#sharps the parakeet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

schoenpepper · 3 months ago

Text

'Til Someone Gets Hurt (Mean Girls the Musical)

Intro: You play a game with Floyd Leech. At the end of it all, you both get hurt.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, high schoolers doing things high schoolers should not be doing, do not imitate, Floyd Leech comes with a warning of his own, google translated French, bad words

A/N: Don't mind me just casually vaguely mentioning my oc see if you can spot 'em huehuehue

Masterlist

Yes, I look perfect

Ice Queen, that's what you see

It's what they all expect from me

But it's all show!

Go to school, they said. It'll be fun, they said. You're so gorgeous you definitely won't have a hard time fitting in with everyone, they said. You think to yourself as you jot down notes on paper, that if you ever found out who "they" were, you would push them out a window and watch them fall splat on the pavement into nothing but what was previously a meat puppet. Your eye catching good looks didn't mean shit back when you were being homeschooled by your parents in Africa, but Coral Shore High is not nearly as subtle in its staring as the monkeys and lions you used to talk to. You feel too many eyes on you and it makes you grip your pen tighter and wish to stab them all out one by one.

You thought humans had more decorum.

The fucking parakeets had more etiquette, that's for sure. Especially when you're making your way to the cafeteria and some girl trips (a little too obviously) right into your arms. She's all blushy and fidgety when you gently push her upright on the ground, and she thanks you and offers her number.

"Oh." You say with a blank stare. "We didn't have phones back in Africa."

"I could teach you if you—"

"Sorry, I don't have a phone."

With that beautifully blatant lie, you walk off to line up in the canteen to grab a tray of food, surprisingly more edible than movies portrayed high school food to be. You stand still and scout out which table is most optimal, and end up getting flagged down by some tall, champagne blond hottie with purple tips in his hair. He's definitely at least as attractive as you, so you think that he won't be slobbering all over you like the guys you sat with yesterday. It only takes a few steps for some wall to bump into you, teal hair and mismatched eyes and muscle and sharp teeth, leering down at you for only a second before marching off.

"Watch where you're walkin', shrimpy."

You don't appreciate the nickname, but you ignore it and go sit down next to the beautiful blond man. It's your lucky day because Vil Schoenheit is a model, full on desensitized from faces like yours. And he feels like a naggy mother with the way he grills you over your choice in food. He's kind, but it's hidden behind words so sharp they could stab you right in the gut. Rook Hunt is another handsome blond, if not a little unsettling when he fawns over your beauty in mixed French, and he gives off similar vibes to poachers your parents used to ward off in the savana. Epel Felmier is more cutesy than Vil's regal brilliance or Rook's off-putting handsomeness, but he threatens to throw hands when you say he's pretty.

Well, maybe you can fit in, after all.

Face it, you used me

You saw the sexy clothes

My supermodel pose

What did you know?

You should have stayed with the pretty trio instead wandering on your own. In your defense, you were just walking to class and minding your own business. Except, said class is in a building with the entire football field across the one you were in, and said football field has, regrettably, the football team playing on it. You feel nothing but disgust when the wolf whistles reach you, and absolute abhorrence when three guys with very punchable faces approach you with sly smirks, the rest of the team watching on.

"Hey sexy. You look like you could use some lovin'~"

You roll your eyes and keep walking. Surely, this is a clear enough sign of your disinterest, yes?

"Oh, playin' hard to get. That's hot."

"You're cute when you're mad."

"Baby, you wanna skip class with us and—"

You give them your best, and most charming smile.

Rook taught you that everyone deserves to see beauty before they feel excruciating pain. And you're sure, when your knee meets three different pairs of balls in succession, that the rest of the team sharply takes in a breath. "You wanna have more fun, boys?" You drawl lazily with a soft grin. "I have a little bit of time to play with you."

They don't answer as they curl up on the grass in pain. Satisfied with your handywork, you go back to walking to your calculus class.

You don't notice trouble, but he notices you.

"Are you interested in them?" Jade asks, clad in comfortable casual clothes while sat on the bleachers as he hands Floyd a bottle of water. Floyd laughs and eyes his three teammates who were struggling to get back up. And then, inevitably, back to you. "See Jade, I thought it was just another shrimp. But now I think they're more like a sting ray." He licks his lips. "That's fun. I like fun. I wanna try 'em."

Jade chuckles along with him.

Was I a game to you?

Was I a way to be cool?

I truly cared

Was I the fool?

"You hooked up with who, now?"

Vil's gaze has a way of making you feel like every decision you've ever done is stupid. To be fair to him, however, this one certainly is. You grimace and take a sip of your energy drink, pointing at one of the guys practicing on the basketball court. Floyd shoots a three-pointer and grins your way, flexing his shoulders so that the scratch marks you'd left last night peek out of his jersey.

"How in the world are you so infuriating?! Do you know who that is?"

"I mean, I was drunk." You sigh. Vil looks at you like a disappointed parent while Epel and Rook look at you in shock. "Besides, it's just a hookup. I don't even have his number, I'll probably never talk to him again."

"Then why are we here at your behest?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Because I wanted to watch basketball?"

Even you know your excuse is shitty, but it's not as if you could tell the trio to their faces that last night felt good and Floyd was really right up your alley and your hands missed the feel of his abs, right? The man seems really in the mood today as he effortlessly makes another shot, making you clap your hands slowly. You stop when you see the three glaring at you. "You certainly have a unique eye for beauté." Rook says lightly, and you're pretty sure he's just saying you have bad taste. "Floyd Leech, twin to Jade Leech, part of football, basketball, swimming, and volleyball, an athletic superstar with a rather dreary disciplinary track record erased by his parents. He's left handed, has had at least four previous relationships, has almost beat someone to death twice, and spent the night in juvie just before his eleventh birthday."

"Rook, how do you even know all of that?"

Rook smiles and puts a finger to his lips. "That is a secret. Still, he is not exactly a prime choice for a partner. May I interest you in some other options?"

"You may not." You sigh.

"Well, if Y/N says it was just a hookup, then it's probably the end of it." Epel smiles softly, and you almost feel guilty when you nod with him. Right before you get in your car to drive home, you get a text from Floyd.

[Floydie: my team totally saw ur marks on my back hehe]

[Floydie: u should do it again sometime jellyfishie]

It's fine for you

It's fine to flirt

It's fine

'Till someone gets hurt

'Till someone gets hurt!

You know it's just a game.

He knows it's just a game.

You're two high schoolers making high school mistakes, and you take it all in stride when you let him into your house. Your parents are off somewhere so you don't need to worry about getting caught, but what you do have to worry about is Floyd finding some weird house ornaments your parents love and playing with them. "Floyd! Stop it, that's not a toy." You take the vase from his hands and put it back on the counter. "If you touch another delicate item in this house that you could very well break I will kick you out, do you understand me?"

"Okay chill, clownfish. I won't touch."

"Good." You sigh in relief and lead him up the stairs to your bedroom. Is it a good idea to let your booty call into your home? Probably not. But there's a calculus exam tomorrow that Floyd hadn't studied for, and Jade warned that if he fails, he'll get suspended from all his sports until he can get his grades back up. You didn't know what that had to do with you, but Floyd insists you tutor him or he won't get you laid while he's suspended.

Rude.

"What about this one?" He points at another question on the textbook. The two of you are sitting on the floor, comfortably leaning on each other with your tiny study table propped up on the rug. You glance at the equation and point to the notebook in your hands. "That one is similar to—Floyd." You hiss out a warning when you feel his hand crawling up your thigh. "We're supposed to be studying, remember?"

He giggles, tracing his finger on the hem of your shorts. "But that's boring, right? Let's have some fun."

"No, Floyd, what if you fail your exam?"

He leans in closer to you. As his lips find yours, he pushes the study table away and your notebook along with it. "I lied to you, you know?"

"There's no calculus exam?" You huff.

"There is~ But I don't need your help to pass." He's toeing the lines you set, nudging your boundaries in his favor. "I just wanted to see your home! And your bed...and maybe you naked on it..."

You don't fight back when his hands are moving up underneath your shirt, only rolling your eyes and muttering under your breath. "This better be good, Floydie. And you better help do my laundry tomorrow."

He laughs again.

Feel my heart beating

I'm just like her or you

People forget I'm human too

Yes, they do that

Vil shouldn't have told you to join the cheer team, and he certainly shouldn't have forced you to wear the cheer uniform in the ungodly colors it has. You give him an unimpressed look, tugging on the edge of your crop top. "I look like a glowing neon sign at the door of a strip club. Or a toxic mushroom. Or a hallucination of someone who's high off Everclear and cocaine." You didn't think anyone would ever be crazy enough to pair traffic cone orange and cyan together, but somehow, the cheerleading outfit proves you wrong.

"It's...atrocious, yes." Vil nods.

You're shocked he has the audacity to agree with you when his cheer outfit is dark blue and cyan, an actually cohesive color combination.

"Ne t'inquiète pas, Y/N. You are beauté!"

You don't want to look at Rook who's sporting a neon green and orange crop top and skirt combo.

"Y'all look ridiculous." Epel drawls in his casualwear, pushing his hands into his hoodie pockets as he looks at the way the three of you are dressed.

You and the rest of the cheer squad are called to the field before the players arrive, performing a few routines to rally the audience. You don't really think you have anything to fear considering your school's football team is the best one in the state (and Floyd's probably left at least one person from each team they've ever played against a healthy dose of trauma), so all your focus is more on trying not to blind yourself whenever you catch a glimpse of Rook from your periphery. As you'd expected, the game is won all too easily with your booty call seemingly in just the right mood, and he runs towards you happily, spinning you around in his arms while your friends watch on in distaste and disappointment.

"Floyd, put me down!"

"Nuh uh, mandarinfish, you look so cute!" He smiles at you as he carries you. You sit on one shoulder and watch him celebrate with his teammates, grinning up at you occasionally. You give up trying to get back down.

"Did you cheer for me?"

In the football team's empty locker room, when everyone else is out in some diner ordering milkshakes as a trophy, you have one leg up Floyd's shoulder as the other one shakily wobbles to try and keep you upright. He's laughing at you but steadying you by the waist, squeezing the skin exposed by the uniform. "So flexible, hm~?"

"Floydie, fuck, stop teasing!"

He drinks in your whimpers and giggles. His hips roll against yours in a fluid, familiar motion, and the thin fabric you're wearing is not enough to stop the feeling.

"If you weren't cheering my name before, I'll make sure you scream it out now, okay?"

This is performance

This is all self defense

I thought you had the sense

To see through that

[Floydie💙: bettafish wer u at]

[Floydie💙: if u come to the party w some other dude istfg]

[Floydie💙: 😠]

Your first Halloween party starts off with a series of angry texts from your friend with benefits (you tell yourself you like him platonically, enough times for it to stick to your head). You chuckle and shoot him back a reply before going back to staring at yourself in the mirror. "I feel like this kind of costume should be illegal." You say to your friends waiting outside the curtain. You don't think white and green underwear with plastic robo wing attachments and silver boots count as a 'costume', much less clothing, but you have to admit that Vil's taste is still impeccable even when it concerns slutty halloween outfits.

It makes you look super fucking hot.

Not that you weren't already, but you're sure if he sees you like this, he'll drag you into an empty room and eat you like a free-for-all buffet. Not that you mind.

"Well? At least come out and show us."

You don't want to annoy the queen bee, so you step outside in your sacrilegious Buzz Lightyear mockup and turn around so they can inspect it. Vil gives an approving nod, Epel claps with an amazed expression on his face, and Rook spouts off some soliloquy about your beauty. You admire their equally slutty halloween fits; Vil dressed as Suicide Squad Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn, Rook looking like a cowboy stripper, and Epel as... why is he dressed in a giant inflatable apple costume? You shake your head and ignore the elephant (epelphant) in the room. "Anyway, this party's not really all that important, but Neige insisted we be there." Vil scoffs. "And he better have his jaw dropped to the floor with how much hotter I am than he is."

