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eveningepiphany · 9 months

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welcome to the final show | H.S, part 3

my masterlist!

part one and part two!

summary: harry goes over to y/ns hotel for a good old room service dinner, also getting a little tipsy on wine, while starting to blur some lines. and it’s not long before things are no longer just between the two of them.

warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol, getting a lil wine drunk, paparazzi, being confused on if you’re falling in love or just really good friends.

a/n: i’m so excited to finally have this written for you all! i’ve had some pretty bad writers block, hence the delay in getting it to you, but thank you so much again for your support and I hope you enjoy <3

———

There’s a certain type of attatchment that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s when things start to flourish. Maybe with a hobby, a passion, or a new found person. One your brain decides to put all its focus and interest on, to the point it’s all consuming.

This one gets stuck to you like glue. Hard to shake in the sense of no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it’s all you can think about.

Losing yourself in daydreams of something or someone without even realising, until you’re reaching for anything that will bring you closer to filling that need.

That’s exactly what’s leading you to be reaching for your phone at any given point of the day.

You imagine many perceive it to be a permanent growth on your person. But you can hardly help it. Texting is a simple way to reach someone. Feel connected.

So, safe to say you’ve messaged Harry more than your own family over the course of this trip.

You’ve become attached. To Harry Styles. Again…?

Of course, being a huge fan it’s easy to say you should probably already be accustomed to this, given your level of obsession.

But this is a whole other ball game. One that is becoming like an internal battle. Your already unhealthy and predisposed infatuation paired with now a real physical connection is enough to render you useless.

You reach for your phone. Text him, your brain begs. You consider. No, stop being clingy you loser, your brain rolls her metaphorical eyes. You place the phone down. Stare at a wall. Think about him. Rinse, repeat.

Not normal, you don’t think.

However, you search for some kind of justification. That you’re just good friends, and all that shit. It’s normal to miss someone you’re friends with.

If he considers you as that.

Which you would hope since you’ve been texting him enough it would be concerning if he saw you as just some mutual of his.

You’re also sitting in a cafe, unfortunately without him right now. Eating a croissant wishing that he were here. Allowing your gaze to linger on the chair across from yourself, imagining his solid frame filling up the empty space. What he would do if you stood up and ran a hand through his hair, maybe lent down a little so you could just—

The ring of the bell atop their entrance chimes and drags you out if your dangerous and spiralling thoughts. And for some reason get excited like you’ve somehow manifested this man to walk through the cafe door by thinking of him.

Feeling silly at the nag of disappointment in your stomach as you see an ordinary bloke saunter over to the till.

Maybe one you would check out, or emit some kind of interest in before you properly met Harry. You would feel disloyal now. Like the parasocial relationship has entered an entirely new level of psychotic.

If it’s still parasocial, that is. Or if now you’re just simply a girl with very cloudy and mixed feelings about a very beautiful man.

You audibly sigh out. Eating the final bite of your admittedly delicious croissant and picking up your phone.

You type out a message, sending it before you can even think it.

I’m in a cafe right now without you and you’ve honestly ruined them for me. I miss you and your free cups of tea.

Without me? Rude.

You laugh at his quip, watching as the little bubble pops back up indicating he’s typing.

I’m out right now, but if you’re not busy later we can do something? Go out or I can come over to yours.

You pluck mindlessly at your bottom lip with your teeth, how could you say no to that?

You stress over it either way.

well, you’re very welcome to come over to my hotel room. we can order room service if you want?

To this he texts back an agreement, seemingly keen. And you realise immediately you have to tidy your room before he comes over.

You swing him the location of where you’re staying, including your room and floor number.

Thank you love, ill be there in like 3 hours say? If that works for you.

At that, you stand, because who are you if not over-prepared. And it was time to go make sure your room didn’t like a war had been waged in it when he came over for the first time.

Cant be having a bad impression, you figured.

———

You did in fact rush back to your hotel complex. Not even stopping a crepe stall you passed by, which had to be a first for you. You clean the place until it appears well-kept at the least.

And once you’re finished, you easily fall back into overthinking the whole thing. So excited, yet getting those anxious jitters like a caffeine addict 12 hours no coffee.

Which is why you decide to busy yourself with an afternoon shower. And at the time you’d still had over an hour to go.

You take of course longer than you intended, and shortly after you come out there’s a knock at your door, easily making you jump as you tug a shirt over your head. Regretting the last minute decision for a shower since now you have wet hair and probably look like a right mess.

But it’s not like you can leave him out there while you go blow dry your hair, so you rush over to the door, and tug it open.

His brows shoot up, and a smile slowly blooms on his face as he takes in your appearance.

Your hair is still near dripping, and you stand in bike shorts and a loose tshirt. The most casual he’s ever seen you. Which he loved the look on you more than he admits to himself.

“Hi darling,” he smirks, a warm feeling settling over him as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Hey, Harry.” You stand for a few moments longer, finally shuflling out of his way to let him through the door. He is adorning a white shirt and has the cutest little bandana around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” You laugh, gesturing him inside, “I was drastically overestimating how long it would take me to shower… hence why im in this state.”

He pulls a hand from behind his back, a cup being presented to you.

“Don’t be silly, y’not in a state at all.”

“You’re joking—“ You gently take the cup from his ringed hands, “Harry!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry. I saw a coffee van on the way and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you get one for you?”

“No, but I did have a little sip of yours.” He confesses with a quiet laugh. But he quickly busies himself with your room, padding around and peeking out the balcony window.

You take a sip, watching him examine your space. Grateful you cleaned it.

He asks you a few questions about random things in your room, and you settle yourself on the foot of your bed, cross-legged.

You didn’t really think about the lack of seating in your one man room. But this hardly bothers Harry, since he’s scoped up the room service menu from wherever he found it, and sat next to you.

“Alright… what d’we have.” He talks to himself, opening up the menu and scanning over the foods.

You discuss the options, settling on a pizza and pasta to share, because, well, you’re in Italy.

The night progresses easily as time always seems to do when you’re together, and you fake fight over the best kind of pasta sauce. But he lets you have to last slice of pizza so peace is made shortly after.

“Should we order a wine or something? T’wash the pasta down.” He suggests as the sun begins setting.

“Why not, I won’t say no to some wine.”

That gets ordered to your door, and you go from the foot of the bed to lazing at the head of it. Sipping on wine and recounting old stories, or discussing stupid topics.

“Do you think the chicken or the egg came first?” You swirl your glass around, eyes shifting to look at his side profile as he gazes at your roof.

His cute nose outlined by the warm light off the lamp, which you flicked on in the corner after it got dark.

He bursts out into a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”

“I feel like it indicates the sort of person someone is.” You shrug, smiling.

“What like it gives you an intel on my personality?”

“Something like that.” You nod, “and decides if we have to stop being friends, if you answer the wrong one.”

He grins, “Well, maybe tell me which one to pick so we don’t have to do that.”

“Awh, so you don’t want to stop being friends?” You coo, still staring at him, watching as his eyes flick from the roof over to you.

“Of course not, who else am I meant to go on cafe dates with.” He laughs.

You’re both teetering on the edge of being tipsy, and it’s evident in the way you’re both talking to one another. Borderline flirting, probably a more fitting way to describe it.

“True, because I’d be very hard to replace.” You snort with sarcasm, taking the another sip of wine.

“You would be! I love our little dates.” He smiles, the second time he’s dropped the word date in the last minute.

You’ve scooted closer to one another somehow. Shoulder to shoulder as you steal glances of his beautiful face. Maybe this was subconscious, or on purpose. But you’re drawn to him like a magnet.

“So do I…” You flush.

“I’m a little tipsy.” You clarify, breaking the searing eye contact and looking at the near-empty glass in your hand. A fourth refill would easily tip you over the edge.

He lets out a quiet laugh, “Wine gone to y’head too?”

“Mhm, and I have a track record of poor decision making when I have too much of it.” You recall the plenty of times you did the stupidest shit just because you were wine drunk. Hoping that does not happen tonight.

“Might have to see it one day.”

“One day…” you agree, but you realise that you’re not really in Italy for much longer. You have about a week and a half left now.

“I… Harry,” you turn your body to face him, and he sits up a little, noticing the almost serious tone to your voice.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurt it out, because it’s the only topic of conversation you’ve both been steering clear of. The thing neither of you want to address because eventually this won’t be easy to do. Who knows how many miles could get out between you.

And it almost hurts you to admit yourself because… where exactly does that leave you both?

Does your contact end when you leave Italy? Do you become people who occasionally text on a bi-monthly basis?

He draws a breath, “So am I.”

You let out your own tortured sigh, turning to pop your glass on the beside table and then lean your head onto his shoulder.

Your heart jumps at the contact, and somewhere in your brain, sober Y/N lets out a gasp, because she would never have the balls to do that.

So the wine maybe was a great idea…?

He wraps an arm around your back, “I go back to London after this.”

“Second week of August as well?” You pray it’s not earlier than the start of the month, since tomorrow is literally the 1st.

“Yea, the 13th.” He nods and it’s the only tiny shred of relief you’re getting from all this. That there’s still time left.

“I fly out on the 12th.” You say quietly.

But there’s a small silence that consumes you both for the first time since you met. Because you’re kind of exasperated for options right now. What do you say to someone who is going to inevitably slip from your grip.

You shake your head at nothing in particular, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, since words really weren’t going to cut it.

Somewhere in his muddled brain he notes this is the second time you’ve ever initiated a hug. And he leans into it, the arm he had around your back tugging you infinitely closer.

Your cheek is pressed to his neck, and you swear you feel his lips ghosting over the top of your head.

Slowly, you pull back. And he watches you with sharp green eyes. You hold that gaze, until he’s the one that breaks it. Stifling a groan with his hand, covering his face.

You look at him quizzically.

“I like this more than I probably should.” He gestures now between the two of you.

You chuckle, a tiny flutter in your stomach announcing it’s presence.

“So we’re making the most of the time left in Italy, then?” You put forward, ready to nearly wipe your schedule clean for the man.

Which, who could blame you?

“What are y’doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing, if you’re the one asking.” You laugh, and he smiles wide at your comment.

“Oh, is that so darling?”

You roll your eyes in attempt to be convincing, “of course, you always buy me tea so…”

“Well, that decides we’re going to another cafe I suppose.” His hand reaches for his phone strewn on the quilt somewhere, pulling up google maps to find some nearby cafes.

You perch your head back onto his shoulder to watch him scroll through the options. He stumbles on a beautiful looking one, less than a 10 minute walk away. He looks to see if you approve.

He peers down to where you rest on his frame, smiling unwillingly at the sight of you. Your own eyes trailing up to meet his.

And he swears they linger on his lips. Just for a fraction of a second.

“Mh, what d’ya think.” He gets out, voice suddenly several octaves lower. Almost gravelly.

You almost audibly gulp at the sound of him. Hyperaware of his existence right now, you could nearly zone out thinking about the strength of his arm muscle that’s right now pressed against you.

