trapped in bed by a slowly tightening pair of arms, keeping them pressed close together.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it’s Tango pressed up against him, from both the faint smell of smoke and fire that seems to constantly follow the man around, as well as the faint rumbling that he now knows means that the man is purring. Purring.

Now, they may have shared the same bed, rather happily too, for the past few days. Resources are short, and there’s hardly a point in stretching their already meagre resources even further when they can easily share a bed. It had been more convenient at that point, too, with the thin blanket only providing so much warmth, a shared space made it so that neither of them froze their fingers off during the night.

But there had always been a clear divide between their spaces. It wasn't one marked out with pillows, as he has heard people sometimes do - they don't have the resources for that many pillows, either - but simply an unspoken boundary, one that neither of them were willing to cross in fear of what may happen afterwards.

But…he finds himself oddly content like this. Tango has made a rather valiant attempt to smother him completely in his sleep (another point in the nether-cat theory column), and is clinging to him like a limpet to a rock. He can also feel Tango’s tail curled around his calf, the furred tip flicking back and forth idly, brushing along his skin.

If it wasn't for the deep, even breaths he can currently feel brushing against his neck, he’d think the other was awake, but lying just as still as he currently is to avoid waking the other up. But, no, he can feel Tango’s face pressed into his neck, can feel the way the other man shifts and breathes and twitches in his sleep; both of them pressed so closely together that they fit easily onto the single bed, legs tangled up in each other.

It’s actually rather comforting. This small moment of respite amongst the pain and horrors of these games. This brief moment of peace, when everything else is chaos and fire and blood. It’s something he hasn't experienced since the first game- since the first run-through of this song and dance. But the peace then had been derived from their naivety- their lack of knowledge as to what the game truly meant, what would follow once they began turning on each other. The second game was haunted by the ever-looming threat of one of your closest allies turning on you, waiting for the moment you turned your back and found a knife buried in it.

And yet, here, he finds himself comfortable in this moment of peace. It isn't blanketed by naivety, or tainted by distrust of all those he surrounds himself with. Instead, it’s something small and comforting. Something that he might not pay attention to, were they elsewhere. But here, in this moment, he feels entirely at ease.

Perhaps the knowledge that Tango could not- would not, turn on him is what eases his mind so gently. Or, perhaps, it is the simple fact that he can feel his heart thrumming just beneath his skin, and, if he concentrates, can feel another thrumming just beside it, beating to the same rhythm.

He closes his eyes again, curling closer to the warmth that Tango radiates. The soft smell of fire and brimstone hang heavy in the air, yet it’s so incredibly familiar when it comes to Tango.

Five more minutes won't hurt, certainly.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Got 100 followers on here now and I wanted to reply to @simplydm’s post about which double life couple would’ve used the golden apples if they could’ve and this came out

———

When BigB returned from his rendezvous with Grian, Ren was waiting, perched on one of the fence posts in Box’s basement, his eyes peering over his sunglasses looking almost red in the torch light. 

Even though BigB knew he was there, he still startled, nearly falling off the ladder. “Jeez, Ren, you scared me. What are you doing down here in the dark?”

Ren shifted, his hands in his lap, but the gleam BigB saw in the light was most definitely not Ren’s watch—it was too golden for that.

“I knew it,” BigB said, when Ren didn’t say anything. “That’s a golden apple, isn’t it? You’re leaving for Martyn, aren’t you?”

Ren stood in a fluid movement, and held his hand out, revealing just that. “Says the man who has an apple in his inventory right now,” he said levelly, for once seeming deathly serious. “Grian gave it to you, didn’t he?”

BigB shifted again, leaning against the chests in a more casual pose, as if to prove to Ren that he was unaffected by his tone, by the fact that he was radiating pure predator. "It was my idea, actually. He supplied the apples, I supplied the gold." BigB tilted his head, taking Ren in. "Hope you don't mind."

The golden apple in Ren's possession danced in the light as he tossed it gently between his hands, and he raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Thought they couldn't be made in this world, only found."

"Only within the borders. But those are easy enough to get past."

Ren hummed, more of a rumble from his throat. "That explains the damage I took a few hours ago, then."

"Guess so."

"So," Ren said, after BigB failed to elaborate further. "Are you going to do it, dude? Going to break the rules just like that? Do you not think we could win this?"

BigB couldn't help but to bark out a short laugh at that. "We haven't won any other time we were teamed, what makes you think this will be different?"

Before Ren could reply, BigB barreled on, clearly wanting to get this something, this rant, off of his chest. "We're already red, and you're already doing the same stuff you do every game--teaming up with Martyn. You two already dress alike."

Ren blinked at him, eyes flicking to BigB’s dog ears, and then down at his own cookie socks, before deciding that it wasn’t worth another rehashed argument. 

“So you’ve already made your mind up, that’s clear, but is Grian leaving Scar for you?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” BigB said quickly, as if he couldn’t—didn’t want to—believe that the other option was even likely. “He hasn’t wanted to be linked to Scar the entire time. Now he can do that.”

Ren’s ears flopped when he tilted his head in acknowledgement, and his eyes dropped to the apple again. “Well, I wish you the best of luck with your ‘secret soulmate.’” The words came out carefully tempered, but there was some lingering resentment there, that Ren, a man with his heart on his sleeve, couldn’t quite control.