That's what he says, but upon pulling up to the party and thirty minutes later, he's less 'preening like a peacock' and more 'getting some cute guy's tongue shoved down so far his throat it probably reaches his esophagus as said cute guy is practically rutting into him in the hallway'. You swear you've never seen this guy in your life, but Rook assures you that Vil knows what he's doing (which you do not doubt) and pushes you along as you try to find Floyd in the sea of illegally drunk high schoolers. You assume a six foot hunk of muscle wouldn't be too hard to find, but you struggle for ten minutes and decide to just give up and text him.

[You: where tf are u]

[Floydie💙: thats what ive been asking dhfjk]

[Floydie💙: did u just get here]

[You: no i was watching vil get it on with some dude]

[Floydie💙: ew gross get ur ass to the second floor first room on the right]

When you get there, you find Floyd in a low effort zombie costume, sitting on the rails of the balcony with his legs swinging. He gives you a smirk and pats the space next to him. "You look real nice. C'mere." You sit next to him, making sure your plastic wings don't accidentally push him off the edge. "Whose house is this anyway? How did they get permission to throw a party this big?" You ask as you lean against his shoulder. His arm wraps around you and pulls you closer to himself. You find your legs swinging in the same pattern as his.

"Some guy."

"Not important?"

"No."

You chuckle at his words. You find him looking up at the stars, so you do the same. "The light pollution in the city's made the sky a little worse." You mumble softly. "In the savanna, the skies were always so clear. You could see every star shining brightly when it's night."

"That sounds real nice."

"It was."

"I wanna see it someday." Floyd hums. "With you."

You close your eyes and push his words out of your mind.

Was I too proud with you?

Was I too cold and forbidding?

And you chose her over me

Are you kidding?

The game's gone on for too long.

Your fuck buddy, somehow, is sitting next to you in the cafeteria. For two weeks now. Azul is at the head of the table, Vil is on the other head, Rook and Epel are on one side while you, Jade, and Floyd sit on the other. They all seem to be getting along well enough, and even Vil, who's always been against your less than stellar taste in men, seemed numb enough to the sight of Floyd practically sprawled over your lap as he nudged another spoon of his homemade lunch against your lips. "Come on, sea star, another bite? Just another one, please, I worked real hard on it for my little sea star, y'know?" You're helpless at the sight of his puppydog eyes and eat what he's offering.

"Yay~"

"This is vomit inducing." You hear Azul mutter under his breath, and to be honest, you might be a little inclined to agree if you didn't enjoy Floyd's company so much. Of course, it doesn't end at one bite. As you've done in the past two weeks, you set aside your bought lunch (that scrappy guy in the volleyball team can handle it) and finish Floyd's bento. You used to feel bad for doing so, but you found out on the first day it happened that he actually brings two bento boxes so that he can feed you before he eats.

"Good sea star, next week you can just not buy lunch!" He pats your head happily, and you nod along.

Have you been too close to Floyd?

You wonder as you walk down the halls, waving and smiling at acquaintances who call out their greetings. You know he's here again when the people around you start to shy away, faces like they've seen a monster. You don't blame them, you know Floyd has a reputation for being rather violent, if not just a straight up bully.

You've just never experienced it.

Not when he's studying with you, going to your cheer practices and screaming your name, chatting with you about random things for hours, bringing you food he'd cooked by himself, giving you little trinkets he said reminded him of you...

Your heart tightens.

He's a better player than you thought.

His arm is wrapped around your shoulder as he chatters your ear off about how he and Jade are going on a hike on the weekend. You listen intently, nodding along all the way to the parking lot. He walks you to your car and even opens the door for you. Your mind blanks when he leans down to kiss you (it's sweet, it's tender, it's so weird but you don't care). You give him a smile and shut the door before driving away.

You have two days where Floyd will be out of town with no reception.

Two days to clear your head.

Two days to reset your boundaries with him.

You wonder if two days are enough to remind yourself the words he'd told you in the beginning of your arrangement.

"Don't go fallin' for me, 'kay? That's boring. I don't like boring. The moment you get boring, I'll drop ya', capiche?"

"What if you fall for me?"

"Hah? Ain'tcha funny? I don't fall."

Right. He doesn't fall. Even if all his actions right now make it seem like you two are dating, it's all a trap. And you like him a little too much to just end it right there. You'd rather be his contractual fling than be that one person who caught feelings in an fwb situation, wouldn't you?

Poor little me

All trapped in this fabulous show

You could set me free

But if you're going, go!

Go! Oh! Oh!

[Floydie💙🥰😚: seashell have you been avoiding me]

You know Floyd's serious when his texts aren't a mess of shortened words.

[You: no??? just been busy w that math comp training]

Your excuse is bulletproof. Sure the nerds in the 'mathletes' team drool over you occasionally, but it's a small price to pay in order to get your head on straight. Two days with no contact wasn't nearly enough. In fact, it only cemented the saying 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'; indeed, when Floyd was gone, you only missed him more and more. You think that one of these days, you might just make a mistake and tell him the truth. But the thing is, Floyd doesn't need your love.

Floyd doesn't want your love.

Instead of stuttering and stumbling about in front of him, you choose to run away from your problems. Whenever you have free time, you cover it up with math training and tutoring in preparation for the competition. When lunchtime rolls around, you tell your friends you need to be eating with your teammates in order to foster a sense of camaraderie and cooperation (bullshit). After school, you tell Floyd he'll only be a distraction if he studies with you, and you really need to study for that math competition.

In short, that math competition has been carrying most of the load of your excuses.

[Floydie💙🥰😚: when i find you im going to shove you in the janitors closet]

[You: thats bullying, floydie]

[Floydie💙🥰😚: nah seashell imma fuck you in there 🙂]

[You: threatening]

[Floydie💙🥰😚: not a threat its a promise]

You hope he doesn't find you, really. If only because you still can't control your stupid heart around him, and every glimpse you catch of him is infinitely expanded in your dreams. You watched him for a little while during volleyball practice, and you had a very shameful dream regarding the volleyball court, an audience, and Floyd pushing you up against the net.

You put your phone down when Professor Crewel calls for your attention.

"There are only three days left until the competition, pups, so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior."

There's also only three days left before the Spring Fling, meaning, you can't attend the formal that has the entire student body buzzing. You voted for Vil as Spring Fling Queen, obviously. And Spring Fling King. He was in both categories so you did as a good friend would do and voted for him in both categories, as well as helping Rook spread the word for everybody else to do the same. You look down at your practice booklet to see Crewel's bright red 'good pup' and a 100 next to it. You'd rather go compete anyway.

Floyd in a suit might just make you melt.

"You're really not going? Not even after the competition?"

In your room, you pinch your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you flip through a textbook. Vil's voice is elegant as ever even through the speakers. "Nope, sorry Vil. You know my situation."

"Oui! We understand, Y/N." Rook chuckles in the group call. "It must be quite difficult being caught like prey in the trap of love, non?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What didja' say?!"

"Rook!" You hiss out, slamming your book close. "I am no such thing."

"Please, Y/N, you underestimate Rook's perceptiveness." Vil scoffs. "Explain."

You groan. "It's nothing, alright?"

"Non! It is not nothing. Our dear Y/N has fallen madly in love with that Floyd Leech and is now on a mission to erase their feelings in order not to get hurt. Oh, the beauté of amour jeune et douloureux."

"Rook, shut up!"

"Y/N, is it true?"

You purse your lips. It takes you a few seconds to answer. "And if it is?"

"Then you have really bad taste."

"Whatever. Just please, if he ever asks you guys about me, just say I'm in training."

"He has been asking about you."

"What did you say?"

"That you're busy."

You nod and sigh in relief. A message pops up in your screen.

[Floydie💙🥰😚: seashellllll]

[Floydie💙🥰😚: i miss u ☹️]

[You: haha]

You almost send an 'i miss u too'. You don't, though. Because you're smarter than that, aren't you?

[You: i'll see u after the comp ok]

[Floydie💙🥰😚: not if i hunt u down first 😠]

It's fine for you

It's fine to flirt

And God, you're hot

Why do you even wear a shirt?

It's fine!

Damn, you're fine.

Damn, you're mine!

You're really good at this hiding thing.

(Of course you are, or Floyd would've found out about your feelings for him ages ago.)

Three days pass all too easily and he never even catches a whiff of you. You win the ICMT State Final Championship (sponsored by no one), and as you sit in the back of the van with your teammates all rowdy in celebration around you, you take out your phone and take a look at your messages. You're not surprised it's mostly Floyd.

[Floyd: wer u at]

[Floyd: coral]

[Floyd: i thought u wer gonna b at the sf 😐]

[Floyd: is ur stupid comp not done yet or wat]

[Floyd: i cant dance the waltz thing w no partner yk]

[Floyd: like halfway done rn]

[Floyd: r u not seeing my messages coral]

[Floyd: jade just called me lovesick lmao tf does that even mean smh]

[Floyd: can u reply when u get my messages]

[Floyd: pls]

[Floyd: did u win]

[Floyd: go win ok]

[Floyd: do u also think im lovesick]

[Floyd: r u avoiding me cus u think im in love]

[Floyd: if i promise im not will u come back]

[Floyd: what do u want me to say]

[Floyd: im sorry coral 🥺]

[Floyd: it just happened]

[Floyd: pls reply]

[Floyd: i miss u sm]

[Floyd: im sorry]

You hear your heart breaking in your chest.

[You: im not avoiding u]

You walk into the auditorium in your 'Mathletes' shirt and jogging pants, a gold medal around your neck. You look very out of place in the ocean of sparkles and sequins, but Rook quickly waves you over with him and Epel. "The crowning is just about to start, you have incroyable timing!" You watch the nominees on the stage as Crowley reads out a script from a cue card. "And the winner for Spring Fling Queen is... Vil Schoenheit."

You clap along with everyone when the blonde walks onto the stage and gracefully accepts the crown.

"And the winner for Spring Fling King... is also Vil Schoenheit."

Everyone claps louder as Vil chuckles on the stage, placing the other crown on top of the first one. He now has two sashes crossing over each other with two large bouquets in his hands. The principal cancels the 'King and Queen first dance' portion and invites everyone to waltz. Even as you stick by Rook and Epel's sides, you can feel a familiar gaze on you following you through the dance floor.

"Y/N."

It's Jade.

"Hi. What's up?"

"My brother has been quite, hm, mopey, lately. Would you happen to know anything about that?" You shrug.

He doesn't seem to believe you, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. You swear his entire aura darkens when he speaks again. "I really do like you Y/N, you've made my brother so happy, and he's always such a joyful figure whenever I see him cooking for you in the kitchen. However, he's been quite distraught as of late, with neither appetite nor cheer since you've begun avoiding him in the name of your competition. Now that said competition is over, congratulations by the way, it is in your best interest to talk your problems out with Floyd, wouldn't you agree?"

People always said Floyd was scarier. You wonder if you can record Jade as he is right now as evidence to disagree.

"Jade, we don't have problems, okay? Floyd and I just want different things." You take a small step back with both arms raised up. "I'm just respecting his boundaries."

"Is that so? Then pray tell, what is it that you want from Floyd that you believe he disagrees with?" He tilts his head, grinning toothily. "Is it that you only wish to remain in your contractual physical relationship? Even so, you could at least reject him outright, yes? What good would it do either of you if the only thing you do is run?"

"No! It's the opposite. He doesn't want an actual relationship. That's what he said. He said if I fall for him then it's over and Jade, I don't..." You gingerly tug at his sleeve, forcing your tears back. "I don't want to lose him. If the only way I can have him is by having a no-strings attached kind of thing, then that's fine. I'll talk to him again, just, when I've finally settled my feelings, okay? Please."

He looks shocked by your words.