“Yea… yea that looks amazing. And tomorrow, what time?” Your hands fiddle with themselves in your lap.

“How about 1, since you’re probably gonna wanna sleep in a bit.” He suggests, free hand pushing his curls from his eyes.

The way he knows you’re probably going to want to sleep in. God.

“I’m down.” (Bad)

A smile erupts over your face, and you almost forget that the clock is still ticking. That you only have so long left here.

Which ‘almost forgetting’ isn’t enough to stifle the urge to use it as some kind of yolo shit. Because that is unbelievably strong. Like why not just invite him to stay the night?

Maybe another glass of wine and you can gaslight yourself into cuddling him and just falling asleep. He wouldnt leave unless he had to, so it’s an almost flawless plan.

———

The plan infact, was flawless.

To say the least, he slept at yours. In your bed.

I mean you don’t really remember it, since you talked into the early hours of the morning and drank some more alcohol to really top it all off.

You woke up under the covers, still clutching onto Harrys side.

He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the fact your head had taken residency on his chest.

You take the initiative to glance at the time in the upper-right corner of his phone, a little shocked when it reads 11:47am.

You do groan at the morning light streaming in the windows immediately after seeing the time though.

“G’morning. D’ya have a headache?” He asks with what you can only assume is the end of his morning voice. Which although just a taste, is enough to send you spiralling.

It’s also around now you realise he’s stripped down into boxers— still clad in his white shirt. What the fuck!

You struggle to form a coherent response.

“Morning. A little.” Your voice comes out as a hum.

Somehow, considering you’re cuddling him right now and you literally just slept in the same bed all night, both of you outwardly are quite relaxed about it.

Nothing is awkward. It feels lovely.

“I want a croissant so bad.” You huff, sitting up, stomach growling like as if you hadn’t eaten in a whole 24 hours.

“So, you’re the kind of person that’s hungry immediately after they wake up?” He laughs, hand coming to push the locks of your bed hair out of your face.

Outside of the sheer domesticity of that (which makes you literally have heart palpitations), your hair is a proper train wreck.

The humidity in Italy has made it horrific.

“I guess I am right now?” You reply to his previous ask, combing your fingers through the locks.

“Jesus Christ.” You curse at its uncooperativeness.

“Y’know that episode of friends where Monica complains about how the humidity fucks her hair, she was so right.”

“I love friends.” He immediately gasps, nearly jolting upright in excitement.

You laugh at his enthusiastic reaction, noting that you have to somehow find time over the next week to watch an episode or two with him.

“And if it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks great.”

“Yea well, it’s not like you’d really be able to relate to the frizzy hair. Since yours look so perfect all the time.” You joke.

This evokes a genuine flush on his face, “Alright, Y/N, calm it down.”

He’s laughing but you swear he actually looks a little flustered. Without the wine as a confidence booster, he seemed like suddenly he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

Unbelievable to you since he probably gets that many a day from strangers on the street.

“I, am going to get up and get ready then, so we can go out and eat.” You state, excited to be seemingly spending the majority of the day with him.

He holds back the urge to beg you to stay in bed with him, and says something nonchalant as if he doesn’t mind you getting up. But when you pad off to the bathroom he stares at your now empty space. And immediately shivers at the lack of your body warmth, despite the already warm humid weather.

After a few trips in and out of the bathroom you come out looking beautiful. And he has to get himself up and ready to go in attempt to not overthink it.

You craved his closeness the whole time it took you to prepare for the day. Every few minutes you’d get this almost overpowering urge to just go out there and throw yourself back into his arms.

It’s borderline pathetic. But now you’ve had him in your bed, his strong arms coddled around you, it’s very hard to not to be just that. His physical presence is perfect and comforting. You’re attached to that as much as any other aspect of him.

He puts on his pants, which were folded neatly on his own bedside table, plucking out the car keys in his pocket, “Im gonna nick down to my rental car, because I have an extra button up in there, so I’ll wear that out.”

He comes back and changes into said white button up, stripping his worn shirt off and leaving it somewhere.

Just like that, you’re ready to go, and you both decide to walk the short way there. It was too nice a morning to not.

The whole walk you’re chatting away as usual. But it’s paired with this newfound physical aspect. The way you so obviously want to be close it hurts.

Yet somehow you both act like it’s nothing. That the brushes of hands and shoulder as you’re in step beside each other is a simple coincidence.

And that when you get breakfast, the two croissants and shared cookie is just a friendly thing. In your head you’re even playing off the touching all throughout breakfast.

Which sounds dirty— but just the little conversational touches. Like a hand reaching out to touch a forearm in laughter, acting as if it adds something important to the moment being shared.

Or that somehow when you leave the cafe, with two takeaway cups of tea, the hands that end up interlinked softly between the two of you is just…

Well… who even knows anymore?

Because you’re walking through italy beside Harry— who is talking about his favourite kind of playground equipment, regardless of if he’s a near thirty year old man— all while holding your hand.

And to take a moment, because it’s important, his hands are everything they’re talked up to be. Littered with chunky rings and calloused fingertips from the years of guitar playing. Yet contrasted by his soft palms, which cups yours with this delicateness it almost brings a tear to your eye.

You also pray that your own hand isn’t sweating profusely in his grasp, because you wouldn’t put a clammy hand past yourself. The already humid weather paired with your anxiety surrounding this whole situation is quite literally the match made in hell.

Nothing about this can be passed off as casual to your brain anymore. You’re literally about to implode.

But you strive to hide it. So you solider on.

“I’m a seesaw girl okay. Hear me out—“

“No, I can totally see that!” He interjects, and you chuckle at his quick agreement to your statement.

“Right? They are so much fun. And even though I nearly took a tooth out playing on one when I was 7, I can still recognise they are superior.”

To that he laughs and bumps his shoulder into yours, “I mean I love that. I’m probably a swing person, I feel like no matter the age I will always be down for it.”

You can agree that a swing is a solid second favourite for you. And as you talk about that point with him, you don’t realise you’ve walked the whole ‘scenic’ route back to your hotel until you turn the corner and the entrance is around the corner ahead. And the way you went usually takes an extra 20 minutes.

It went so fast.

“Are you gonna head off or… come back up with me?” You ask gingerly, the hand not interlaced with his fiddling with the fabric of your clothing.

“Not sick of m’yet?”

“Never…” You shake your head, smiling as he gleams at your answer.

“M’flattered. The feelings mutual love,” he chuckles, “However I do have to go remind my family I’m alive. But it’ll only take about a day until they’re pleased for me to ditch them.”

Gently runs his thumb over your knuckles, whether it be subconsciously or not, “So tomorrow night ill come back over to yours for dinner if you y’want?”

You smile, a little sappy over the way he’s working a plan out like you’re both teenagers, “Yea, thats perfect, and we can try something else off the menu.”

“Maybe, if you want,” he begins carefully, “after that you can come over to where we’re staying. Meet my mum and sister. They’ll love you.”

Now you’re nearly bursting at the seems, “Oh, I would love that, H!”

“Okay, it’s a plan then.” He agrees, pulling his keys from his pocket.

You bid your farewells for the night, unlinking hands and being left with a tingling sensation in it, one that you wonder if he’s also getting.

You go to your hotel room and feel full with joy.

He is all too sweet for this world. And you’re a little obsessed.

———

Although Italy being in Italy feels like being in a bubble, and like you’re so far away from the real world, it is unfortunately a purely mental one.

And there’s one thing about a headspace like that, and it’s just how quickly it can be popped.

At midnight that night a notification pops up on your phone, one that when you open, you have to physically put your phone down.

harryflorals:

what do i even caption this post because is that who i think it is or am i officially delusional? “HARRY WITH A FAN FROM THE LAST SHOW, HOLDING HANDS IN ITALY!” correct me if I’m wrong YALL idek anymore.

And this time, there’s no grain saving your ass. Because this was taken on what, quality wise, looks like a digital camera.

Which has made it so painstakingly obvious that it’s you. And you don’t even remember it being taken?

It was when you were walking back from the cafe, holding hands probably talking about fucking seesaws.

And everyone has caught on fast, because in the comments it’s an all out frenzy.

So, cats officially out of the bag.

———

y’all can expect a part four considering i lowkey left this on a cliffhanger 😝 so its on its way my loves

update: next part, PART 4!

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #hslot #love on tour #i just love finalshowrry #love u too #hopefully part four doesn’t take me also two weeks to write HAHA

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misspoetree · 1 year

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KinnPorsche + Text Posts: Tankhun - Part II

[Themed Editions: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ?]

[Episode Editions]

#I wanted to make something to cheer myself up - and you guys hopefully too #and because tong's birthday was a few days ago...I knew exactly who to turn to ❤#did I accidentally make this edition a little bit to relatable though (at least in SOME parts)? yes. yes I did. no regrets.#but the real question is: How ON EARTH did I forget about the futuristic space man ??? outfit in ep. 3????#That one made me laugh so fucking hard ngl 😂😂❤#unmatched fashion icon #happy belated birthday tong ❤#kinnporche the series #kinnporsche + text post meme #text post meme #tankhun theerapanyakul #tong thanayut #kinnporsche meme #because the kinnporsche brain rot is still real #1000 notes

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btsgotjams27 · 4 months

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the broken hearts club | jjk (teaser)

title: the broken hearts club

genre/au: romance, fluff, angst | strangers-to-friends-??, private chef!jk x author!reader

summary: It's been a year after your public breakup, and the final installment of your romance series was meant to be released, but you've been engulfed with writer's block. Your editor suggests spending the summer at her beach house for inspiration, but when an unexpected visitor shows up on your doorstep, he offers much more than inspiration.

#this is only to motivate myself to actually finish writing this before i post anything lmaooo #it'll be a 3 part series (hopefully ready for the summer??)#pls keep me accountable hahaha #wips #jungkook wips #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic

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ninjigma · 2 years

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Part 1/7 - Next

Track: ‘This Is War’ - Thirty Seconds to Mars

Rex’s general, his friend and brother, was laying beaten and broken below him. Anakin had done everything he could, had done everything right, and in those last moments realized that he was still in the wrong. That if he was the one to kill Palpatine it would be in hate, and that the war would never end as a vindictive evil was born. Anakin would lose everything he was, become everything he hated. And it was with shaking hands he had lowered his saber from the Sith Lords neck.

The former chancellor barely hesitated a second. As soon as he realized Anakin had managed to hang on his light Palpatine had struck him down in a blaze of lightning; and Anakin now clung to a life he felt he didn’t deserve at Rex’s feet, amongst the ash and carnage of Mustafar.

The battle around them continued to rage as everyone, Jedi, friends, brothers, continued falling left and right. Rex could see Palpatine slowly recovering atop the factory, his cackling seeming to resonate over the entire battlefield. He had won. The chosen one had failed, and Palpatine could feel the hope, the light, draining from the galaxy.