At that BigB held up his golden apple, ‘cheers’ing Ren, and he kept eye contact as his teeth ripped into it’s flesh, the juice dripping down his chin, as Ren’s impassive look dropped, as he grinned, stowing his own golden apple away. 

“It was nice working with you while it lasted,” Ren said, as BigB finished off the apple, leaving only the core, and BigB nodded his agreement.

“Sorry it couldn’t work out,” he said, seeming genuine, and for the first time in a long while they both seemed happy with each other.

“You can keep Box,” Ren said, a final offer of peace. “I’ve got other plans.” As turned away, to climb up the ladder, leave Box behind, he patted his pocket, and his grin turned softer, more thoughtful—but no less vicious.

He had a blond to hunt, the red in his veins sang, and he had a plan to do just that. 

[sammy-writes-sometimes]

Word Count: 829

Ship: Impdubs

Tw: needles, injections

“Bdubs, I- I, uhh…" Impulse is oddly quiet, looking away from Bdubs as he scratches along his arm. "Can I get some help? It's not- you don't have to."

Bdubs smiles from where he sits on their bed.

"It's- it's just a small thing- I'm- you know T and stuff." He laughs nervously, still not looking at his soulmate even as he sits down. "I-I get shots and-"

"Just tell me where you keep your needles, I already know what to do.” Bdubs says softly.

[daisy-mooon]

Yeah yeah Scott's "Tilly death do us apart" sacrifice was cool and all but what if Pearl had a gun and she shot him. Then what.

[tunastime]

if you’re still doing the comfort prompts, maybe knowing each other’s tells with boat boys or ranchers? :]

knowing each others' tells (681 words) (x)

Etho isn't used to the Relation being silent. It's the kind of quiet that holds tension in the hollows of it, one he's always been afraid to step too loudly into. He's used to sound, Joel rustling and pacing, talking to the air as they weaved plans, speaking to Etho from across the deck of the ship like he could hear him from below. But as Etho climbs the ladder and swings himself onto the deck, the ship is quiet, save for the steady thud of his pulse in one ear, and the quickening beat of Joel's behind his other ear. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he makes his way down into the belly of the ship. 

Joel is pacing where he usually does, making his track across the wooden floors like he might wear a dent into it. Etho watches the tight line of his shoulders for a beat, eyes tracking the huff of his breathing as he folds his arms over his chest. It takes a moment of surveying for Etho to make his conclusions, and by the time he's stepped forward, Joel has stopped to track him with his eyes. If they knew each other any less, if Etho were any less, strangely, fond of him, it might be scary, the way Joel freezes, dark eyes tracking his movements with a precision only known by predators hunting prey. Something could be said about persistence and hunger and teeth that could bite, but Etho isn't worried about Joel. He knows trapped animals well enough. So he picks his way around the room and starts to piece the problem together. 

"It was Scar, wasn't it?" Etho asks. He's not looking at Joel—he's busy digging through a chest, looking for the other axe he'd made. Joel makes some kind of choppy noise. "You had a good trap idea for later, said it too loud around Grian, and now you're worried Scar might try it just for fun and get them killed?"

"I'm not worried about Grian," Joel says. Joel lies. His voice squeaks. Etho stifles a laugh.

"Okay," he says. Joel makes another noise, and Etho ignores him. "Why don't we make the plan before they get to?"

"I thought you said traps were a waste of time,” Joel says pointedly, dragging his tongue over his teeth. He tries to contort his face into one of disbelief before Etho can catch the fact that Joel is into his plan whole-heartedly.

Etho holds up his hands, still not looking at him.

"I think you're misinterpreting."

“No,” Joel argues. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.”

When Etho looks over, there’s a light in Joel’s eye that Etho takes as his hint that he’s been successful in convincing him, despite attempting an argument. A tiny spark of excitement. That slight flicker of recognition, of understanding. Seeing a little of himself in Etho. A tell.

They sit together in the bright afternoon sun, mostly quiet, partially humming and nodding and pointing. Joel follows Etho’s rough sketches with his eyes, mouth curled down. It’s not in disregard, but quiet contemplation. Etho pauses halfway, listening to the double beating of hearts in his ears, waiting for any dissent from his partner. Joel doesn’t say anything, though. He shifts closer, folding his legs. The little shimmer of recognition and pride has grown flame-bright in Joel’s eyes as excitement and anticipation takes over. He feels the phantom tug of unclaimed emotions in his chest—Joel’s, not his—as Joel nods. Their hearts thump away excitedly in Etho’s ears, now in sync.

The only other time Etho sees that flicker of something in Joel's eyes is when he follows him through that nether portal. He feels Joel's grip on his hand grow to a fierce, painful thing as he turns, breath caught in his throat as he tries to shove them both back through. The words are muddled in Etho's memory, but the guilt is clear in his eyes. Guilt, fear, and that flicker.

Maybe it wasn’t just understanding.

Etho doesn’t forget that look for a long time.

[zedif-y]

Summary:

He jostles Bdubs’ shoulder, shaking him gently until he groans, “Wha…?” “Ren’s here,” Impulse says, expression grim. Bdubs’ eyes go wide. “I don’t think he’s here to talk.” Ren’s ears twitch– then looks up. Grins. He beckons Impulse down with sharp claws.

---

Chapter 12 of my Impdubs fic is out!