Jade sighs and plops you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You don't struggle (because it's pointless), and no one in the crowd bats an eye (Floyd may be seen as scarier, but that didn't mean Jade was weak or angelic). He deposits you to the door of the parking lot and heads back inside the party, waving you off with a few more words. "He's at his usual spot, probably whining to the moon about you. Do fix him up for me."

And it's fine!

'Till someone gets...

Hurt! Hurt!

'Till someone gets hurt!

It feels like a walk of shame when you head towards Floyd's favorite parking spot. You're pretty sure it was supposed to be for faculty members only, but you don't believe that principal Crowley has any sort of dignity left for him not to sell a faculty parking space to a well paying student (you don't want to know what the Leech parents do, not now at least). You spot him easy, laid down on the top of his jeep in a crisp suit and tie that looked like it was ironed right onto his body. He's murmuring things you can't understand, but you really don't believe that he's 'whining about you to the moon', as his twin had claimed.

You knock on the side of the car.

When he looks over at you, you give him a smile and reach your hand towards him. "Get me up, Floydie?" With his help, you climb onto the roof and sit down next to him. He's staring at the stars again, but he's never let your hand go even once.

"Why were you avoiding me?"

"I wasn't avoiding you."

"Stop lyin'."

You purse your lips. You're never sure what to do in moments like this, when he sheds all his playful mischief. He seems like a completely different person. Not bad. Just so... different. And he doesn't seem mad (you'd have an easier time if he was), but the conflicting feelings swirling within his skin escape through him and taint you too. You do what you're used to doing with him; get physical. You turn to straddle his lap and lean in closer to him. Your legs are propped up on either side of his own as he leans back on his arms, palms flat on the roof the two of you are sitting on.

Your fingers grip onto his tie, lightly tugging. "Floyd." You barely acknowledge one of his hands resting on the back of your thigh. "I've just been so confused lately. I want you in so many ways and what we have right now? It just doesn't cut it anymore. So tell me off, okay? Tell me you want me to leave. But if you want me to stay then, tell me that you like me. Tell me that you want me. Tell me you love me."

Will he say the words?

Probably not.

This on and off situationship leaves no room for genuine feelings between the both of you. But you make it clear to yourself that this is last time. He can't play with you any longer, and you won't toy with him anymore. And if he doesn't say what you want to hear, then you'll let him go. It's so easy you can't believe you didn't do it forever ago. You keep your eyes trained on his mismatched ones of gold and olive and, even though you know he'll let you down, your heart pitter patters in a rhythm you've heard before. Floyd seems to be thinking your words over as his thumb rubs small circles into the cloth of your pants. You wonder if he's taking this as seriously as you are. Can he see a life with you? Does the thought of settling down bore him?

You can't think about it. If you do, you lose.

Force yourself up into the higher position and gain the upper hand, because the man in front of you is a vulture circling overhead for signs of weakness. If he finds it, he might just tear you apart. "Y/N." There's an unprecedentedly serious look on his face as his slanted eyes bore into you like they're picking you apart and deciding which pieces of you are worthy of keeping. "The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn't it?"

You laugh.

So many months of pining and hopeless romance-ing has lead to this. You don't hear what you want.

But it's practically the same thing.

It feels rather anticlimactic. But he's swallowed his pride and admitted his mistake, at least, in your eyes. And if this is the closest you can get to him, the closest he'll let you get to him, then it'll do for now.

"Floyd."

You tug him by his tie until his lips are brushing against your own.

"It's the most beautiful moon I've ever seen."

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech

103 notes · View notes

autoraton · 7 months ago

Text

a concise list of (mostly) spoiler-free highlights from the manchester liveshow:

"Are my socks sharp?"

99 red parakeets

"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you look like a magical bird?"

the best(?) inter-PC ship you never knew you wanted

"Are you my mom?"

bonus action dissassociate

"Can I cast locate creature on a cheesemonger?"

a DC 20 check to skip a monologue

"I think I tried to fuck you."

"Does your mom take medication?"

nat 1 against finger of death

"You have to tell me if you're a child actor!"

manta ray jack with a maxi pad on his head

"You need to find cheese, and find cheese STAT! And feed it to that big beautiful man!"

Ally threw their back out pretend moonwalking. whilst sat in their seat. real and true

"I'm quangled out of my fucking orb."

... and more! featuring cameos from [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and... Brennan Lee Mulligan?

#by redacted i mean characters i decided not to spoil because they're very fun reveals #and you can hear the audience fuckign screaming their heads off everytime <33 #also at the end they threw a dozen dice into the crowd and i got one 😎#dimension 20 #chatter.txt #d20 liveshow #d20 manchester #time quangle

92 notes · View notes

songbirdsanctuary · 3 months ago

Text

Threads of Red and Gold

So... I had been working on this for a few days on my free time.... And got a 'little' carried away...

Warnings: Self-harm, suicide, self-doubt

Word count: 11,937. Excuse me... WHAT!? When did that happen?!

Jimmy stood in the barn he shared with Tango, his hands busy as he carefully sheared the sheep. The rhythmic motion was almost soothing, and the animals remained calm, barely moving under his touch. Three neat bundles of wool now sat at his feet, and he took a moment to survey his work. The horses and sheep were fed, their coats healthy and clean. It was all good—everything was perfect. So why didn’t he feel right?

A strange discomfort nagged at him, and Jimmy stiffened, his small canary wings giving an instinctive flutter. Where’d that thought come from? It hit him out of nowhere, unsettling him. Shaking his head, he stretched his wings out briefly before folding them back into place, as if the motion could shake off the unease. He was fine! He had to be fine! Nothing was wrong; nothing had been wrong for ages.

But as he gathered the wool and started walking back to the house, that feeling clung to him like a shadow. His mind kept replaying the question: What was wrong with me? No answer came. He’d done everything he was supposed to do. The animals were happy, healthy, and fed. His work was done. So why did something inside feel...off?

“Hey, Jimmy!” Tango’s voice broke the quiet as Jimmy stepped through the door into their shared house. The kitchen was filled with the smell of something warm and savory. “How was your day?” Tango asked, looking up from the stove. They’d split up that morning to work on their own projects, and Jimmy had been busy with the barn all day.

Jimmy paused in the hallway, slipping off his blue jacket and laying it on his bed before setting the bundles of wool in a chest. “Pretty good,” he said, his voice steady, though something about it felt almost rehearsed. He turned back toward Tango, offering a half-hearted smile.

Tango’s sharp eyes narrowed, just a bit, as if something didn’t quite add up. “You sure about that?” Tango asked lightly. “You look a little off.”

Jimmy blinked, his feathers ruffling slightly. Why didn’t he look convinced? “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Jimmy replied quickly. “Just…tired from the barn, I guess.” It was a lie, and even Jimmy knew it, but what else was he supposed to say?

Tango gave him a look but didn’t press further. “You hungry?” he asked instead, changing the subject.

Jimmy’s stomach growled on cue, and he gave a small nod, glad for the distraction. “Yeah, I could go for some fruit salad,” he said, his tone a little brighter. Jimmy was a canary avian. Some avians, like eagle avians, hawks, owls, falcons, vultures, and ospreys, were more inclined toward meat, while others, like canary avians, finches, sparrows, hummingbirds, doves, and parakeets, typically favored fruits, seeds, and grains, struggling to diguest meat. Tango had known that from the start, mainly because Grian was a scarlet macaw avian, whose diet leaned heavily toward fruits. But today, the thought of food felt more like a chore than something enjoyable.

Tango set a bowl of fruit salad in front of Jimmy, who absently reached for it. But the quiet nagged at him, that uncomfortable feeling still swirling in his mind. Why did it feel like something was missing? The barn was taken care of, everything was in order...so why did he feel so out of place?

Even the familiar taste of fruit couldn't fully distract him as he sat at the table, his mind running in circles, searching for answers he couldn't find.

Tango sat behind Jimmy on his nest-like bed while he ate. Avians often made nests instead of traditional beds; the instinct was hardwired into them. But maintaining a nest was far more labor-intensive than a simple bed—something Jimmy knew all too well. His nest was built from strong sticks, woven together with light-blue wool for softness, but it also had bits of feathers, dry moss, and strands of grass for added cushioning and warmth. The structure held a familiar scent of home and comfort, and though the upkeep could be tedious, it gave him a sense of belonging in a world where not many things made sense anymore.

Tango, sitting comfortably behind him, gently placed his hands on Jimmy’s wings, beginning to preen them with care. It was a familiar, soothing ritual for them both. Preening was an intimate act, and Jimmy rarely let anyone touch his wings, but Tango was different. He trusted him. They were soulbonded in this strange Life series game, after all, and the connection between them had been natural from the start. They had clicked in a way that surprised even Jimmy, who wasn’t sure what to expect from their bond initially. The two of them had gotten along so well, Tango’s patience balancing out Jimmy’s sometimes jittery nerves.

But as comforting as Tango’s touch was, Jimmy couldn’t shake the gnawing thought in the back of his mind. I’ll be the first to go. His cursed luck as a canary avian had always seen him fall first, and this time he feared it would be no different. The curse was more than just a superstition to him—it was an irritating pattern he could never escape from. He’d seen it happen so many times before, and deep down, he knew that when the curse finally claimed him in this game, it wouldn’t just be him that it took down. Tango would fall too. They were linked, and that thought weighed heavy on him.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jimmy asked, trying to break through the swirl of anxiety creeping up inside him. His voice was soft, almost lost in the gentle trills and chirps that slipped from him in response to Tango’s thorough care. The way Tango preened his wings was methodical, soothing every last feather into place.

“I already ate,” Tango replied absentmindedly, his focus fully on Jimmy’s wings. He was intent on being thorough, ensuring that no feather was out of place, as if the act itself could protect them both from whatever was coming next.

Jimmy finished the fruit and set the bowl aside, his appetite satisfied for the moment. A few minutes later, Tango was done with his wings, the last of Jimmy's feathers perfectly preened and neatly in place. Jimmy gave a gentle shake of his wings before stretching them out and flapping them lightly to test them. The soft whoosh of air through his feathers felt good, reassuring even. Satisfied, he carefully folded them back against his body.

Then, with a small smile, Jimmy shifted to sit behind Tango. He grabbed the brush from the bedside table, the one they’d found was perfect for Tango's unique hair, and began to slowly run it through Tango’s thick strands. Even though Tango’s hair was more like thin blaze rods than traditional hair, they had made this a regular part of their routine. Tango couldn’t set it alight unless he willed it, so Jimmy never had to worry. The brush glided easily through the glowing locks, its motions repetitive and soothing.

As Jimmy worked, his free talon pressed against the muscles in Tango’s shoulders, giving a light massage. He wasn’t strong enough to work out all the knots, but it was more about the care and connection than anything else. A part of Jimmy still carried the instinct of his avian nature, where mates would preen each other’s wings in a shared moment of affection. Even though Tango didn’t have wings, the act of brushing his hair was Jimmy’s way of showing that same tenderness. It was instinct, a deep-seated ritual that symbolized love and care, and while it didn’t always make sense outside of his avian brain, it felt right.

Tango hummed contentedly, his body relaxing under Jimmy’s touch. His tail—long, sinuous, and ever warm with a faint inner glow—curled around Jimmy’s waist, wrapping him in a protective embrace. The gesture was a silent acknowledgment of their bond, a sign that Tango was just as comfortable in Jimmy’s presence as Jimmy was in his. Tango sighed softly, his eyes closing as he melted into the soothing motions of Jimmy’s brushing.

For a moment, the weight of Jimmy’s curse lifted, the dark thoughts slipping away as he let out a small, happy trill. He leaned closer, his canary heart beating softly in time with Tango’s, the warmth of the blazeborn surrounding him like a shield. The world outside the house, with all its dangers and uncertainties, faded away. All that mattered was this moment of peace between them.

And for now, that was enough.