Rex gasped and turned away, eyes meeting Ahsoka's. They were worn, older than they should ever be. The white of her montrals was a mess, and her face pale, but she fought on and Rex found it in himself to feel proud of who she had become despite everything. Even now he could see her thinking, trying to find a solution. Her eyes suddenly closed and after a breath she seemed to have found one.

In him.

“Rex,” she rasped, face suddenly lighting up. “Rex, this isn’t our fight. It’s yours.”

Rex stared at her, instinctively going to argue before something stopped him. The world around him seemed to become muted, and a tug, or a pressure, something in him was insisting she was right. It whispered assurance like the Jedi, laughed like his brothers, and gave him hope like his sister before him now, with her eyes as sure as beskar.

He felt himself hold out his hand, and her lightsaber was placed firmly in it. Then he was bending down and picking up Anakin's from where it was gathering ash beside him. And as Rex took a breath the whole world came flooding back, showing Ahsoka had run to the cliff edge.

“Ready?” she shouted.

Maybe it was nerves, but Rex couldn’t help the small laugh. “To be thrown? Never." He ignited the lightsabers. They hummed in unison in his hands as if they were singing a song he had heard before, from a brother he loved like a son. And Rex spared a small thought that perhaps Fives was still with him, fighting as hard as ever. “But to be free? More then.”

#I still don’t know how to write #but hopefully this makes sense #clone captain rex #star wars #clone wars #fanart #mustafar #give clones lightsabers #writing to music #ficlet series #part 1 #this little story is eating me alive #my writing #my art

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itsswritten · 1 month

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Disrespectfully, I can’t stop thinking about Gone pt 2 so this is a formal declaration that I have beef with you until the next part is posted.

Lukewarm regards,

@daycourtofficial

Hehe im glad I’ve got you all begging for the next part 😉 but seeing as I'm more of a lover than a fighter 😘 here's a sneak peek:

~~~ You had always captured the attention of everyone, a trait of yours that had only become more endearing to Azriel as the years went on. But previously, he would bury those thoughts and feelings in the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be touched. Them only slipping out occasionally in his dreams.

Those particular dreams had plagued his sleep for centuries now, his deepest desires burying themselves in his consciousness to slide out when he drifted into a slumber. His suppressed desires manifesting themselves in vivid dreams, visions of you that often made him struggle with what was real or illusion.

Some dreams were innocent, filled with whispered conversations under the starry nights. Dreams of taking you flying while your melodic laugh filled his ears. It was those nights he slept soundly, his mind surrendering to the hazy false reality.

There were also those darker dreams. More forbidden.

The kind that made it hard for him to look at you the next day. It was those dreams he struggled to stir from, the kind of dreams where he’d find you waiting for him in his bed, or where he’d wake still hearing your moans and the taste of you on his lips.

He’d had more of those dreams since you’d come back, and he knew he would definitely have that problem tonight after seeing you in that dress.

Was it really a problem though?

He couldn’t pretend that those dreams weren’t some of his favourites. As guilty as they made him feel.

And now, after everything. Knowing that there had been a possibility you could have been his, he found it hard to steer his gaze. Hard to ignore your allure. Hard to believe he ever could have been so blind.

~~~

You’re welcome 😘😘 @daycourtofficial

#you're welcome bish #gone pt 3 #hopefully coming soon #just tweaking the last parts #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster

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sourscratched · 3 months

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got caught in one of the back wheels of the bandwagon, extended corniverse headcanons be upon ye

my bryce and clark are based on the lovely lovely designs for them made by @gaybearwedding !! (well they at least were initially. things may have gotten away from me)

additional dumb doodling under the cut

(and one for my little team illinois + nebraska ocs ⬇️)

notes, headcanons, etc:

- the Wicked shirt and the blue button down (from the group pic in the first photoset) are both shirts i’ve owned for a long time and are still in my closet right now

- the team illinois and team nebraska captains are named dani (daniela) and miya and pretty much exactly what happened between bryce and clark also happened with them. they also spent a summer road-tripping together; prime grounds for homosexual thoughts to happen

- for anybody who’s watched the off book episode The Kids Are At Night with Mary Sohn (10/10 episode highly recommended), i imagine that most nights after clark gets done helping his sisters* with their homework he’s probably looking up online editions of Boy Boy Magazine. gotta get connected to the culture

* = my headcanon is that he has two sisters, one older one younger

- the Away Team is from the same country as Princess Emily but they’re diehard Nothing Everything Children Glass fans (is there an actual name for the group who made it?? tag with your headcanon for the band name) and there is a rivalry between the two factions

that’s all ive got for now thanks for reading all my weird little ideas!! 💖💖

#my art #play it by ear #im extremely late to the party #anyway!!!!#these were really fun to make #*slaps the cornhole in one characters* you can project so many queer young adult life experiences onto these bad boys #i haven’t been super active recently but ive quietly been keeping up on the content everyone’s been making and it’s so good and cute #it makes me super happy that more and more people are jumping in and making stuff for the series #💐🌸🌹🌼💝 <- for the pibe fans make sure to take one with you #anyway. my hobby is connecting elevator pitch to as many parts of the improvised musical universe as possible #i have more thoughts but im not collected enough to write them out.. maybe later #i feel like ive been so in my head with the hcs for this universe that there’s a lot of stuff in this post that must be ??? to everyone #but hopefully it’s like. mildly intelligible at least

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girlbossnezuko · 5 months

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Stobin Mandalorian AU part 1

(aka s3 stobin accidentally acquire a magic baby)

[part 2] [part 3]

It’s Robin that first hears the baby crying. She insists it’s coming from the vents on her right side — Steve’s left — but the concussion’s left everything kind of soupy so it takes him a few minutes to pick it out from the ever-present hum of the gate-laser and the rush of blood through his own ears. Once he notices it though, it’s hard to stop.

It’s a sad, lonely sort of crying that makes his heart ache. Robin makes a dubious sort of noise when he mentions this and insists that it’s probably just hungry — which Steve has to admit is likely, none of the Russians they’ve met so far can really be described as ‘nurturing’ — but something in his gut tells him that’s not it.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the Russians come back with the doctor, and then they have a whole new set of problems to worry about.

The mysterious blue goop makes everything a million times soupier and having pliers around his fingernail is not great, but then Dustin and Erica are there and everything’s great again. Super great, even.

“Can you two hurry up?” Dustin hisses, pulling Steve upright when he starts to list to the side.

It’s a little difficult to navigate when your head is soup and your bones are blue and goopy and you’re bleeding from at least three places you weren’t bleeding from this morning, and Steve makes a valiant attempt to tell Dustin this because it’s important information he needs to know. He starts, then stops because he can barely hear himself over the siren and honestly this is just like earlier when he was trying to hear the— oh right.

“Baby,” Steve says, and Robin whips her head around in slow motion to stare at the vent.

“Did you just call me a baby?” Dustin demands, shoving them into the hallway.

“Nooo, no, no,” Steve insists. He takes two steps in the direction Dustin is going, then checks to see where the vent leads. It’s going in the other direction. He turns around. “Baby. The baby. Gotta get the baby.”

“It’s hungry,” Robin says decisively, even though Steve’s almost positive that’s not the problem.

“I don’t know why these two idiots are so focused on it but I did hear a baby,” Erica says, and Dustin groans.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t think I was the only one around here with working ears,” she says scathingly. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Steve and Robin are already halfway down the hall. Robin stops, cocking her head like a bird, and gasps.

“I hear it! This way!”

She books it around a corner, and she might be only going half as fast as she usually does but she’s still a lot faster than Steve. He stumbles after her, clutching at the weird tubes on the wall for support.

“Get back here!” Dustin hisses, tugging at Steve’s arm. “We have to go!”

“Steve!” Robin shouts at the top of her lungs. “I found the baby!”

Steve manages to drag both himself and Dustin around the corner and into a small room with a metal door. Clearly he needs to start making Dustin exercise because he should not be weaker than Steve is when his bones are soup. Dustin should have solid bones — he drinks a lot of milk, and it’s like, scientifically proven that milk makes your bones stronger. It’s that vitamin — or is it a mineral? Ca— Cancer? No, wrong one. Ca-something. Robin would know.

Anyway Dustin has strong bones so obviously it’s a muscle thing that’s the reason why his arms are really weak and Steve should make him play basketball about it.

Robin’s holding a baby.

“Put that down,” Dustin insists, letting go of Steve to gesture at Robin. She pouts and cuddles the baby closer.

It’s such a cute, perfect baby too. Steve stumbles closer so he can look at the perfect baby. It has soft wisps of brown hair and squishy pink cheeks, and when Robin smooths a thumb over those squishy baby cheeks it stops crying and opens its big brown eyes.

“Steve,” Robin says, staring at him with her own wide eyes, “it’s a girl baby.”

“She’s perfect,” Steve whispers, and he wants to hold her so so bad but he can’t even hold himself up right now and the only thing worse than not holding her is dropping her so he has to leave her with Robin even though it kind of makes him want to cry.

He’s always wanted a baby.

“Okay,” he turns back to Dustin, who’s looking very stressed. “Now we can go.”

“What do you mean ‘now we can go’?”

“We have the baby, let’s go!”

“We can’t just steal a baby!”

“Yes we can,” Robin says, and starts walking out the door. “See? We’re stealing her. Easy peasy.”

“But—!”

“Let’s go, nerd!” Erica says, shoving them all out of the room. “Cry about it later, we need to leave!”

Steve stops to grab a few baby things, though there isn’t much. A white blanket, a few cloth diapers, and a thick stack of folders — the last of which aren’t baby things, but he assumes they’ll be important anyway. The stitching on the corner of the blanket reads ‘Два’, the same as the label on her metal crib.

“Aba,” he mutters, following them to the weird red car. “Like the band?”

Well, it’s probably a beautiful name for a baby girl. In Russian.

[part 2]

#I’ve literally been thinking abt this fic concept for months #stobin with a baby is taking up some serious real estate in my brain rn #and hopefully now in yours!!! you’re so welcome (I’m so sorry)#stobin mandalorian au #<— dedicated tag for this series (for whenever I continue)#I might post this on ao3 once I have enough written but for now it’s going here #as a sort of palate cleanser to get my mojo back for dear cassandra (hopefully)#and!! ascu part 3 (featuring our favourite dead cheerleader chrissy cunningham!)#the greatest qpr hawkins has ever seen #<— stobin tag #envy writes #stranger things #stranger things fic #stobin fanfic #stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley

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ck-17088 · 2 years

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Here’s Cole in a hanbok!! Ninjago takes inspiration from many places, but it probably takes the most inspiration from East Asia, particularly Japanese and Chinese cultures. I’ve seen many drawings of the Ninja in kimonos and occasionally hanfu, so I wanted to draw Cole in a hanbok, or Korean traditional clothing. Korea is another East Asian country between Japan and China, so I thought it would be cool for him to wear another kind of traditional clothing.