The next day, Tango had gone out early, mentioning something about a meeting with the ClockDuo. Jimmy hadn’t asked too many questions; he trusted Tango to handle whatever business he had with them. That left Jimmy alone with an empty day ahead of him. No real plans, no pressing chores beyond feeding the animals. He moved through the motions of feeding the sheep and horses, but the usual satisfaction that came with the task felt hollow today, like it was happening at a distance.

With nothing else to do, Jimmy decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. He wandered down familiar paths, letting his feet guide him without a destination in mind. Occasionally, he’d stop to pick up a stick that looked sturdy or some interesting stones—anything that might be useful later. Maybe he’d bring back some wood? Or perhaps materials to patch up the barn? He wasn’t really sure. The walk was more to keep himself moving than anything else.

Yet, with every step, Jimmy felt an odd sense of detachment. His surroundings seemed to blur, and even the sound of the birds in the trees or the rustling of leaves felt muted. It was as though he wasn’t entirely in his own body, like some part of him was drifting elsewhere. He’d had moments like this before—small flashes of that disconnection—but today it felt stronger, more unsettling. Why am I feeling like this? he wondered, his mind trying to latch onto something that made sense. But the answer eluded him.

His thoughts began to spiral, and before he knew it, he was thinking about the curse again. The infamous canary curse. He didn’t know when or how it would strike this time, but the knowledge that it would come, sooner rather than later, gnawed at him. I’ll be the first to go, he thought bitterly. He always was. The curse never let him forget that.

What weighed heavier, though, was the realization that when he went, Tango would go with him. It was the cruelest part of the bond they shared in this game—when one fell, the other followed. And Jimmy hated that. The idea of dragging someone else down with him made his chest tighten with guilt. He didn’t want to do that to Tango. Tango didn’t deserve to be caught up in Jimmy’s endless cycle of bad luck.

Jimmy kicked at a stone on the path, sending it tumbling ahead of him. He didn’t want to think about it, but no matter how far he walked, the thoughts wouldn’t leave him. How could he protect Tango from a fate that was tied to him? How could he stop the inevitable?

His wings drooped slightly as he walked, his usual lightness dimmed by the weight of his thoughts. Jimmy stopped by a tree, leaning against its rough bark as he tried to shake off the gloom. But even the warmth of the sun couldn’t quite reach him. All he could think about was the end. How it would all go wrong. And how, no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop it.

Jimmy sat down in the middle of the woods, the quiet surrounding him in a way that felt almost suffocating. The rustling of the trees and the distant bird calls had faded into the background, leaving him alone with the growing pressure in his chest. His breathing grew heavier, each inhale and exhale becoming more difficult as his mind swirled with dark thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about the curse, about Tango, about how everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, and how powerless he felt to change any of it.

The familiar feeling of anxiety began to wrap itself around him like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter. He recognized the signs—he had felt this before—but it didn’t make it any easier. His heart raced in his chest, pounding so loud it echoed in his ears. His hands trembled, and he felt disconnected from everything around him, like he was falling into a pit he couldn’t climb out of. It was more than just anxiety now—he realized he was slipping into a panic attack, the edges of his vision blurring, his mind racing too fast for him to keep up.

Jimmy’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain control, but the more he fought against it, the worse it got. His thoughts were like a storm, each one crashing into the next, overwhelming him with waves of dread and helplessness. His talons curled into his palms as he tried to ground himself, to anchor himself to something, anything, that could pull him back from the edge. But nothing seemed to work.

In his panic, Jimmy dug his talons into his wrists, the sharp points piercing through the skin, leaving deep cuts that oozed with blood. The pain was sharp, but it was something real—something he could focus on amidst the chaos. He pressed harder, almost instinctively, as if the physical pain could somehow pull him out of the mental one. His breaths were still fast, shaky, and uneven, but he tried to concentrate on the sensation in his wrists, on the sting and the warmth of the blood. It grounded him, if only slightly.

But it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions. His body shook uncontrollably, and he curled in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest, feeling utterly overwhelmed. Tears stung his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, wishing he could make it all stop. The canary curse, the inevitable loss, the weight of taking Tango down with him—it was all too much. He couldn��t carry it anymore.

The deep cuts on his wrists throbbed painfully, but even that didn’t cut through the fog in his mind. He was trapped in the panic, in the endless spiral of fear and guilt, with no way out. He felt like he was drowning, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, his mind screaming at him to fix things, to stop the curse, but he knew there was nothing he could do. The helplessness of it all consumed him, leaving him shaking and desperate in the middle of the woods.

Then, through the haze of panic, Jimmy realized something that made his stomach churn—not that he shouldn’t be hurting himself, but something far worse. The soulbond. The cursed soulbond. It meant they shared each other’s pain. Every cut he made in his wrists, every sting of his talons digging in, Tango was feeling it too.

A cold wave of dread washed over him. Tango is getting the same injuries.

The thought struck him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Tango would know something was wrong. He could be miles away, but he would still feel the pain echo through their bond. There was no hiding this. And what if Tango had already figured it out? He’d ask questions—he’d want to know what happened. Jimmy couldn’t face him like this. He couldn’t stand to see the concern in Tango’s eyes, or worse, the pain, the hurt that Jimmy had caused him.

His communicator buzzed in his pocket. The small device hummed against his thigh, and Jimmy instantly dreaded looking at it. He didn’t want to see what was there, but he forced himself to pull it out, hands still shaking as he did.

He swiped at the screen, seeing the message light up:

<TangoTek> Jimmy!! Are you ok!?

Jimmy stared at it, his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t respond. His throat tightened, tears already pricking the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything—didn’t know what to say. What would he even tell Tango? That he was losing control? That the curse had pushed him to this? That he was scared? How could he say any of that when he didn’t even understand what was happening to himself?

A few moments later, another message appeared on the screen.

<TangoTek> Please answer.

Jimmy’s vision blurred as the tears finally broke free, spilling down his cheeks. He was shaking again, this time from guilt and fear rather than just the panic itself. He knew Tango was worried, knew that he’d never leave Jimmy alone like this. But he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Tango that he’d hurt them both.

Then another message, this one more urgent:

<TangoTek> I’m coming to you, where are you?

Jimmy’s breath hitched, and his emotions swelled inside him, overwhelming and painful. He felt the anger—directed at himself—building up in his chest, mixing with the guilt and the panic until it was unbearable. In a sudden burst of frustration, Jimmy threw the communicator at the nearest tree. It struck the trunk with a hard thud before bouncing off and landing in the grass. Of course, it didn’t break—communicators were practically indestructible. They were made to withstand the chaos of this world, to always be available for messages and tracking. The admins ensured they couldn’t be destroyed.

And that meant Tango could find him.

Jimmy’s breath quickened again, and he stood up abruptly, his pulse racing as the panic clawed at him. He couldn’t face Tango. Not like this. Not with blood on his wrists and fear in his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of Tango’s worry, of the questions that would follow. He couldn’t let him see how weak he felt, how he was breaking under the weight of his curse.

Without thinking, Jimmy turned on his heel and ran, crashing through the underbrush as he sprinted deeper into the forest. His wings flared out behind him as he moved, his body propelled by sheer desperation to escape. To get away before Tango could reach him. He didn’t know where he was going—he didn’t care. All that mattered was putting distance between himself and the inevitable confrontation he couldn’t handle.

Twigs snapped underfoot, leaves whipped at his face, but Jimmy didn’t stop. He ran faster, tears still streaming down his cheeks, his breathing ragged and uneven. All he could do was run, as if somehow, he could outrun the curse, the bond, and the reality of his own unraveling mind.

Jimmy ran, his feet pounding against the uneven ground as he pushed his body to its absolute limit. The forest blurred around him, trees merging into one dark mass as his vision started to tunnel. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not until the pain, the guilt, the panic—everything—was behind him.

But his body was betraying him. The cuts on his wrists were deep, too deep, and he had unknowingly struck the places that bled the most. His talons had dug in with such force that the blood had soaked through his sleeves and now dripped onto the forest floor, leaving a trail behind him. His head spun, and his limbs grew heavier with every step.

He felt his strength fading, the world tipping sideways as darkness crept into the edges of his vision. His legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to his knees. He gasped for air, but it was like trying to breathe through water—his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The sharp sting of pain was dulled now, replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

He fell forward, his hands hitting the ground, the grass cool and damp beneath his fingertips. His blood continued to pool beneath him, and his vision blurred further. His thoughts began to scatter, his mind unable to hold on to anything coherent as he felt the life slipping away from him.

The last thought that managed to surface before everything went dark was a whisper of regret, carried on the broken fragments of his consciousness.

I’m sorry, Tango...

...

....

...

Jimmy floated in a vast, silent void, the sensation both weightless and disorienting. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or if time even existed here. He was adrift in the emptiness, no longer tethered to his body, to the world he had just left behind. For a brief moment, there was nothing—no sound, no feeling, just the stillness of the void.

Then, suddenly, three hearts appeared before him, hovering in the darkness like dimly glowing embers. They were small, yet they pulsed with a strange, ethereal energy, each one representing the lives he had left.

The first heart was green, but it looked as though it had already been blown apart, cracks running through it, barely holding its shape together. It was a shattered remnant of what once had been, destroyed long ago. He recognized it immediately—it was the symbol of his first life, the one he had lost so early on.

His eyes then moved to the yellow heart. It throbbed with a sickly light, but even as he watched, it began to bleed. Thick, dark blood oozed from the cracks in its surface, dripping slowly down into the void below. It wasn’t just bleeding—it was melting, the edges of the heart dissolving into nothingness. He felt a pang of sorrow and fear as he realized what this meant. His second life, the one he had just lost, was slipping away. He had pushed himself too far, and now it was too late to stop it.

Finally, he looked at the last heart, the red one. Its glow was stronger than the others, more intense, but it filled him with a sense of dread. The color was vibrant, but there was a finality to it—a warning that there was no more room for mistakes. He was on his last life now. A red life.

The weight of that realization settled heavily on his chest, even in this void. He was red. He had lost his second life, and now only one remained. The curse of the canary avian had caught up to him again, like it always did. He’d always known he would end up here, but facing it now, in this eerie stillness, made the truth more crushing than ever before.

He would be hunted. He’d become a target now, and no matter how much he tried to protect Tango, he knew this cursed bond would only make things worse. He would drag Tango down with him, just as he had always feared. The red heart pulsed ominously before him, and he felt its weight settle into his soul like a leaden burden.

…

Jimmy woke slowly in his nest, his head throbbing, his body aching from the pain he had inflicted on himself. The room felt too quiet, like the air was holding its breath, waiting for him to stir. His eyes fluttered open, the soft light of morning filtering in through the windows. For a brief moment, everything felt strangely peaceful, as if nothing had changed.

But then, his gaze caught the thin, almost translucent string that connected him and Tango—a bond visible only to them. It hovered in the air for a fleeting second before it disappeared again, flickering out of view like it always did. But this time, before it faded, he saw it clearly—the once vibrant yellow thread that used to symbolize their bond had turned red, the same blood-red hue that marked the end of all things. His heart sank.

It was real. He was on his last life. They were on their last life.

The weight of it hit him like a wave crashing down, and his body curled in on itself, the sorrow too much to bear. He buried his face in his arms, muffling his sobs as they poured out uncontrollably. It felt like his chest was splitting open, the guilt and grief tearing him apart from the inside. He had been so stupid, so reckless, and now… now they were both cursed.

The bed beside him shifted softly, the mattress dipping under the weight of another. Jimmy heard the familiar rustle of fabric, but he didn’t lift his head. He didn’t want to see Tango right now. He didn’t deserve his comfort, his kindness. Not after what he’d done. Not after he’d doomed them both.

“Jimmy?” Tango’s voice was quiet, a hesitant whisper in the heavy silence. There was concern in his tone, but also exhaustion. He had felt it too—the pain, the loss. But Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to respond. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to face the reality of what he’d done.

The mattress shifted again, and then Tango was there beside him, climbing into the nest with him, gently pulling Jimmy’s trembling body into his arms. He pressed his face against the back of Jimmy’s neck, his breath warm and soft against his skin. His arms wrapped around Jimmy’s waist, holding him tightly, as if he could somehow shield him from the torment inside his own mind.

“I’ve got you,” Tango whispered against his neck, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here. I’m right here, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to draw some comfort from the embrace. He wanted to believe that it would be enough, that Tango’s presence could chase away the storm raging inside him. But the weight of his guilt pressed down harder, suffocating him. His chest felt tight, his throat raw from holding back his sobs.

He had killed them both.

It was his fault—his stupid, selfish decision had cost them both their lives. He had let his panic take control, had let the curse drive him to the edge, and now they were paying the price. He didn’t know how to live with that. He didn’t know how to face the reality that their bond had dragged Tango into the same dark fate as his own.

Jimmy’s tears soaked into the wool of the nest beneath him, and he clenched his fists, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. But no matter how hard he tried, the guilt gnawed at him like a relentless tide, pulling him under.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimmy whispered, his voice barely audible between his sobs. He trembled in Tango’s arms, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. “I’m so sorry, Tango…”

Tango tightened his hold on him, his fingers gently brushing through Jimmy’s hair. “Shh… It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reassurance. But Jimmy could hear the strain in his voice too, could feel the tension in Tango’s body as he tried to keep himself steady. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Jimmy wanted to believe him, but it was hard. The red string hung between them now, a constant reminder of how close they were to losing everything. They only had one life left. One fragile thread holding them together in this game.

And he couldn’t shake the fear that when the end came, it would be his fault again.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Tango asked softly, his voice trembling slightly. Jimmy couldn't tell what emotion lingered beneath the question. Was it anger? Sadness? Disappointment? Or maybe something worse—regret. The thought twisted inside Jimmy, cutting deeper than any wound. Did Tango wish he could be bound to someone else, someone stronger, someone who wouldn’t drag him down with their curse?

Jimmy didn't trust his voice, so he only nodded. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, avoiding Tango’s eyes. He heard Tango shift beside him, and a moment later, he felt Tango’s hands pulling him gently into a sitting position. They sat facing each other, but Jimmy still couldn't bring himself to look up.

Tango’s warm hand cupped Jimmy’s cheek, the heat radiating through his skin in a way that felt grounding, even comforting. It was such a small gesture, and yet it felt like everything Jimmy didn’t deserve. He wanted to pull away, to retreat into the shadows of his own guilt, but the warmth kept him anchored there, trapped between wanting comfort and hating himself for accepting it.

“Why did you do this?” Tango’s voice was softer now, almost pleading. His thumb brushed lightly over Jimmy’s skin, tracing gentle lines as if he could soothe away the pain that still lingered in Jimmy’s heart. “Please... tell me why.”

The desperation in Tango’s tone gnawed at Jimmy, making it impossible to ignore. Slowly, reluctantly, Jimmy lifted his gaze. When he finally met Tango’s eyes, the emotions he saw there weren’t anything he had feared. There was no anger, no disappointment, no regret. Instead, Tango’s eyes were filled with sadness, an almost overwhelming sense of worry. It weighed heavily on him, dragging his shoulders down as if the weight of Jimmy’s hurt had somehow become his own.

And maybe it had. Maybe that was the curse of the soulbond, that they shared the same wounds, even the ones that weren’t physical.

Jimmy swallowed hard, his throat tight as he tried to find the words, but they were trapped inside, tangled up with his guilt and shame. “I-I just…” He stammered, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I—” His breath caught in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes again, blurring his vision. “I didn’t want you to feel it too. I didn’t want to hurt you... I just couldn’t—”

He broke off, his voice shaking too much to continue. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say. He wanted to explain that the panic had taken over, that the curse had driven him to the edge, but the words felt so small compared to the pain he had caused. How could he explain that he felt like he was drowning in his own fear, that he felt helpless and powerless against it? How could he explain that no matter how hard he tried, he felt like a burden to everyone around him?

“Jimmy…” Tango’s voice cracked as he whispered his name, and that single word broke through the wall Jimmy had built around his heart. He couldn’t bear the sadness in Tango’s eyes, the way he looked at him like he was something fragile, something broken that needed to be fixed. He didn’t want to be that person for Tango. He didn’t want to be the one who dragged him down.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy whispered, his voice shaking with the weight of his guilt. “I’m so sorry, Tango… I didn’t mean to—” His words faltered again, choking off as the sobs came rushing back, overwhelming him.

Tango pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Jimmy’s trembling form, pressing his forehead against Jimmy’s. “You don’t have to apologize,” Tango murmured, his breath warm against Jimmy’s skin. “Just... just promise me you’ll tell me next time. Please. Don’t hide it from me.”

Jimmy trembled in his arms, feeling the weight of the promise hanging between them. He wanted to agree, wanted to promise that he would never let this happen again, but the fear still gnawed at him. The fear of hurting Tango, of dragging him down with the curse that had plagued him since the first life they lost together.

Tango’s arms tightened around him, pulling him even closer, as if he could shield him from the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, in a way that made Jimmy’s heart ache.

Jimmy closed his eyes, resting his head against Tango’s shoulder, trying to let himself believe the words. But deep down, the fear remained, lingering like a shadow in the back of his mind. He didn’t know if he could trust himself anymore—not with his own life, and certainly not with Tango’s.

As Jimmy rested in Tango’s arms, he suddenly became aware of an unfamiliar sensation—a ripple of raw, intense emotion that wasn’t his own. Through the soulbond, he could feel Tango’s fear, a deep-seated terror that had nothing to do with their current situation but with something much more profound.

It struck Jimmy with a jolt, the realization hitting him like a wave. Tango was scared—not just for himself or for Jimmy, but for the possibility that, if they had been in a world without the safety net of respawning and returning home after their last life, Jimmy might have been permanently lost.

The thought stunned Jimmy. He had been so wrapped up in his own guilt and fear, he hadn’t considered how deeply Tango felt about their bond. The fact that Tango was actually terrified of losing him permanently, of the real possibility that he could have been gone forever, shook him to his core.

Jimmy’s heart swelled with a mix of surprise and warmth. He had always known Tango cared about him, but feeling this level of fear and concern—so vivid and intense—made him realize just how deeply Tango’s feelings ran. It was a sobering reminder that despite his own doubts and struggles, Tango was profoundly affected by their bond, more than he had ever understood.

The unexpected depth of Tango’s fear made Jimmy’s own guilt feel even heavier, but it also sparked a flicker of hope. Maybe, despite everything, they could find a way to navigate this together.

“J-Jimmy?” Tango’s voice trembled, fragile and uncertain in the quiet of the room. Jimmy turned to face him, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowing in concern. “Yes..?” he responded, his own voice barely above a whisper, sensing something was deeply wrong.

Tango’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hands fidgeting in his lap as though he were holding onto something too delicate to handle. “Did… Did you do that because… you didn’t w-want to be my soulmate?” Tango’s voice cracked, a raw edge to his words, and Jimmy felt an immediate pang in his chest. The question was barely out of Tango’s mouth before Jimmy felt a rush of emotions through their bond—fear, worry, and something darker, something that had clearly been festering beneath the surface for far too long.

Jimmy’s breath hitched. He could feel Tango’s thoughts bleeding through the soulbond, not as clear words but as fragments of ideas, muffled and distant, like echoes bouncing off walls he couldn’t see.

Am I n— —ough?

The fractured thought slipped through the bond, a quiet, distorted whisper of insecurity, and Jimmy’s heart clenched painfully. Tango’s fear was almost palpable, wrapped in layers of self-doubt that Jimmy hadn’t fully realized until now.

D-es he not —-t me aro—d??

Tango’s thoughts were broken, incomplete, but Jimmy could sense the deep-rooted fear behind them. The soulbond was usually a quiet hum in the background of their lives, a comfort they didn’t think much about, but now it was as if it had become a window into Tango’s fragile state of mind, showing Jimmy how much his actions had affected him.

Wh-t if I— —king th-ng- wo-rs-??

The thought was riddled with uncertainty and guilt, and Jimmy felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Tango was blaming himself, thinking that somehow his presence was making things harder for Jimmy, that maybe he was part of the problem. The weight of it all pressed down on Jimmy, suffocating in its intensity.

M--be he’d rath— k-ll hi—elf than be with —…

That last fragmented thought made Jimmy’s blood run cold. The unspoken fear hit him like a tidal wave, and he felt himself shiver as the soulbond trembled under the strain of Tango’s turmoil. The idea that Tango thought Jimmy might rather end his own life than be with him was heartbreaking in a way that Jimmy couldn’t even begin to process. How had he not seen this sooner? How had Tango managed to carry this burden alone, hidden beneath the surface, while Jimmy had been too lost in his own fears and insecurities to notice?

Jimmy swallowed hard, his throat tight as he struggled to find the right words. He reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped Tango’s face gently, forcing the blazeborn to meet his eyes. The raw emotion he saw there—the fear, the desperation, the heartbreak—was almost too much to bear. Tango looked so small, so vulnerable, like the weight of everything was crushing him from the inside out.

“Tango,” Jimmy whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back the overwhelming sadness that was threatening to spill over. “I-I never… I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t even think—” His words faltered, his chest tightening as the guilt consumed him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I didn’t want to leave you, I swear. It’s not because of you, it’s never been because of you.”

Tango’s eyes searched Jimmy’s face, still filled with doubt and fear, and Jimmy could feel the trembling uncertainty through the bond, like a barely contained storm. It was as if Tango had been holding onto these worries for so long, letting them fester until they became unbearable, and now that they were out in the open, Jimmy could see just how broken Tango felt inside.

“You’re… you’re more than enough,” Jimmy said softly, his voice trembling as he spoke the words with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I-I’m the one who’s messed up, Tango. I’m the one who’s scared all the time, who doesn’t know what to do half the time. But you… you’ve always been there. You’ve always been the one who keeps me grounded.”

Tango let out a shaky breath, his eyes filling with tears as he leaned into Jimmy’s touch. “But then why... why did you hurt yourself like that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I’m enough... why would you...?”

Jimmy felt his heart break a little more at Tango’s words, at the pain behind them. He could see now how his actions had affected Tango, how much they had scared him. The soulbond had only amplified that fear, making it so Tango couldn’t escape it even if he tried.

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Jimmy admitted, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t about you. It was about... me. I felt like I was drowning, like I was pulling you down with me, and I panicked. I didn’t know how to make it stop. But I swear, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you. It’s because I didn’t want to drag you down with me. But in doing so, I killed us both.”

Tango’s tears fell freely now, and Jimmy could feel the brokenness inside him, the deep-rooted fear that had been festering for too long. Jimmy knew he had hurt Tango in ways he hadn’t even realized, and the weight of that knowledge pressed down on him like a crushing wave.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy whispered, his voice barely audible as he pulled Tango into a tight embrace, holding him as close as he could. “I’m so, so sorry, Tango. I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll try to be better.”

Jimmy sat up slowly, blinking in the familiar dim light of his home. The game was over. He was back.

He rubbed his throat absentmindedly, still feeling the phantom pressure of that enderman's hands around his neck. He had known he would die first—it was always like that. The canary curse had taken him once again, and Tango had been pulled down with him, just as he’d feared.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy let the reality of it settle in. He was back on Empires now, far from the danger and chaos of the game. Tango was back on Hermitcraft, no longer tied to him by that cursed soulbond. They were back in their respective worlds, separated by distance but still bound by the memories of what had happened.