#ninjago #ninjago fanart #lego ninjago #cole ninjago #ninjago cole #the mountains are based off of minhwa a Korean folk art style #hanbok #I’m Korean but designing a hanbok took way more research than expected #there are 6 mountains on his hanbok guess why #the red part isn’t waterfalls it’s supposed to be lava #this will probably be a series… hopefully #ninjago cole fanart #Ninjago hanbok #CK17art #Ninjago hanbok series

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aquaquadrant · 1 year

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from eden, part III

Word count: 7,972

Warnings: Nondescript death (in Minecraft), shipping (nothing explicit!)

Summary: When Tango agreed to join Double Life, he didn’t anticipate being soulbound to Jimmy- a player he hardly knows. And when their first meeting happens after he loses their first life, he figures the only way left to go is up. But he’s quickly proven wrong when feelings complicate the situation, and he finds that his greatest conflict might just be within himself.

A/N: I’m back with the next installment of my and @lunarcrown’s Hels to Pay AU! (more info and previous fics here) I really don’t know how these keep getting so long. I actually had to split this one up into two parts and it’s still almost 8k. This starts out following Double Life canon, but then diverges after session 1. Btw, I don’t use accurate Minecraft day/night cycles; I envision each session taking place over a normal 24 hour day, just so it’s easier to grasp the passage of time. Hope y’all enjoy, please reblog if you do! It means a lot <3 - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part III - babe, there’s something magic about you, something so tragic about you, don’t you agree?

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, a player respawns in a tree.

He’s disoriented, an explosion still ringing in his ears as he blinks against the sudden sunlight. Leaves tickle his face- he jerks back instinctively, then his stomach lurches as he almost loses his balance, yelping in surprise. His mind is racing, rational thought struggling to surface against residual panic and adrenaline. Only a second ago, he’d been deep inside a cave fighting off a horde of mobs, and the next-

Clinging to a tree branch with one hand, he uses the other to pull up his communicator.

Tango was blown up by Creeper.

SolidarityGaming died.

The memory comes rushing back; fending off mobs, backing up beneath an overpass, the sudden appearance of a creeper in front of him as the air filled with the sound of hissing-

“No!” Tango wails, the drawn-out cry devolving into hysterical laughter as realization sinks in.

He’s just gotten himself- and his soulmate, because oh right, soulmates are a thing here- killed by a creeper. The first deaths of the newly generated world, in which the goal is to be the last pair standing. And it was a creeper, a stupid creeper of all things! Oh, what a horrible start.

Tango feels the flames of rage licking at him- the blaze rods around his head burning with fire- and forces himself to take a deep, calming breath before he sets the whole forest ablaze. He exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Well-”

“What happened, Tango?”

Tango’s ears prick at the sudden voice. Startled, he whips his head around- and nearly falls out of the tree in the process. He recognizes the voice, though he isn’t as familiar with its owner as he is with some of the other players in this world.

SolidarityGaming. Also known as Jimmy. Also known, now, as Tango’s soulmate.

And the guy Tango just got killed.

There’s something almost familiar about this. Their first real meeting, back on Third Life, involved Jimmy losing his life to Tango’s game of risk. They’d hardly spoken before that, and have hardly spoken since. And here they are now, reeling from the revelation that they’re soulbound and fresh off a death that Tango caused.

The Universe just loves messing with Tango, doesn’t it?

“Oh, hi! Hi!” Tango stammers out, disbelief still coursing through him.

“Um…” Jimmy sounds like he’s in shock, too. His voice isn’t far off. “Wait, where are you?”

Tango glances around. “Are you- are you here?”

“Yeah…”

Peering through the leaves, Tango’s gaze falls on a figure standing just across from the tree; a man with large golden wings. His wide brown eyes scan the little mountaintop forest, one hand raking through his dirty blond hair.

Tango carefully pulls himself up into a sturdier perch, poking his head out from the canopy. “How- what are the chances of that? I die, and now we’re linked, and now I- oh, cause you died too, I’m so sorry…” His shoulders creep up by his ears as guilt sweeps through him, his voice climbing a couple octaves. “I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy blinks up at him, looking stunned. And surprisingly, not angry. “How- take me through it,” he says, holding out a hand. “What’s- what’s happened there?”

“Uh, there was some caving…” Tango explains sheepishly, feeling his face heat up. “And then there might have been… about seven zombies and a spider, and a-”

Pain suddenly jabs Tango in the side; Jimmy’s just been rammed by a goat.

“You’re being butted!” Tango exclaims, scrambling down from the tree.

“Yeah, lemme…” Jimmy is already backing away from the goat, eyebrows raised as one hand absently rubs his side. The goat, for its part, seems to have made its point and trots off into the forest. Shaking his head, Jimmy turns away from it.

Tango, standing in front of his soulmate for the first time, feels his stomach lurch with nerves. Jimmy’s a few inches taller, though his broad shoulders and well-built arms make him feel a lot bigger- as do the wings poking up behind him.

What an introduction.

Belatedly, Tango realizes they’ve both lost everything, and covers his face with his hands. “Oh no…” he groans. Oh, Jimmy must hate him already-

“So,” Jimmy continues, his voice still neutral even as he starts pacing around the clearing, “you just… you got blown up by caving?”

Tango nods vigorously, rushing to explain. “And then- and then I was focusing on the army approaching me from one direction, and uh… yeah. The ol’ ‘creeper from behind’ trick.”

“Oh… my gosh,” Jimmy breathes, his wings ruffling behind him as he paces.

“I am so sorry,” Tango murmurs anxiously. He scans Jimmy’s face for any indication of anger, but it’s still markedly absent. In fact, his expression is almost reminiscent of a smile- that same incredulous humor Tango was feeling, where all he can do is laugh at the situation.

“Right,” Jimmy says, stopping to face Tango. He sounds like his mind is going a mile a minute. “Let’s meet up in a bit- I need to go get my stuff before it- before it despawns.”

And just like that, they’re straight to business.

Jimmy’s surprisingly easy to talk to. They discuss how to proceed with getting geared up again- with only minimal scrambling and panic (which they even end up laughing about). Jimmy thinks he knows where he died, while Tango is, of course, clueless (should’ve been paying more attention, stupid). Jimmy doesn’t admonish Tango for killing them, brushing off his apologies and self-deprecating comments about it (“No, no, it’s gonna happen all the time today.”), gently redirecting whenever Tango’s frustration seeps through. And the only time Tango sees him truly upset is at the revelation that Tango’s lost his goat horn.

Which, all things considered, is a stupidly endearing reason to be upset.

By the time they split up to gather resources, most of Tango’s frustration has ebbed. He’s still mad at himself for being so reckless with their lives, and he isn’t looking forward to starting from scratch again, but he’s… cautiously optimistic.

Sure, they haven’t gotten off to the best start, and they don’t really know each other all that well. But nevertheless, it doesn’t feel like he and Jimmy will have any problem getting along.

And in a game like this, that makes all the difference.

~*~

“Should we…” Tango hesitates, looking down at Jimmy as he crouches by their furnace. “Should we- I mean, given that we’re linked… should we maybe make a little happy house together somewhere, and call it base?”

The light from the furnace’s flame flickers warmly across Jimmy’s face. “I think so,” he replies thoughtfully, tossing Tango an iron sword and a pickaxe.

~*~

“I’m not good with building at all, Tango,” Jimmy warns him, “so um-”

Tango pauses, crafting table in hand. “Oh, I was hoping you would say you were!” he exclaims, spinning around to look at Jimmy. “You’re not the builder?” For some reason, he’d just assumed Jimmy would know more about building than him.

“Wh- wait, you’re not the builder?” Jimmy repeats, a bemused grin spreading across his face as he realizes they both seem to have made the same assumption.

“I’m not a builder, no!” Tango laughs, smacking his forehead. “Oh, well. We live in a dirt hut.”

Jimmy’s laughing, too. “We might be in trouble, here…”

~*~

Tango pauses in the middle of the cave’s passage. “You don’t- you don’t have any piece- you don’t have anything, do you?” he murmurs, a sudden pang of guilt seizing him.

“No, no, I’m bare bones,” Jimmy says good-naturedly, stopping to glance back over his shoulder.

Despite the utter lack of accusation in Jimmy’s tone, Tango winces. “Here,” he tosses Jimmy his iron boots, “here, here, take some boots, at least. Because if you die, I die, so...”

Jimmy scoops them up, quickly pulling them on. “Thank you, thank you,” he murmurs gratefully.

“We’ll share whatever we’ve got,” Tango says, following Jimmy as he leads the way out of the cave. “It’s pitiful, but…”

Jimmy’s wings ruffle as if in silent agreement, scattering a trail of golden feathers behind him.

~*~

“My man said he couldn’t build!”

Jimmy’s sudden voice is filled with pure, undisguised admiration. Tango immediately feels himself flush at the compliment- plus the denotation of ‘my man’- and quickly laughs it off. “It’s a box, it’s a box, alright,” he says dismissively, dropping down from the wall- then sheepishly ducking his head when Jimmy yelps at the damage. “It’s not much…”

“This is good!” Jimmy says earnestly, patting him on the shoulder as he passes.

Tango huffs a laugh. At least Jimmy has a good sense of humor. “Thank you!” he says with mock pride.

“Crafting table for the step, look at this!” Jimmy excitedly hops up into the threshold of the house, his wings fluttering behind him.

Tango chuckles to himself as he follows Jimmy inside. “Oh, I know,” he drawls, putting on airs. “Super fancy, right? Look at this- multi block usage… I know, I know.” As if this silly little wood and cobblestone shack could even hold a candle to what the other people in this world are capable of building-

“It’s looking great, dude,” Jimmy says softly, his voice completely genuine as he stands back to look at the house. “It’s looking amazing.”

Tango rubs the back of his neck, his laugh suddenly a bit nervous as he realizes Jimmy is being sincere. “Feel free to uh… help out,” he says, pulling a face. “It’s a little bit uh, you know…” He trails off into some incoherent noises that more or less reflect his feelings about the current state of the build.

Jimmy just smiles and shakes his head. He hops back off the front step and pulls something from his inventory. “Look at my hand,” he says, watching Tango eagerly. “I got it.”

It takes Tango a second. “What’d you- oh! Look at you!” he exclaims; Jimmy’s returned from his travels with a bucket of water, which they need for farming. Tango breaks into a grin, putting his hands on his hips. “You go out on a mission, and you come back with goods. This is what I like to see, this is what I like in a partner. Well done.”

Jimmy looks rather pleased, ducking his head. “Thank you.”

Warmth blooms in Tango’s chest, reflecting the heat from his blaze rods. This day isn’t turning out half bad, after all.

~*~

“Tango?”

Tango’s ears prick at the sound of Jimmy’s voice, straining to make it out above all the clucking. “Yes?” he calls, starting to climb out of what he’s affectionately dubbed ‘the chicken hole.’

“Um…” Jimmy doesn’t sound too far off.

“How’s it goin’?” Tango prompts, climbing the ladder back up to the main floor of their house. He thinks he might see the top of Jimmy’s head through the door’s tiny window.