The last few days of the game had been especially hard. After Jimmy had killed himself, Tango had stayed close, watching him like a hawk. Maybe it was because Tango was afraid Jimmy might try to do it again. Maybe he just wanted to be close after everything that had happened. Either way, Tango had hardly left his side, and Jimmy had felt the weight of his concern pressing down on him with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

But it didn’t matter now. They had both made it out, even if their connection still felt raw and fragile.

Jimmy sighed, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness in his chest. He pushed himself up from the bed and wandered toward the kitchen. The quiet hum of the room felt almost oppressive after the intensity of the game, but he welcomed the familiarity of it. He needed to settle back into his old routine, to remind himself that this was home, and that the chaos of the Life series was behind him—for now.

He reached for a mug, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed it off the shelf. The cold ceramic slipped from his fingers, and before he could catch it, the mug hit the floor with a loud crash. The sound echoed through the house, the shattering of glass sharp and jarring. Jimmy winced at the noise, his heart racing in his chest as he crouched down to pick up the pieces.

His hands trembled as he gathered the shards, trying to steady his breathing, but he couldn’t shake the tension that had gripped him since the game. Every little sound felt amplified, like his nerves were still on edge, and the familiar comfort of his home felt oddly foreign.

Just as he was about to stand up, the door to his house was suddenly thrown open with a loud bang. Jimmy jumped so violently that he stumbled backward, knocking into the counter behind him. His heart leaped into his throat as he whipped his head around to see who had burst in.

Standing in the doorway, gun drawn and ears pinned back in alarm, was Norman. His eyes darted around the room, searching for danger, before they landed on Jimmy, crumpled on the floor amid the broken pieces of the mug.

Norman’s posture relaxed immediately, and he lowered his gun, letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh, hey Jimmy,” he said, his voice much softer now that he realized there was no threat. “Sorry, I heard a loud noise and didn’t realize you were back already.”

Jimmy let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as the tension left his body. “It’s fine,” he muttered, trying to brush off the fear that had gripped him moments before. “I just dropped a mug.”

Norman crossed the room quickly, holstering his gun as he reached down to help Jimmy to his feet. “You alright?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked Jimmy over.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jimmy replied, forcing a weak smile. “Just… adjusting, I guess.”

Norman nodded, but there was a look in his eyes that said he wasn’t quite convinced. He helped Jimmy up, brushing off the shards of broken ceramic that had clung to his clothes. “You sure?” Norman asked again, his voice gentle. “You look a bit… shaken.”

Jimmy swallowed hard, not really wanting to talk about it. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Just... coming back from the game, you know? Takes a bit to readjust.”

Norman’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod of understanding. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get it.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “You’re not alone, you know? If you need anything...”

Jimmy forced another smile and nodded, though his mind was still racing. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice distant.

Norman glanced at the broken mug, then back at Jimmy. “Tell you what,” he said, offering a small grin. “Why don’t I clean this up, and you sit down for a bit? Maybe take a breather.”

Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but the weight of the last few days was still pressing down on him, and he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he nodded gratefully and sank down into one of the chairs by the table.

Norman quietly cleaned up the shattered mug, and Jimmy leaned his head against the back of the chair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He wasn’t sure what to do now that he was back. Everything felt off, like he didn’t quite fit in his own skin anymore. The weight of the curse still lingered in his mind, and the thought of Tango—how he had died alongside him, how close they had come to real loss—wasn’t something Jimmy could shake so easily.

(Tango’s PoV)

Tango sat in front of Grian’s rift, staring into its swirling purple with an intensity that made him lose track of time. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about it felt magnetic, almost like it was calling to him. The draw had been nagging at him since the moment he had returned to Hermitcraft after the games, and though he had tried to shake it, he found himself sitting here now, unable to resist the pull.

“Tango?” a voice called out from behind him. He flinched, his head jerking up as he was snapped from his thoughts. Grian’s wings flared gently as he glided down to land beside him, a curious expression on his face.

Tango swallowed hard, his heart still racing from the surprise. “S-sorry, Grian…” he whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had been caught like this. “I-I don’t know why, but I’ve been drawn to this… rift. I just—” He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the inexplicable pull.

Grian studied him for a moment, his head tilting slightly in thought. “Well, the rift does lead to many other worlds,” he said, his voice gentle.

Tango's eyes widened at that, his mind racing as the implications sank in. “Other worlds?!” he repeated, his voice filled with sudden urgency. He pushed himself up to his feet and turned to fully face Grian. “Can… can it get to Empires?”

The name of Jimmy’s world slipped out before he could even think about it, and for a moment, Tango felt a surge of hope. If the rift connected to other places, maybe—just maybe—it could take him to Jimmy.

Grian blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden question. “Uh… yes, I suppose it could,” he said slowly. “You could go there if you want. Wait—hold on.” He rummaged through his satchel for a moment before pulling out a small necklace. The pendant was shaped like a delicate purple heart, glowing faintly with a soft light.

“Here,” Grian said, handing the necklace to Tango. “As long as you have this, you can open the rift anywhere to return. Just walk through it and think of where you want to go, and it’ll take you there.”

Tango took the necklace with trembling hands, staring down at the tiny heart in disbelief. He could barely process what Grian was saying. This could take him to Jimmy. He could be there, see him, touch him—make sure he was alright after everything that had happened.

“Tango?” Grian’s voice cut through his swirling thoughts. “You okay?”

Tango’s grip tightened on the necklace as he looked up at Grian. “I—I have to go,” he said, his voice quiet but determined. He could feel a pang of fear and worry mixing with hope. If he could just see Jimmy again, he might be able to shake this gnawing anxiety that had been building inside him since the end of the games. He felt broken inside, as if a part of him had been left behind in that world. Jimmy had felt like he was falling apart, and Tango could feel it too—through their soulbond, he had sensed the fractures in Jimmy’s spirit.

“Alright,” Grian said softly, taking a step back to give Tango space. “I’ll keep the rift stable while you go. Just… be careful, okay?”

Tango nodded, his heart pounding as he took a step toward the swirling portal. The air around it hummed with energy, crackling softly as if the rift itself was alive and waiting for him to make his choice. He clutched the necklace to his chest, feeling the warmth of the purple heart against his skin. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and pictured Jimmy’s world—the one place he needed to be.

The rift’s glow seemed to intensify as he focused on his destination. A swirling current of wind swept around him, tugging at his clothes and hair, and then, with a step forward, Tango felt the strange pull of the rift surround him. He was moving, his body feeling weightless as the world shifted and blurred around him.

For a brief moment, everything felt like it had been turned inside out, and then… stillness. The air around him settled, and the quiet sounds of a forest met his ears. Tango blinked, his surroundings slowly coming into focus.

He had made it.

Empires.

Tango stood in the middle of a messa, the sun light harsh. In the distance, he could see the faint outline of Tumble town—or what he assumed was it, he remembered it from the times Jimmy had talked about it.

His heart leaped into his throat at the sight. He was here. Jimmy was here. Tango wasted no time, his feet already carrying him forward as he broke into a run toward the village. Every step felt like his heart was hammering harder in his chest, the necklace bouncing lightly against his skin with every movement. He needed to see Jimmy, to make sure he was alright.

Tango burst into Tumble Town, his chest heaving with anticipation. He took in the bustling scene around him—hybrids of various kinds, some part human, others part animal, all mingling together in a lively marketplace. The atmosphere was strangely calm compared to the racing thoughts in his head. He didn’t have time to admire the details though; his focus was entirely on one thing—finding Jimmy.

Weaving his way through the crowd, Tango scanned the surroundings for any sign of the sheriff’s house. He caught sight of the large, sun-bleached clock tower standing tall at the center of the town, marking the hours with steady, deliberate ticks. It was a familiar landmark, but before Tango could even orient himself properly, he noticed something else—something that made his pulse quicken.

Through the crowd, a sharp glare locked onto him. A hawk avian stood with her wings slightly spread, her gaze unwavering and intense. She was tall, her feathers gleaming like polished bronze under the sunlight. Her eyes followed Tango with an unnerving focus, and he had the sinking feeling that she had been watching him for a while.

Tango’s first instinct was to slink away, to avoid drawing attention to himself, but doing so would only make him look suspicious. He couldn’t risk it. He had to blend in—act like he had every right to be there. So, swallowing hard, Tango forced himself to walk toward the hawk avian, his heart pounding louder with every step. Her eyes narrowed as he approached, and Tango could see her carefully scanning him, her gaze flicking over his body, likely searching for weapons or anything that could be considered a threat.

When he got close enough, she spoke, her voice sharp and commanding. “Who are you?”

Tango’s eyes briefly darted to the badge pinned to her chest. She was some kind of officer, which only made the situation more tense. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “M-my name is Tango,” he stammered, resisting the urge to shrink back under her piercing gaze. “I… um… I’m looking for Jimmy.”

The hawk’s eyes narrowed even further, her feathers ruffling slightly as she considered him. Her suspicion was palpable, and she shifted her weight, her wings twitching at her sides. “Why?” she asked, her tone laced with caution. There was no warmth in her voice—only cold, professional detachment. It was as if she were preparing for the worst, and Tango had the sinking feeling she was ready to draw a weapon if he made one wrong move.

“I…” Tango hesitated, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t set off more alarms. He didn’t want to tell her about the soulbond or how deeply connected he was to Jimmy, especially not when her suspicion was this strong. “I’m… a friend,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve just come to check on him. It’s… been a while since I’ve seen him, and I wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

The hawk avian tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made Tango’s skin prickle. She clearly wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “A friend?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “And you just happen to show up out of nowhere, looking for our sheriff? Forgive me if that sounds a little suspicious.”

Tango winced inwardly. He knew how bad this must look, but he couldn’t back down now. He had come all this way—he couldn’t let some territorial officer keep him from seeing Jimmy. “I understand how it might look,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “But I’m telling the truth. I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just need to see Jimmy.”

The hawk avian didn’t budge, her eyes still locked onto him like a predator assessing its prey. Her feathers rustled again, and Tango could feel the weight of her scrutiny pressing down on him. “You’re not one of us,” she said flatly, her wings twitching slightly. “I also don’t think I’ve seen you in the other empires, so why should I trust you?”

Tango’s stomach twisted. He could feel the pressure mounting, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the charade. He opened his mouth to try again when suddenly, another voice cut through the tension.

“Clover, back down. I think I know who this is,” a calm, authoritative voice cut through the tense atmosphere. Tango, his nerves still on edge, turned to see a shorter figure approaching through the crowd. The newcomer was a cat hybrid, with sleek light brown fur and sharp blue eyes that gleamed under the sunlight. A larger badge gleamed on his chest, marking him as someone of higher rank than Clover, who still stood rigid and alert. Tango's mind raced for a second, piecing the details together—this must be Norman, Jimmy's deputy.

Clover’s wings twitched with irritation, her feathers ruffling as she hissed under her breath. “Are you sure?” she asked, her gaze not leaving Tango for even a second. It was clear she still wasn’t convinced, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Norman nodded firmly, crossing his arms as he addressed Clover, though his tone remained calm. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, his voice carrying an easy confidence that contrasted sharply with Clover’s tense posture. His tail flicked behind him lazily as he focused his gaze on Tango. “You’re Tango, right?”

Tango, still feeling the weight of Clover’s scrutiny, nodded. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, trying to maintain his composure despite the nervousness gnawing at his insides. There was something about Norman’s relaxed demeanor that set him a bit more at ease, though he was still painfully aware of how out of place he felt.

Norman's face broke into a friendly smile, the sharpness in his eyes softening slightly. “Thought so,” he said, nodding in recognition. He looked at Clover “He’s a friend he saw during that Double Life game he said he was going to.” He turned back to Tango. “You two were… bound together, right?” His tone was light, but there was an undertone of understanding that made Tango feel like Norman wasn’t just making small talk. He knew about the soulbond, at least a little.