“Where are you?” Jimmy asks, his voice humming with anticipation.

“I’m in the house…?” Tango finally reaches the door and pulls it open. Then he gasps.

Jimmy is standing outside with four cows.

“Oh! You’re amazing!” Tango cries excitedly, jumping down from the front stoop as Jimmy starts laughing. “Oh, you are so- look at you! You have a beef army- look at this!”

“I have a family!” Jimmy beams, patting the nearest cow on the nose as it starts sniffing after the wheat in his other hand. “Welcome to the family!”

Together, they start the process of moving the cows inside- since they don’t have any kind of barn or paddock to put them in just yet. Tango eagerly informs Jimmy of his success with the chicken operation, which Jimmy is delighted by.

“We’re just raising animals now,” Tango laughs. That combined with the budding farm outside almost makes this feel like a normal survival world, like they’re just taking care of all the early game things rather than preparing for a death game.

“We’re good for something,” Jimmy jokes. “We’re good for something…”

“Ranchers,” Tango agrees. “Team rancher.”

He rather likes the sound of that.

~*~

By the end of the day, Tango can safely say he’s happy with their progress.

They’ve got a respectable wheat farm growing outside, right next to their mineshaft entrance. The cows have been moved to a little enclosure next to the ranch that Jimmy built, and the automatic chicken farm is chugging away collecting eggs.

They haven’t had any more mishaps, aside from Joel coming by to antagonize them and incidentally taking them down to two hearts. Jimmy was unsuccessful in his bid to get a goat horn from Grian, but Tango has promised they’ll work on that tomorrow. The chorus of horns going off every ten minutes is a potent motivator- Jimmy gets more and more distressed every time it happens because he can’t join in. Privately, Tango wonders if that’s an avian thing or just Jimmy’s dislike for being left out.

But it isn’t until the sun sets and they’re both standing inside the ranch, bidding each other good night, that Tango realizes there’s one very important thing they’ve neglected.

They have only one bed.

In all their travels during the day, neither of them happened to pick up enough wool to make a second bed, too preoccupied with cows and chickens and begging for resources to think about finding sheep. The single white bed pushed up against the wall suddenly looks blatantly, painfully small.

There’s an awkward pause as the realization settles over both of them.

Tango clears his throat. “Uh, I’ll just-”

“You should take it,” Jimmy says, at the same time.

They both stop talking, looking at each other expectantly, then letting out sheepish laughs.

“No, no,” Tango says, waving his hand, “go ahead and take the bed tonight, I’ll just- I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Jimmy insists, “I’ll take the floor. You spent all day building this house, it’s the least I can do-”

“Nuh uh,” Tango cuts in firmly. “Look, I don’t really get cold, alright?” He gestures absently at the blaze rods floating around his head. “Just take the bed, okay, we’ll find some sheep tomorrow.”

Jimmy hesitates for a moment, clearly wanting to argue, but Tango’s expression must deter him. “Alright,” he relents finally. He glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, thank you.”

“No problem,” Tango replies, relieved to have convinced him otherwise. He already cost Jimmy a life today; it’d feel wrong to rob him of a warm bed, too. Besides, Tango is more than used to going without one.

Jimmy flutters about the house, blowing out their torches as Tango gets settled in a corner. “Good night, then,” Jimmy offers, climbing into the bed.

“Night,” Tango says, folding his arms and tucking his chin to his chest.

The ranch lapses into silence- aside from the near constant mooing and clucking, of course. Tango figures he’ll learn to tune it out eventually- that is, assuming they stay here a while. This is a death game, he reminds himself. Even if things go well, they might not be here all that long.

In spite of the mild discomfort of Tango’s position, he feels himself nodding off fairly quickly, his blaze rods starting to dim. It’s been a long day of hard work, and he’ll need all the rest he can get for whatever tomorrow brings…

A creaking sound reaches Tango’s ears.

Tango’s fully awake in an instant, eyes flying open. His vision rapidly adjusts to the dark- a perk of being part nether mob- and he can just make out the shape of Jimmy, tossing and turning in bed. His wings are fanned out and tucked tightly against his body, like a massive blanket. Beneath the rustling sound, Tango can hear what sounds suspiciously like shivering.

“Jimmy?” he whispers.

The shuffling stops. Jimmy’s sheepish voice comes after a moment.

“... yes?”

“Are you cold?” Tango asks, sitting up.

Another pause. “... no?” Jimmy says, unconvincingly.

Tango frowns. The bed is against the wall that’s right next to the fence of their cow enclosure- and as a result, not fully sealed against the outside. Even the cows are huddled together in the corner, keeping each other warm with their shared body heat as wind blows through the holes in the outer walls.

Tango feels a cold prick in his own chest, the sensation taking him by surprise. Is he feeling Jimmy’s coldness through their soulbond?

“Uh, okay,” Tango says, knitting his brows together, “it’s just, you seem kinda cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jimmy says meekly. “Sorry to keep you up, I’ll be quiet-”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Tango reassures him. “I’m just wondering how we’re gonna stop you from turning into a popsicle overnight.”

Jimmy huffs a soft laugh. “Really, Tango, it’s- it’s alright. I’ll just suck it up.”

Tango chews on his lip, hesitating. “You know, I uh… I happen to function as a portable heater, myself,” he ventures, trying for a joking tone. “If you are in need of such a service, I mean…”

“Oh no, no, I don’t wanna impose,” Jimmy says quickly, sounding flustered.

Inexplicably, Tango feels himself blush. “Hey, it’s- it’s no problem,” he laughs, hoping to brush off the awkwardness of the situation. “I mean, it’d be more of an imposition if I woke up in the middle of the night taking damage from hypothermia, right? We’re soulbound, after all.”

“We are soulbound,” Jimmy murmurs, wavering.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tango insists. “Plus, neither of us will get any rest if you’re over there shivering all night. I can uh, I can sort of feel the chill, through our soulbond.”

“Oh.” Jimmy sounds taken aback. “Well, um, alright then-”

“Only if you want!” Tango adds hastily, not wanting Jimmy to feel pressured. “I just- you know, there’s no need for you to be freezing when I’m basically part furnace.”

That gets another chuckle out of Jimmy. “Yeah no, it’s alright, I…yes, that’d be nice, thank you.”

“Cool.” Tango rises to his feet and wanders over to the bed, fighting back a wave of awkwardness. “Um, hi. So- so how do we…?”

“Uh, here.” Jimmy shifts over to one side of the bed, tucking his wings close against his back. “Um… come on in? Oh- oh my gosh, sorry, that’s weird.”

Tango lets out a nervous laugh. “Right, here I come.” Then he immediately cringes.

What is wrong with him? They’re just two players, sharing a bed for warmth. And they’re soulmates, no less. They already share hearts, hunger, and actual lives- what’s a bed, compared to that? It’s fine, it’s nothing.

With that final thought of encouragement, Tango eases himself onto the bed. His knee bumps against Jimmy almost immediately, which leads to mutual whispered apologies and further readjusting, the bed creaking under their combined weight. As Tango moves to turn onto his side, he accidentally elbows Jimmy in the ribs- they both freeze and inhale sharply at the shared pain.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally get settled, laying back to back. The feathers of Jimmy’s wings tickle the back of Tango’s neck.

“Well, g’night,” he breathes.

“Night,” comes Jimmy’s soft reply.

They fall into silence.

Tango stares at the opposite wall. Where only minutes ago he’d been half asleep, now he’s wide awake- hyper aware of Jimmy breathing next to him, not daring to move. Jimmy seems to have stopped shivering, at least, which is good. That was the whole point, right?

The minutes pass like this, in silent stillness, until Tango’s exhaustion starts to win out over his nerves. His eyelids droop, blaze rods fizzling out and settling on the pillow. They tend to extinguish when he’s asleep, so he usually doesn’t have to worry about starting fires in the middle of the night- except for when he has nightmares.

But Tango has a feeling that won’t be a problem tonight. He just hopes Jimmy is able to get some rest, too, as he finally drifts off to sleep.

~*~

Morning comes soon enough, rousing Tango from a deep, dreamless sleep.

The animals are already clamoring to be fed and there’s light behind Tango’s closed eyelids, but he isn’t quite ready to get up yet. He’s pleasantly warm and well-rested, and surprisingly comfortable. For a moment he simply lays where he is, letting awareness slowly trickle back to him, soothed by the steady rise and fall of his pillow-

Wait. His pillow is breathing?

Tango cracks an eye open, and then he stops breathing.

Somehow, at some point during the night, he’d ended up curled against Jimmy, resting his head on the other’s chest. Jimmy’s wings have come up to cradle them, one arm awkwardly pinned under Tango’s shoulders while the other one is splayed above his head, across the pillow- and his hand is curled loosely around one of Tango’s blaze rods. He looks to still be sleeping deeply, his expression smooth and peaceful, eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks.

Oh, they are way too close.

A million different thoughts and emotions rush through Tango, culminating in a feeling like an alarm going off in his skull. This is- how did this happen?! Oh, how embarrassing- when Jimmy agreed to share the bed he probably hadn’t anticipated cuddling. Tango can’t think of a time he’s ever been this close to another player, much less someone he doesn’t know very well. Soulmate or no, it’s not- he shouldn’t-

His distress must be reflected in his blaze rods’ temperature, because Jimmy’s hand suddenly twitches. He lets out a soft groan, eyelids fluttering- he’s waking up.

Panic seizes Tango. He quickly closes his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath through the nose as he wills his blaze rods to dim, so as not to give him away. He manages to keep his breathing steady, despite how madly his heart is pounding, and desperately hopes none of his current anxiety is visible in his expression.

Tango feels the moment Jimmy finally stirs. He starts to roll onto his side and then freezes- his chin must be right above Tango’s head, because he actually hears Jimmy gulp. A shiver runs through his wings before they slowly lift away from the bed. Jimmy shifts in place, carefully slipping his arm out from under Tango at a snail’s pace.

Tango, for his part, pretends to be dead to the world. He does not want to confront the awkwardness of this situation if he can help it.

After a couple painstaking minutes, Jimmy manages to free himself. The bed creaks as he moves to get up- which makes him freeze, breath catching- before he finally gets a leg up and over the side. Tango feels the moment his weight leaves the bed, and then soft footsteps wander around the ranch. The cows start mooing with renewed insistence.

“Shh,” Jimmy whispers, his voice coming from over by the cow pen. The mooing stops as the air fills with the sound of munching. With the cows satiated for the moment, Jimmy’s footsteps move over towards the wall of chests. The slow creak of a chest opening and closing echoes through the room, before Jimmy’s footsteps disappear down the ladder to the chicken farm.

Relief sweeps through Tango. Well, he pulled it off. And if they don’t have to confront what happened, then it’s like it never happened at all.

He waits until Jimmy comes back upstairs and has been rummaging around for a few minutes to finally turn over in bed, sluggishly stretching his arms out. He makes a big show of yawning as he sits up, rubbing his eyes before looking around.

“Mornin’,” he greets Jimmy with a perfectly casual smile. “Sleep alright?”

Jimmy’s face reddens. “Yup,” he says stiffly, turning back to the chest he was sorting through.

Tango hums his assent, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There’s an uncomfortable tension in the room, but that’s to be expected. Once they get going and start the day, he’s sure things will go back to normal.

A familiar sound rings out in the distance, making Tango groan. “And already, the horns- with the mocking- continues, as always,” he sighs, tossing the covers off.

Jimmy pauses for a moment, his shoulders hitching up, before he makes a noncommittal noise and goes back to his business.

Tango blinks. “So uh- whaddaya say we make that the quest for today, then?” he prompts lightly, sliding out of bed and onto his feet. “Acquire some horns?”

“Um- actually,” Jimmy says, without turning around, “I was thinking- I figured we could use some more iron, you know? So I was gonna do some caving.”

“Oh.” Tango feels his smile drop off his face- and quickly summons it again. “Uh- right, yeah, no worries. Just uh, hey- watch out for creepers,” he jokes, crossing the small distance to Jimmy’s side.

“Alri- agh!” Jimmy yelps when he turns to find Tango right beside him, feathers flying through the air as his wings flare out in surprise. He quickly tries to cover up his reaction with a laugh that sounds incredibly forced, sidestepping around Tango towards the door. “Right, right, yeah- I’ll be careful. Um, back in a little while, then.”

The door closes behind him with a jarring sense of finality, leaving Tango in abrupt silence.

Exhaling slowly, Tango pries open a chest to find himself some breakfast. This is fine. Jimmy’s probably just a little embarrassed about what happened last night, and needs some space. As long as Tango doesn’t bring it up, it’s sure to pass, and they can get back to business.

After all, he reminds himself, they’ve got a death game to win.

~*~

In Jimmy’s absence, Tango decides to make himself useful.

The ranch is in dire need of an upgrade. He starts construction on a second floor- a wonky watch tower hardly deserving of the name- and extends the wall past the cow’s pen a little more, to help with the draft. Dipping below ground for a bit, he gathers up enough cobblestone to build a perimeter around the ranch, carrying it right towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the ravine. And finally, he ventures out into the forest and searches until he finds a sheep.

(The second bed goes against the opposite wall from the first one.)

All the while, he stays on top of their wheat farm, making small but frequent harvests. He breeds enough cows to start harvesting beef and leather- which he uses to fashion himself a leather chestplate and a pair of boots to go with his iron leggings. Deciding to run with the ‘poor’ look, he stashes a secret barrel underneath their wall of chests to keep the majority of their resources in, leaving the chests quite barren for anyone who happens to come by to snoop.

And once he’s at a loss for anything more to do, he takes an axe out to the neighboring birch forest and collects some logs- without straying too far from the ranch, of course. He’s got a feeling the cows are going to be a target- most of the lifers spend the first day slaughtering any animals they come across- and with Jimmy in the mine, it’s up to Tango to protect their livelihood.

He’s about to put a sign up on their main gate when a new voice reaches his ears, a low muttering not far away.

“Although there is no-”

“Hello?” Tango calls, whirling around.

“... hello?” comes Ren’s hesitant voice.

“Hello, good sir!” Tango says brightly, scanning the surrounding fields.

There’s a big exhale. “Scared the living heck outta me…” Ren’s head finally pops up over the hillside, breaking into a wide, fanged grin. “Tango! Hey man! What’s happenin’ baby, what’s happenin’?”

“How are you?” Tango greets him, waving a hand. “Welcome to Team Rancher!”

“Oh, hi!” In just a few strides of his long digitigrade legs, Ren’s come to stand beside Tango- towering over him, as usual. His ears perk up as he takes in the ranch. “Ooh…”

“I’m just- I’m just putting up the sign right now,” Tango says, scrawling ‘Team Rancher’ on the birch sign.

Ren hums, glancing back towards the forest. “Have you explored all these caves around here?”

“No, I haven’t.” Tango snorts. “I mean, just- does it look like I have explored caves? Just look at me.” He does a little spin to show off his mostly leather armor.

Ren laughs, ducking his head. “No, no, yeah…”

“That’s actually where Jimmy is right now,” Tango says, smoothing over his chestplate. Hopefully Jimmy will have found enough iron to get properly geared up-

“Oh, oh, alright, I see.” Ren tilts his head to the side. “Uh- you didn’t go with him?”

“... no?” Tango raises an eyebrow, forcing a laugh. “What, it takes two players to mine for some iron now? What’s- what do you mean?”

Ren holds his hands up. “I’m just sayin’, caves are dangerous, man. Though, I guess you’d know that better than anyone.”

Even though his tone was light and teasing, Tango bristles. “Oh, yeah? Well- well where’s your partner, huh?” he demands, putting his hands on his hips.

Ren gives him an odd look. “Bigb is back at Box, perfectly safe, thank you,” he replies. “You alright, man?”

“I’m fine,” Tango says shortly. “Why don’t you just run back to your soulmate, then? If everything’s so wonderful.”

“Um…” Ren blinks. “Okay, I’m gonna level with you, my dude. I came here to see if I could get ahold of some cows but clearly, there’s somethin’ else going on here that’s a bit more urgent.”

Tango squints at him suspiciously. “Wh- what?”

Ren gives him a knowing look, peering over the brim of his shades. “You havin’ soulmate troubles, dude?”

Tango isn’t proud of the squeaking noise he makes. “What? No!” he insists quickly. “No, no, not at all!”

“Really?” Ren asks, dubious. “Cause it really seems like you are.”

Tango exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. “It’s- it’s nothing, alright? I’m sorry I snapped,” he says, his voice calmer. “Look, if you wanna trade for some cows, I think we can arrange something.”

Ren hesitates. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I…” A sudden thought hits Tango. “Actually, do you have any goats?”

That redirects Ren’s attention. “Uh, there’s some goats hangin’ out near Box, yeah?” he says, looking taken aback.

“Oh! Oh, good!” Tango exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Okay, uh, how about- how about two cows for two goats?”

“Yeah? You mean it?” Ren asks excitedly, his tail swishing side-to-side. “That’d be amazing, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do it.” Tango waves for Ren to follow him as he turns back towards the ranch. “Right this way, sir.”

If this doesn’t cheer Jimmy up, Tango doesn’t know what will.

~*~

Once Tango brings the goats back to the ranch and gets them settled in a new enclosure, the rest of the day is fairly uneventful.

Martyn wanders by at some point, lamenting his and Pearl’s rejection by their soulmates, Cleo and Scott. He asks where Jimmy is- probably looking to antagonize him- so Tango just shrugs and says, “Out.” That earns him a look with far too much sympathy in it for his taste, so he tells Martyn to take a hike.

Scar rides in on a beautiful dapple grey horse, inquiring about leather. He claims some kind of debt that Jimmy owes him, which Tango conveniently can’t confirm nor deny. Ultimately, Tango gives the leather to Scar just to make him leave, because he knows by now that Scar and chaos go hand-in-hand, and it’s not like they can’t spare it.

Then Pearl, inexplicably red despite having yet to lose a life, comes across the ranch to see if Tango knows where a dog is. He doesn’t, but she spots his goats and offers to tell him how to get horns in exchange for food of the cooked beef variety- of which he now has plenty. He agrees, and she informs him he needs to make the goats ram stone.

Tango files that information away for later and bids Pearl farewell. The horns still go off frequently, tempting him to try and get one of his own, but he restrains himself. It’ll be better to do it when Jimmy’s back.

It’s nearly dark when Tango finally hears footsteps coming up the mineshaft. He drops what he’s doing and rushes outside, jumping around the corner of the house.

“Heya, partner!”

Jimmy lets out a high-pitched shriek, sending up a spray of feathers. “Oh my gosh!” He clutches his heart, face flushed. “You- you scared me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tango chuckles. He bounces on his toes. “So, how was the mining? Did you get all the good stuff and things?”

“Uh, well…” A bit shyly, Jimmy pulls his inventory up. “Only… a stack and fifteen iron ore.”

“Woah!” Tango gasps. “Oh, that’s amazing! Look at you!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Jimmy says, bowing his head. Then he takes a look around, his eyes widening. “Oh wow, look at you, you’ve been busy!” He cranes his head up at the ranch. “You even added a tower!”

“It’s not pretty,” Tango admits, “but hey, it’s something.”

“And does this wall go ‘round the whole perimeter?” Jimmy asks, raising his eyebrows.

Tango nods eagerly. “Uh huh, uh huh- and that’s not even the best part.” He grabs Jimmy by the wrist, tugging him around to the front of the ranch. “C’mere, c’mere!”

Jimmy laughs as Tango pulls him along, then they come to a stop in front of the goat pen. He blinks at it in confusion before a goat happens to spring into the air, high above the wall. His mouth falls open. “Oh… my gosh.”

“Mmhmmm!” Tango hums, quite pleased by the reaction.

Jimmy gives him a shocked look. “No-”

“Oh, yes,” Tango grins.

“You got goats!” Jimmy exclaims, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“I got goats!” Tango agrees proudly. “We’ve got goat technology!”

Jimmy rushes over to the front gate of the pen, wings flapping excitedly. “Oh my gosh, look at them! There’s a whole family!”

“Pearl came by earlier and explained the process to me,” Tango says, walking up next to Jimmy. “We’ve gotta get them to charge at us and then jump out of the way, so they hit that stone wall back there. And then- and then we’ve got horns.”

Jimmy pauses, giving him a sidelong look. “You- wait, you haven’t got one yet?” he asks, knitting his brows together.

“No, no, I waited for you!” Tango assures him. He sweeps out an arm. “Would you like to do the honors, sir?”

Jimmy stares at him for a moment, an unreadable expression flashing across his face as his cheeks turn red. “Um… actually, I- I’m kind of beat, you know?” he says, his tone far more stilted than it just was. He takes a step back from Tango, glancing away. “I was thinking about just… turning in for the night.”

The abrupt change in demeanor throws Tango for a moment.

Guess they haven’t moved past the bed incident.

“Oh.” He shakes himself, forcing his tone to stay upbeat. “Oh, yeah, sure! Sure thing. You’ve been mining all day, I bet you’re exhausted…”

He follows Jimmy into the ranch- though he keeps his distance. Jimmy pauses, his gaze falling on the second bed almost immediately.

“Ah, you got another bed,” he says, his voice a bit wooden.

Tango shrugs as he carefully steps past him. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “I said I would.”

“Right. Good.” Jimmy hesitates, fidgeting with his hands for a moment, before he seems to make a decision. “Um, Tango-”

“There’s food in the barrel under the chest,” Tango says as quickly as he can while still remaining casual, pretending not to have heard Jimmy. “If you’re hungry.”