Tango nodded again, this time with more confidence. “Yeah, we… we were.” The memory of the bond between them still felt fresh in his mind, the way their connection had tugged at his very being during the game. It was strange to be standing here, back in the real world, without that constant pull guiding his every move.

Norman seemed satisfied with the answer, and his smile grew just a bit warmer. “Well then,” he said, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I’ll take you to see Jimmy. He’s been back for a little while now, though he’s… been keeping to himself since the games ended.” Norman’s gaze flickered with a hint of concern as he glanced toward the sheriff’s house in the distance.

Clover, though still watching Tango like a hawk, reluctantly took a step back, folding her wings neatly against her back. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she let out a low sigh. “Alright, fine,” she muttered, though there was still an edge to her voice. “But don’t think I won’t be watching.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Tango alone with Norman.

The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly as soon as she was gone. Norman let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “Don’t mind her,” he said, giving Tango a reassuring pat on the back. “Clover’s always on edge when it comes to strangers, but she’s got a good heart. Just a bit overprotective, is all.”

Tango forced a small smile, though his mind was already racing again. “I get it,” he said quietly. “It’s… nice to know that Jimmy has people looking out for him.”

Norman nodded in agreement as he began to lead Tango through the streets of Tumble Town. The town felt like it was buzzing with life around them, though the noise and bustle seemed to fade into the background as they walked. Tango’s thoughts kept drifting back to Jimmy—what had happened after the games? Was he really okay? The soulbond had kept them connected in ways that were hard to explain, but now that they were back in their separate worlds, everything felt distant and uncertain.

“So…” Norman’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing Tango’s attention back. “You and Jimmy… I take it things got pretty intense in that game, huh?”

Tango let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, you could say that,” he muttered. “It was… a lot.” He wasn’t sure how to explain the depth of what had happened without sounding like he was unraveling. The fear, the pain, the bond—it had all been so overwhelming, and now he wasn’t sure where he stood.

Norman seemed to pick up on Tango’s hesitation, his expression softening again. “Well, whatever happened, I’m sure Jimmy’s glad you’re here,” he said gently. “He’s been different since he got back. Quieter, more withdrawn. He hasn’t really talked much about what happened, but… maybe seeing you will help.”

Tango’s chest tightened at the thought. Jimmy… withdrawn? That wasn’t like him. He hated the idea that something in the game had hurt Jimmy so deeply that it was affecting him even now. He had to see him—he had to know that Jimmy was okay, that they were okay.

As they neared the sheriff’s house, Norman gave Tango a final pat on the back before stepping aside. “Here we are,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll let you two catch up. Just… take care of him, alright?”

Tango nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated for a moment, his mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and then knocked softly.

The door creaked open after a few moments, and there stood Jimmy, his canary wings folded tightly against his back. He looked tired, his face pale and drawn, but the moment he saw Tango, his eyes lit up with something that looked like relief.

“Tango,” Jimmy whispered, his voice barely audible. He stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. Tango wasted no time, stepping through the threshold and into the quiet warmth of Jimmy’s home.

The door closed softly behind them, and as soon as it clicked shut, Tango found himself pulling Jimmy into a tight embrace. He could feel Jimmy’s shoulders tremble slightly, and he held on even tighter, unwilling to let go.

“H-how’d you get h-here??” Jimmy’s voice trembled, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at Tango, wide-eyed and visibly surprised.

Tango leaned in slightly, trying to calm the situation as best he could. “Grian… Grian’s got this thing with portals,” he said quickly, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside him. “But it doesn’t matter right now.” He offered a small smile, though he wasn’t sure it would help much. Jimmy was still clearly rattled, but after a few seconds of hesitation, he gave a small nod and led Tango over to the couch. The house was quiet, too quiet, and the tension between them felt like a heavy blanket draped over the room.

They sat down on the couch together, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Tango took in the sight of Jimmy—the way his canary wings drooped slightly, the feathers looking a bit unkempt and frayed at the edges. It wasn’t like Jimmy to let himself go like that. Usually, he kept his wings meticulously groomed, always making sure every feather was in place. But now… now they looked like they hadn’t been cared for in days, maybe weeks. Tango’s chest tightened with concern.

“How have you been since… everything?” Tango asked carefully, trying to break the silence without pushing too hard. He didn’t want to overwhelm Jimmy, but he couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that something wasn’t right.

Jimmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands, which were resting limply in his lap. “I’ve been… okay,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked any real conviction. “I mean, it’s just… everything just got to be a lot, you know?”

Tango nodded slowly, but his mind was racing. He glanced down at Jimmy’s wrists, trying to be discreet as he reached out and took them gently in his hands. His fingers brushed over Jimmy’s skin, searching for any signs of harm, any indication that Jimmy might have hurt himself. It was an instinct he couldn’t shake, not after everything that had happened in the game. The thought of Jimmy being in that dark place again—of him feeling so hopeless that he might—

Tango let out a quiet sigh of relief when he found nothing. No cuts, no bruises—nothing to suggest that Jimmy had tried to harm himself. His chest loosened slightly, though the worry still lingered in the back of his mind.

Jimmy noticed what Tango was doing and let out a tired sigh, his expression softening just a little. “No, Tango,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I didn’t hurt myself.”

Tango blinked, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. He quickly let go of Jimmy’s wrists, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I-I was trying not to be obvious…” he muttered, his voice trailing off as he glanced away, suddenly feeling foolish. He hadn’t meant to be so blatant about it, but his worry had gotten the better of him.

Jimmy gave him a small, weary smile. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, his tone a little more understanding. “I know you’re just… worried. And I appreciate it, really. But… I’ve been trying to hold it together, you know? I’m just… tired.”

Tango’s heart ached at the sound of Jimmy’s words. Tired. He knew that feeling all too well. The exhaustion that came from carrying too much weight, from pushing yourself too far just to keep going. He could see it now, the way Jimmy’s shoulders slumped slightly, the way his eyes looked just a little too heavy with the burden he had been carrying. And yet, despite it all, Jimmy was still here. Still fighting.

Tango reached out again, this time more gently, and placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to… I just didn’t want you to feel like you were alone.”

Jimmy looked at him then, his tired eyes softening just a little more. “I know,” he said softly. “And… I appreciate it, Tango. Really, I do. It’s just been hard, you know? Coming back here, after everything that happened in the game… It’s like there’s this weight that I can’t shake off.”

Tango nodded, his chest tightening with empathy. He knew that feeling too. The weight of the game, the way it clung to you even after it was over, even after you were supposed to be “safe.” It never really went away. It just… lingered, like a shadow that followed you wherever you went.

“I get it,” Tango said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s hard to come back after everything. But… you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I’m here. And… I’m not going anywhere.”

Jimmy looked at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Tango’s face as if trying to find something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of comfort. And then, slowly, he nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tango’s heart swelled with emotion, and he couldn’t help but pull Jimmy into a gentle hug. He could feel the tension in Jimmy’s body slowly start to ease, and for the first time since he had arrived, Tango felt like maybe—just maybe—they could find a way to move forward. Together.

After a moment, they both pulled away from the embrace, a sense of warmth still lingering between them. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it held the weight of everything they weren’t saying—the exhaustion, the hurt, the need for healing that neither of them knew how to ask for.

Tango hesitated for a second, glancing at Jimmy’s wings again. The once bright and vibrant feathers were a little duller now, frayed at the edges, some out of place. It wasn’t drastic, but it was noticeable, especially to Tango, who had spent so much time beside Jimmy, learning to read every small detail about him. He knew how meticulous Jimmy usually was about keeping his wings in perfect condition, always preening them to ensure they were in top shape. But now… it was clear he hadn’t been taking care of them, and it bothered Tango more than he wanted to admit.

Clearing his throat softly, Tango looked up at Jimmy with a gentle expression. “Jimmy,” he started, his voice quiet, yet carrying an undercurrent of concern. Jimmy blinked and looked at him, his tired eyes still carrying the weight of their earlier conversation. “I noticed… your wings, they’re a little unkempt.”

Jimmy tensed slightly, his gaze dropping to his wings as if suddenly self-conscious. He shifted them subtly, feathers ruffling and then falling back into place in a way that felt almost protective. “Yeah… I guess I haven’t really been taking care of them since I got back,” Jimmy admitted softly, his voice edged with a mix of embarrassment and resignation. “I know I should, but it’s just… hard.”

Tango’s heart squeezed at the vulnerability in Jimmy’s voice. He could feel the weight behind those words—the exhaustion and the struggle to keep moving forward even when everything felt like too much. He understood it, maybe more than Jimmy realized. And the last thing he wanted was for Jimmy to feel like he had to carry that burden on his own.

“I know the game is over,” Tango continued, his voice steady as he tried to push through his own insecurities. “And we’re no longer soulmates… but can I still preen your wings for you?”

Jimmy blinked in surprise, his gaze lifting to meet Tango’s. For a moment, he looked almost taken aback, as if the idea of someone offering that kind of care and attention was foreign to him. His lips parted slightly, and Tango could feel the uncertainty radiating from him, but there was something else too—something that looked like… relief.

“Tango, you don’t have to—” Jimmy began, his voice a little shaky, but Tango shook his head gently, cutting him off before he could finish.

“I want to,” Tango said firmly, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I know it helped before. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone. You’ve been through enough, Jimmy. Let me help, please.”

Jimmy hesitated, his wings twitching slightly behind him. He bit his lip, clearly torn between wanting to accept the offer and feeling like he didn’t deserve that kind of care. But after a long moment of silence, he finally nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly as if some invisible weight had been lifted from them. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “If… if you really want to.”

Tango smiled softly, a wave of relief washing over him. “I do,” he said quietly. He reached out slowly, giving Jimmy time to back away if he wanted to, but Jimmy remained still, his wings unfurling just enough to give Tango access to the feathers. Tango’s fingers brushed lightly against the soft down, and Jimmy shivered slightly at the contact, his body tensing for a brief second before relaxing again.

Tango worked carefully, gently straightening the feathers that had fallen out of place, smoothing down the ones that were ruffled. His touch was delicate, respectful—he knew how important avian wings were, how personal it was to let someone else touch them. It wasn’t just about grooming; it was about trust, about letting someone in on a level that went deeper than words.

As he continued, Tango could feel Jimmy slowly start to relax under his touch. The tension in his shoulders eased, his breathing becoming steadier, more even. The weight of the world that had been pressing down on him seemed to lift, if only a little, as Tango’s hands moved through his feathers with practiced care.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Tango murmured softly as he worked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know things have been hard, but I’m here. Even if the game is over, even if the bond is gone… I’m still here, Jimmy. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jimmy’s eyes fluttered closed, his body leaning just slightly into Tango’s touch. He didn’t say anything for a long while, but Tango could feel the shift in him, the way the walls Jimmy had built around himself were slowly crumbling away. And when Jimmy finally did speak, his voice was soft, vulnerable in a way that Tango hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Thank you,” Jimmy whispered, his words barely audible but heavy with meaning. “For… for staying. For caring.”

Tango’s heart ached with the weight of those words, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he just smiled softly, continuing to work through Jimmy’s feathers with gentle precision. “You don’t have to thank me,” Tango said quietly. “I’ll always care, Jimmy. Always.”

#hermitcraft fanfic #hermitfic #hermitblr #hermitcraft #grian #tangotek #jimmy solidarity #rancher duo

29 notes · View notes

basilone · 2 days ago

Text

Gale/Lottie intimacy? In this economy? Yeah. Content warnings for suicidal ideation, bad coping skills, abusive home life, etc. apply. Lottie's at rock bottom and we're about to feel it real hard.

I will fall (if you come around)

Darlene’s words are a blur on paper. Ink stains and faint loops, a folded corner, hard presses of pen becoming light as a feather near the edges of the page. Lottie’s fingertips run across her signature – she can make out the Dar if she tries hard enough, softens her fingers enough – but she hasn’t a hope of deciphering the rest anymore. Maybe that’s for the better, too. She knows what it says. Has read it at least fifteen times between Max shoving it at her and the last light going out.