He has a sneaking suspicion that Jimmy was going to tell him about the bed thing- which, unbeknownst to him, Tango is already fully aware of. So really, there’s no point in discussing it. The longer they pretend it didn’t happen, the faster they can just move on.

“Oh.” Jimmy sounds taken aback, glancing over at the chests. “Alright, great. That’s- that’s pretty clever.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tango says, turning towards his bed. Normally, the compliment would’ve made him quite pleased, but right now he just feels empty. “Well, g’night.”

“Night,” Jimmy echoes.

~*~

Tango doesn’t sleep much that night.

Jimmy’s the first to rise in the morning- which is starting to look like a habit of his- while Tango remains stubbornly lying in bed for a while longer. He has one arm flung across his face to block out the sunlight, listening to Jimmy’s quiet footsteps as he shuffles around the ranch, taking care of the animals.

Eventually his guilt wins out over his stubbornness- it’s not fair for Jimmy to do all the work around the ranch. But just as Tango sits up, his communicator goes off, an identical beep ringing out from Jimmy’s comm.

<Grian> hey everyone, group meeting at spawn?

<Renthedog> Feels kinda sus…

<Grian> no tricks

<Grian> time out ok?

<impulseSV> Everything alright?

<Grian> yeah yeah don’t worry

<Grian> just need to talk about some things

Huh. That’s interesting.

Tango clears his throat, looking over at where Jimmy is smelting up the iron from yesterday’s haul. “You seein’ this?” he asks.

Jimmy doesn’t completely startle this time, though he still jumps a bit under Tango’s gaze. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “weird…”

“What do you think, should we- should we go?” Tango asks, shifting to sit at the edge of his bed. “Could be a trap.”

Jimmy shrugs a shoulder. “Well, he said time out, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Tango sighs, rising to his feet. “So uh, shall we get going?”

Jimmy nods, strapping a freshly made shield to his arm. “Yeah, let’s go.”

~*~

It’s an uneasy walk to spawn.

Tango is already on edge from the possibility of an attack, and Jimmy’s cold shoulder doesn’t help. His senses are on high alert as they make their way through the mountaintop forest, coming to a stop at the peak.

They aren’t the first players here- Grian and Scar, of course, are waiting expectantly, speaking to each other in low tones. Impulse and Bdubs are also present; they’re holding hands and laughing about something, Impulse’s forked tail curled loosely around Bdubs’ waist. Impulse catches Tango’s eye and lifts a hand in greeting, which Tango returns with a nod.

They settle in to wait. Tango leans against the nearest tree, folding his arms across his chest, as Jimmy stands awkwardly beside him. Being at spawn is bringing back memories of their death- something Tango might’ve looked back on with fond humor if Jimmy didn’t seem so uncomfortable.

The rest of the players trickle in over the next few minutes. Scott and Cleo don’t seem particularly enthused to be here- nor are they pleased by the way Pearl slinks after them, a dog at her side. She keeps her distance, but her gaze keeps drifting towards them, clear yearning in her eyes.

Etho and Joel splash down in the middle of the clearing, leaping from the treetops to land the silly little water bucket trick they’re so fond of. Bdubs immediately brightens at their arrival and strikes up conversation with Etho, which Impulse contributes to good-naturedly as Joel eyes them suspiciously.

Ren and Bigb are the last to arrive, their base being the furthest from spawn, with Martyn having tagged along with them at some point. He seems content to remain on Ren’s other side, though he casts a not-so-subtle glance in Cleo’s direction.

“Alright, we all here?” Grian starts, scanning the little circle they’ve formed. “Okay. I guess we’ll get started. Uh, thank you all for coming on such short notice-”

“What’s this about, Grian?” Joel asks bluntly.

Grian gives him a look. “Right, we’ll get into it straight away,” he huffs. “So, I’ve noticed over the last several days that uh, bloodthirstiness seems to be at an all-time low. Now, I know it sometimes takes a while for these things to get started, but the general consensus I’m getting is that… most of us are pretty happy where we are.”

Martyn makes an outraged noise. “Well, that’s easy for you to say!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You got paired with Scar, and I’m over here soulmate-less!”

“Who’s fault is that, Martyn?” Cleo calls pointedly.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Grian chides them. “My point is that this season doesn’t feel like the other ones. The only deaths we’ve had have been from mobs- and we didn’t even have any at all yesterday. Theft and sabotage are way down, and I have yet to see a single trap being constructed.”

Bdubs makes an incredulous noise. “Wh- hey, is this- is this just a lecture about us not killin’ each other fast enough?” he demands, crossing his arms. “Cause uh- I mean, you better be careful what you wish for! I can- I’ll go nuts, if you want,” he threatens, his expression darkening.

The effect is somewhat diluted by Impulse chuckling and putting an arm around Bdubs’ shoulders. “Oh, he will,” he says, voice full of affection, “gotta watch out for this one.”

“It’s not a lecture,” Grian insists, exasperated. “I was just thinking that maybe we should change things up.”

“Wh- so you mean like a restart?” Pearl asks, not quite able to mask the hopeful note in her voice. Tango can see why that would be particularly appealing to her, as someone who had a falling out with her soulmate. It’d be a second chance, a chance to start again and not mess up this time.

Tango can relate.

“I would welcome that, actually,” Etho says, his motivation obvious as one of the only other yellow names.

But Grian shakes his head. “No, more like a rebranding,” he explains. “I propose that we end the death game. No more trying to kill each other.”

The group is silent for a moment.

Tango isn’t even sure what he’s feeling. “So… what would we be doing here, exactly?” he asks, frowning.

“Whatever we want,” Grian says with a grin. “For starters, I’d take down the world border. We could build wherever we want, make farms, go to the End. And most importantly, all our lives would go back to being infinite. No one gets eliminated.” His expression softens. “We just… live. Like it’s any other world.”

Scar subtly nudges Grian in the ribs, and Grian sighs.

“I’ll also unlock the enchanting table recipe,” he says, rolling his eyes. “So we don’t have to go to the Ancient City anymore.”

The clearing fills with chatter as pairs murmur to each other. Tango’s mind is spinning- he’s always loved a good death game, and was quite looking forward to this. But with the current state of things between him and Jimmy, he’s not sure it’d be worth it.

Jimmy leans forward, half-raising a hand. “Would our damage still be linked?” he asks, brows pinched together with concern.

Tango manages not to flinch. Of course Jimmy would want to know that, being stuck with the guy who got blown up by a creeper on day one.

Grian nods. “Yeah, it comes with the soulbond. I can give us back infinite lives, but we’ll all still be linked with our partners.”

“I dunno,” Etho drawls, his mismatched eyes utterly unreadable. “All the deception and murdering is pretty fun… and I’ve already got a survival world back home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Grian says, holding up his hands, “if we did all agree to end the death game, no one would have to stay. We’d all be free to leave whenever we wanted, and travel back and forth between worlds. The bond only exists when you’re here.” He shrugs. “So leave if you want, I’ll ring you up when the next game comes. But don’t you think it’d be nice for us all to share a world without trying to kill each other for once?”

Cleo snorts. “Who are you,” she demands, folding her arms, “and what’ve you done with Grian?”

“Domestic life has changed you, Grian,” Scott drawls, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Grian’s wings flare out in what might be embarrassment. “Wh- oh come on, I know I’m not the only one who feels this way!” he protests, his voice a bit higher than it just was. “Scar, back me up, here.”

Scar’s eyes light up. “Yes! Yes, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity to get to know each other better,” he says, clapping his hands together. “You know, us Hermitcraft people don’t really know the rest of you that well outside of trying to kill each other.”

“That’s a good point, actually,” Ren chimes in tentatively, scratching the back of his head as he exchanges a look with Bigb.

Bdubs clears his throat. “Uh, I, for one, would love to spend more time on this world, with my beloved,” he says, glancing up at Impulse with a broad smile. “I’m buildin’ a swimmin’ pool, and we’re gonna host a lovely party at our beautiful house!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all for staying!” Impulse agrees readily, gazing back down at Bdubs with a similar fondness. “I think it’d be nice.”

Etho makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh come on, don’t ask the newlyweds,” he complains, his voice dancing across that line between teasing and actual annoyance. “Of course they’ll wanna stay.”

“You don’t, Etho?” Joel asks, sounding affronted.

“Look, we don’t have to decide right away,” Grian cuts in swiftly. He spreads his hands. “Take a couple days, talk it over with your partners, and then we’ll take a vote, alright?”

Mumbles of agreement filter through the group as they slowly start to disperse, going their separate ways. Tango catches Jimmy’s eye, only for the other to quickly turn away.

Well. This is gonna be a fun conversation.

~*~

Somewhere in Double Life, two soulmates walk in silence.

Tango can tell Jimmy’s thinking a lot about what just happened- his wings ruffle unconsciously every minute and he’s picking at his fingernails. He’s probably trying to think of a nice way to tell Tango he doesn’t want to stay and be soulmates with him, because he’s a nice guy.

Tango supposes it wouldn’t be so bad to just go back to Hermitcraft. Focus on his builds for a bit. Another season will come along soon enough, once the rest of these lovestruck fools get tired of playing house. It’s not like he’s lost anything more than a couple day’s time.

So why does the idea of leaving sit so wrong with him?

When they make it back to the ranch, Jimmy stops in front of the door. “Um, Tango-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tango says, managing a tired smile. “I suppose we should discuss-”

“Can we talk about this later?” Jimmy asks, his voice pleading. “I just- I need some time to uh, think about some things.”

Tango’s voice dies in his throat.

This is torture. Why can’t they just get it over with? Clearly, Jimmy doesn’t want to be around him anymore. Whatever day one warm fuzzies he might’ve harbored have obviously faded. They should just rip off the band-aid now, instead of prolonging the inevitable-

His communicator beeps.

<impulseSV whispered to you> Hey, can you come chat for a minute?

Tango puts his communicator away, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, no, no problem,” he tells Jimmy. “Take all the time you need. I’ll just uh, I’ll give you some space.”

He leaves without another word, and Jimmy doesn’t call after him.

~*~

#hermitcraft #double life smp #traffic smp #life series smp #team rancher #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #hels to pay au #HTP fic #my writing #hot DAMN apparently i've got a lot of feelings about these two #hopefully the next part will come sooner than usual #but finals week is around the corner so no promises

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tomorrowillbeyou · 1 year

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another frerard video slide dump since you guys liked the last one

#i found a 15 part series so ill have plenty more #hopefully ray comes up more in the next episode 😠😠😠

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hachiibun · 1 year

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❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

I'm honoured to have collaborated with the incredible @onetrickponi to celebrate a certain gravity-manipulating shorty's birthday! This has been in the works for a while now, and we're both really excited to finally share this with everyone!

Without further ado, we'd like to present Vigil.

— ♠ —

“I’ve always wanted to die in a church.”

Beside him, Chuuya snorts. “I thought you wanted to die in the Ooka.”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not since it became a tourist trap,” he replies. “That wouldn’t be a peaceful death at all.”