It’s not fully dark in here. Never is. If she tries, she can hold the letter up to the slivers of moonlight that filter through their makeshift curtains. If she angles herself just right, she’ll see the way affection blurs with anger in Dar’s writing again. If she puts in the effort, she’s sure she can brush her tears off her cheeks and read what Dar says for the sixteenth time today. Her letter’d sounded like Dar was right there, foregoing all kinds of proper grammar and landing at a place that’s quintessentially her instead. Like Dar was just talking to her – buzzing in her ear, laughing and crying and hurtin’ all at once – instead of writing to her.

Lottie folds the letter back into a smaller packet than how it’d first been folded. Tucks it in the blanket Benny’s got her stitching up, in that little pocket that’ll be hidden if she crafts it just right. She’ll keep Dar’s words in there instead of under her fingertips. Maybe they’ll disappear from her head the longer they’re in there. Maybe she’ll stop thinking I hope you’re real happy now while the back of her hand grows wet with tears. Maybe she’ll stop hearing I wish I realized how much ya wanna die while her stomach loops into endless knots.

She stifles the hurt same way she always does. Digs her nails into the palms of her hands. Wishes she still kept them long enough to draw blood, but she hasn’t kept them that way for ages. She doesn’t make a sound. The pressure of wanting to scream builds in her eyes long enough to make them sting. Bubbles up and down her throat like a whole slew of champagne. There’s a bite to pain that doesn’t ever feel like alcohol’s fizz. A sharp snap in her belly that makes her fists curl and makes her hunch in on herself.

Her mother would call her wounded. Would say that with the same amount of distaste she had for the dying parakeet and her uncle’s drunk driving. You were born to it, Charlotte. Born to this violent nature. Wasn’t that what her mother’s letter had said? It’d read like a goddamn condolences card – so sorry, my daughter is dead to me – written by somebody who’d done her damndest best to pass heaven’s judgment down to her a little too early.

She doesn’t know where that letter’s gone. She’d left it out on the table. Hadn’t even read past your father and I are most disappointed by your conduct and certainly hadn’t read beyond the Rivers-Mayhew family expresses no further desire to accommodate you in future. It’s all fancy speak for don’t you dare come home. It’s all talk for you have embarrassed us for the last fucking time, which seemed a little more definite than usual. Lottie knows she hasn’t been mentioned on Christmas cards for at least six seasons and counting, now, so she kind of wonders what the hell else they’re gonna do. Cut her out of several wills, most likely. Not open the door to her on Thanksgiving, if she’d ever bother to swing by. She’s already dropped the Mayhew part of her name, so what else is left to discard?

Lottie scrapes her throat in the quiet. Wipes at her cheeks again, a little harder than before. Makes her skin tingle with warmth a moment. Nobody close to her stirs from their bed at her sound. Little One-Eye and Max are curled around each other in the next bunk, supposedly all cried out. She can make out the line of John Brady’s shoulders, who never faces the room but always faces Perrault, and the heavy set of Bucky’s shoulders as well. If she glances up, she’ll see Benny’s hand dangle over the side of his bed like he’s searching for Dar to pull close to him.

Dar deserves that. Deserves somebody like Ben, who’ll curl around her letters and sleep on top of them just because they carry her scent. Deserves somebody who’ll love her so much better than Lottie can. Ben’s been talking about marrying her the moment he gets out, as if their current imprisonment is the only unfortunate setback he can ever see in their whole relationship. She’ll say yes. She’d told Benny that, earlier. Had forced the words out of her throat because they had to be said, had to be talked about. Because it was all she could read between the lines of Dar’s letter. All of that…

She sniffles again. Louder this time, as though the hurt can’t help but bubble up and make noise. She used to get shut in her room for making a sound like that. Used to have to stomp down on it so hard before her mother heard her, lest she was spoonfed some cough medicine and made out to be that sickly child again. Everything had always been about her mother, and when it could only be about Lottie there would be hell to pay for it somehow.

It’s all about me now, mama.

Lottie hunches in on herself. Tucks her chin to her knees and hugs her legs until she feels small again. If she makes herself small enough, maybe there won’t be anybody to see her hurt. Maybe it won’t be all about her, then, and she won’t need to hurt herself more. Maybe things will start making more sense once that letter pops back up on the table long enough to tell her there’s no going home and there’s no going back and there’s no…

There’s a tap on her ankle.

“Hey.”

She blinks at the rasped greeting. It sounds almost groggy, as if he just wandered straight out of his bunk mid-slumber and landed himself here. Like he’s still asleep, or at least the part of him that forgot he doesn’t greet her anymore is.

“Hi,” she exhales.

Gale Cleven folds himself into her space while she’s still busy rubbing her cheeks free of tears. Her elbow meets some part of him – she can feel the resistance, the lack of give – but he doesn’t make a sound at that. He simply bundles up in the space between her and her pillow as though that’s the sanest place for him to be.

“You need new socks,” she breathes, spotting the telltale hole near his little toe. “Fuck, Gilly, why’re you always wearin’ them old rags”– she knows why, but she’s still gonna fuss about it –“you’re gon’ catch your death like that.”

“Benny’s making me some.”

She turns her head sideways to study him. He’s copying the way she’s seated – arms wrapped around his legs, head on his knees – and even his hair seems to fall into the same kind of messy tousle as hers. His eyes gleam in the dim light. Lottie thinks she’d be able to draw him from memory alone. Thinks she’d capture that little quirk of his mouth that he always has when he’s unsure of what to say next. Thinks she’d translate his hand gestures in a small flurry of motion, so at odds with how calm his hands are in the air.

“I burned your letter,” he says, then, and she has to look away. He scrapes his throat. “The one from your mother.”

That’s all right, she wants to say. Not a great loss. Her words feel stuck. Like they are pressed against her voice but not entering it, not forming familiar shapes in her mouth. She wants to talk over how soft he’d sounded, even though it’d felt like a whole weight in his speech at the same time. Wants to land in a place where Gale doesn’t understand.

A sob wrenches free from her lungs instead.

It’s ugly. Twisted. Fierce despite how much she tries to bite it back. Maybe worse because she’s clenching her hands into fists at the same time. Always made worse because she fights the sound, the break, the point where she almost shatters. Wounded, her mother’s voice scathes. Wounded, wounded, wounded.

“Sshh, Squeak,” he hushes. “Sshh, it’s all right.” He sounds like he believes it. Sounds the way he had when she’d gotten shot, before he’d realized the shot had been meant for him. Calls her Squeak again like he never stopped, like he hasn’t been referring to her as Ace since she got here. “Hey, you’re okay”– she’s not, but it’s almost admirable how certain he sounds –“c’mere.”

She hasn’t a hope of fighting her tears when his hand lands warm in her neck and his other hand cups her cheek. The noise that escapes her is the ugliest whimper she’s ever uttered, but all it does is make him hush her more in that same tone. She wants to fall against him. Wants to lean into his hands, even though it feels like that might jinx the whole feeling and make it hurt worse. Wants to exist in a place where she’s allowed to hurt, even if it’s just for a little while.

“W-W-Why?” she blubbers, desperately trying to keep her voice from breaking too loudly.

“It wasn’t constructive. The letter.”

“It’s my m-mother, Gilly.” Of course it ain’t constructive when it’s her. Of course it’s worth burning. “Had worse from her.”

He hums at that. Unfolds from his position only to huddle closer to her. One leg under her knees. One leg at her back. He thumbs at her cheek as he jostles closer to her, as though he means to wipe some of her excess tears away. He’s kicked her blanket away to the foot of her bunk. She can’t reach Dar’s letter now without leaning away from his touch.

She doesn’t want to lean away.

“You didn’t need to read that again,” he murmurs, so close to her ear that it’s like she’s hearing him over comms. “Your mother’s not right, Squeak. Never has been.”

“You n-never met her.”

“Lucky for her.”

She hiccups once. Chances a glance at him. “What’d you do,” she wonders out loud, seeing the set of his jaw, “if ya did?”

“Tell her I don’t know how her daughter ended up being good when she’s all wicked like that.”

“Gilly…”

“Lot.” His fingers brush a stray tear off her cheek. He doesn’t meet her eyes, not now that so much hangs in the balance between them. “You saved my life.”

She shrugs at that. Doesn’t even really feel the sting in her shoulder anymore. Doesn’t feel like it was anything special. They’d all die for him – every last one of these men and women would, without thinking twice about it – but somehow she’s the one who almost did. She’s the one who made that call. Took a bullet for him just like that, just because it was more important for him to live. For him to survive this fight.

“I had to,” she whispers, leaning into his touch as much as she dares. “You matter, Gilly. All right? I just…”

“And then,” he murmurs, ignoring everything she says that could lead to an argument down the road, “I crashed. Without you.”

A phonecall at the flak house. Doctors and nurses she’d had to fool into thinking she’s just fine and dandy. Nights curled around Meatball because he wouldn’t stop howling and Dar couldn’t look at him without burstin’ into tears. Knowing she would’ve been there if she hadn’t saved his life. Would’ve been in that seat beside him rather than Benny. Benny’d still be with Darlene if…

She swallows. “That was mighty stupid of ya.”

“Yeah.” His laugh is so soft she has to strain to hear it. “Yeah, it was.”

“If we get a do-over in life,” she whispers, “that’s the one.”

“You’re here now,” he says instead, as if those weeks… As if that’d been anything close to all right. “That was real stupid of you.”

She snorts a little at that. Can’t refute it. Can’t very well say it wasn’t when she spent the better part of those weeks angling for the right way to crash. The right place to land. Calculating where he might be and taking any mission in the area. Thinking she might come to rest beside him, body to body, hearts buried in the same place because hers felt like it was about to stop beating anyway. Not a tomb in the sky, like they’d talked about, but something harder. Something real.

Something that hurt.

I wanted to die, but then you were alive and I had to find a way to breathe again. “I’m here now,” she exhales.

His exhale sounds like it could be her twin. “It’s real hard to stay mad at you, Squeak.”

She flinches with the sting of that. She’s seen Gale’s anger. It’d been Brady and Max catching her after she’d walked through the gate. It’d been the Russian – Petrov, blonde and angelic and somehow all-knowing – who’d talked her through the camp and taught her where to look and what to see. It’d been Bucky following her like a dog off its leash, almost as if he wanted to nudge her into speaking with the one person who couldn’t even look her in the eye.

She’s carried the brunt of Gale’s rage all along. Is scrubbed raw by it. Taking the bullet. Taking the plane. Telling herself it’s for him when it’s for her, too. She knows his anger like she does her own. Doesn’t want to be the one to leave first. Doesn’t want him to leave first. Doesn’t want there to be any leaving.

“You’ve been doin’ just fine being mad,” she sniffs. Bites her lip because that’s one more thing she can’t take back. “It’s all right, Gilly,” she whispers, swallowing again, “I’m used to…”

His arms wrap around her, then, choking the last of her words off. “None of it is all right.” And I’m not fine. She hears it in his ragged breath, so close to her ear. Feels it in the ache of his too-tight squeeze. “But we gotta be fine, Lot, you and me,” he says, as if he still believes they can be. “We gotta be…”

She lets herself fall. Lets herself move to the side, against his shoulder. Doesn’t apologize, just like he doesn’t, because being held like this is something you can’t let happen when you’re mad at somebody. Because she knows him – knows that little tug on her hair, that tap to her ankle, that sigh that says he’ll forgive her again – and he still knows her. Maybe he’s the only one that really does.

“Stay, Squeak,” he murmurs, quietening her further. “Stay with me, you hear?”

Lottie no longer knows how to be anywhere he isn’t.

#gale cleven #oc: lottie #gale x lottie #basilonefic #hey so what if they are a little unhealthy but right for each other #so what then

11 notes · View notes