“The amount of thought you’ve put into this disturbs me,” says Chuuya, his own nose creasing. His, however, is due to a low seated, buzzing itch along the bridge of his sinuses that has been lingering since breakfast.

Chuuya won’t give it the satisfaction of culminating into a sneeze, however; instead choosing to quash the soft tingle into oblivion with the sheer force of his willpower alone. Anything else would be unacceptable.

(—as well as fucking candy to the idiot next to him, if Dazai ever gets wind of…whatever this is.)

Chuuya swallows against a spark of itch that ignites in his nose and grits his teeth. When he thinks he can speak steadily he points to the pews with a gloved hand. “Find the flash drive,” he orders. “We’ve got a window of thirty minutes at—the fuck are you looking at, shithead?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side, blinks, and answers with, “Just admiring your striking resemblance to a cherub in this light.” It’s smooth and practiced, like most of Dazai’s bullshittery.

“Why, you–” Chuuya cuts himself off and exhales slowly through his nose. He tries not to wince at the slight whistling sound it makes. With a sharp sniff he stalks off to the sanctuary and begins sifting through the drawers there. Dazai scurries off to the apse with an excited noise, muttering something about how angelic his corpse would look strung up along the mosaics.

Chuuya’s nose gives a foreboding quiver.

It isn’t like Dazai hasn’t ever heard him sneeze, or vice versa. They’ve been working together too long for that. They’ve seen each other express every bodily function possible to man (in addition to the ones that aren’t).

And Chuuya might have even been okay with his current predicament, had it not been for a quip Dazai made last week about Chuuya being a “weakling.” It had stung because Dazai, whose lack of self care is, frankly, appalling, can operate seemingly unbothered by even the most serious neglects of basic needs. Chuuya’s seen him run at peak wit on days of sleeping ninety minutes a night, seen his hair and skin glow on a diet of crab cakes and sake…while on the other hand Chuuya’s the one with the—

Don’t say it. As if ignoring the problem will make it go away. It hasn’t worked with Dazai, so Chuuya is a fool to think it will work with his increasingly sensitive airways.

Chuuya rifles through some bibles, sparing a glance or two at Dazai before deeming it okay to swallow a couple of sneezes and throat clears into his sleeve. He’s perfected the silent stifle over time, which is a feat in and of itself since Chuuya tends to sneeze harshly, loudly, and in multiples. Perhaps the intensity is Corruption at work, but regardless, Chuuya enjoys scaring the living daylights out of people. Usually.

The flash drive is proving to be elusive. The Port needs it, badly, if they have any chance of winning over the west side gangs of the Pier. Chuuya jams a gloved knuckle against the side of his nose as he hitches, squints, and glares at the church pews like they personally offend him.

“Oi, Chuuya,” Dazai whisper-calls from somewhere behind a cupboard. “I think someone’s coming. You find it?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps. The dust of old, flaky books is making his already irritated nose twitch. He shakes his head and the tickle abates. Cocking his head he realizes that Dazai is right; the sound of slow footfalls is getting closer to the vestibule. “Shit.”

Dazai scurries lightly over to where Chuuya is glowering at nothing in particular, and takes him by the arm. “There’s a little den area over there,” he nods to a veiled corner, “where we can stay hidden until whoever it is leaves,” he says.

“Or we can just come back in the morning,” replies Chuuya, snatching his arm away.

“Mori-sama will be disappoinnnteddd,” Dazai sing-songs. Dammit. He knows how to hit Chuuya where it hurts and they both know it.

Chuuya sighs. “Fine.” He stalks over to the den and crouches in the darkness with Dazai just as the cathedral doors swing open. The gibbous moon twinkles through the stained glass windows enough for the two of them to make out one of the western gang’s right hands.

Dazai crouches low and squints through the shadows. “Maybe he’ll show us where the drive is,” he whispers.

“Shut up, slug.”

Dazai holds up his bandaged hands in a familiar, placating gesture. They watch the guy glide down the stone nave, rummage around some boxes along the altar’s steps, sift through a stack of papers, and make himself comfortable on a nearby cushion.

Well, there goes Chuuya’s hopes of a night in. And now with Dazai sitting so close, he’s bound to find out Chuuya isn’t in as good of shape as he claims. Chuuya’s not going to waste all of his energy hiding it, but he’s also not ready to be discovered because he couldn’t keep his damn nose under control.

He’d never hear the end of it from Dazai.

So when he feels a trickle of damp at the edges of his nostrils he takes a slow breath in and times a much-needed sniffle with their visitor’s dropping of a folder. Dazai shoots him a curious, but unsurprised glance, which Chuuya pointedly ignores.

The sneeze teasing the swollen membranes of his sinuses, however, is much harder to ignore. Chuuya knows he can stifle it, but he also knows that doing so won’t exactly solve the problem. The irritation needs somewhere to go, or it’ll just build fruitlessly until he lets them out proper.

He breathes carefully, making sure to hitch silently as he bunches up a handful of fabric from his jacket. Chuuya ducks his head in preparation for the sneeze (or sneezes, if this is indeed a…cold).

Dazai raises an eyebrow as he watches Chuuya curl into himself and shiver with two inaudible stifles. When Chuuya uncurls Dazai can see the bleary, hazy look of someone who still has desperately to sneeze but is trying very hard not to.

“Can you stop, Chibi?” whispers Dazai. Chuuya shoots him a look that is equal parts furious and embarrassed. It’s adorable. But…

“Frankly, I’d rather not get caught because you couldn’t tame your little nose there,” Dazai continues. “Are you suuure you’re good?”

Chuuya gives a curt nod. Which should be reassuring, but Dazai’s smile falters because this is actually very bad. He recognizes the lack of quip, even while hiding like this, means that Chuuya does not trust himself enough to speak. He’s seen it before.

Dazai flicks an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and sighs. “Maybe we really will die in a church, if you keep this up.”

Chuuya’s returning grin is feral. “Y-you wish.” No way in hell will he allow Dazai the satisfaction. The carpets blanketing the enclosed den mean that they can whisper without much of an echo. It’s a small relief, since Chuuya can feel the congestion crawling and pattering away in a far back place of his nose, dormant but threatening.

He focuses on how intently Dazai is eyeing him, knowing well what Dazai isn’t saying. Engaging would be easy, but it would be messy and they’re supposed to be currying favor with the west side gangs, not killing them (or in Dazai’s case, very emphatically bonking them on the head).

Chuuya’s right eye waters with the sharpness of the tickle, as the itchiness swells and becomes decidedly less dormant. He bites his lip. If this keeps up his nose is going to turn into fucking Krakatoa.

Dazai watches Chuuya massage his flaring nostrils through the fabric of his gloves and grins with as many teeth as he can muster. Chuuya’s losing battle with his nose is even more hilarious than the fact that he’s currently sitting on a pile of Communion pamphlets.

It won’t be long now, what with the way Chuuya has gone stiff and rigid. Dazai counts backwards from five in his head. He gets to two before Chuuya’s lip trembles as the itch erupts and overwhelms him.

“Gnt!” Chuuya’s able to pinch that one into submission, though it makes his head throb and the pulsating trickle along his nose intensify with unsatisfied need. “Gnt! Nt! H’Gnt!”

He starts to lower his hand, before—“Gnt!” Jesus fuck, can’t he be done?

The answer is no, apparently, because Chuuya feels his eyes begin to flutter shut and his chest start to jump with silent, building hitches.

Before he can sneeze again, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder. It successfully distracts him from the budding sneeze as Chuuya whips his head around to stare at Dazai’s familiar, shit-eating grin.

Dazai uses the finger he’d tapped Chuuya with to beckon. “C’mere.”

Chuuya sniffs carefully and squints. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Dazai grabs him (gently, Chuuya notices, which okay, is a little odd) and smashes his face into his long overcoat (a little less gently).

“Mnflgl?” Chuuya questions.

“Sneeze, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. Chuuya tries to shake his head because one, Dazai’s forgetting how harsh his sneezes are—sure to give them away, and two, Chuuya might hate the guy but he’s not going to sneeze on him.

Dazai seems to read his mind. “The fabric will muffle the sound,” he replies. “And you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.” Chuuya can hear his smirk. Asshole.

But he also wants very badly to sneeze. No; at this point he’s desperate to sneeze. His nose feels like one of his gravity bombs, pulsing, thrumming, and the itch is all consuming. It would feel so good to just let a few out. He really shouldn’t.

“I know you need to,” whispers Dazai.

So, against all logic, Chuuya does.

“Hep-MPPH! MPPHT! H’MPPH!” Somehow, the fabric dampens the sound better than Chuuya thought it would. So he decides he can sneeze a little more.

“Hh…hh…MPPHT! PHT! MPPHT! Hp!…H-Hep-MPPHH!”

He’s beginning to feel dizzy. It’s worth it, though, as the stuffy, spider-crawling prickle along his nose subsides for the time being. God, he’s never had to sneeze so badly in his life. Makes sense it’s now, when he needs to be quiet.

And Dazai—the utter prick—is patting his head, like Chuuya’s some sort of mutt. “You’re a mess, you know that?” he’s saying, fondly, as Chuuya shakes with sneeze after sneeze. It’s a wonder the gang’s right hand hasn’t discovered them yet.

Slowly, Chuuya comes up for air. He thanks some leviathan god that it’s dark, so he doesn’t have to look at what he’s done to Dazai’s coat. He’s not even going to look at Dazai, because this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to him in…well, not as long as Chuuya’d like to admit. This is Dazai, after all.

“Bless you,” Dazai says quietly. Chuuya’s head snaps to him because Dazai sounds wrong. Odd. Genuine. Ah, that’s why it took so long to place. Dazai rarely does sincere, and the few times he expresses genuine emotions tend to signify nothing good at all.

“Thank you,” Chuuya mutters between a clenched jaw because he may have made a mess of himself but he still has manners, goddammit. He blinks the remaining wetness from his eyes as he peers at Dazai for a suspended moment.

“Oh, and if you’re curious, the guy left five minutes ago.”

And the moment is over.

Chuuya jumps up. “You utter assho-ho–” He’s cut off by the familiar needling sensation at the back of his nose. Oh no you don’t. Jamming a fist under his septum hard enough to bruise, he points a finger at Dazai.

“I despise you,” he hisses. “All thihh…th…hih…”

Dazai holds a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

Chuuya shakes his head with a tickly sniff in hopes that his nose will make up its mind and move from where it’s currently settled—in the burning, stinging place between sneeze and not sneeze that’s driving him even more up the wall than Dazai is.

Dazai cocks his head at just the right angle that a piece of hair falls into his eyes. “That sneeze looks troublesome,” he observes. “Is it stuck? Like Chuuya’s growth spurt?”

Chuuya growls and kicks a nearby chair leg for good measure, now that they don’t have to concern themselves with being quiet. The sound is hollow and echoes across the large cathedral chamber.

There’s a wrinkled, damp spot on one side of Dazai’s overcoat that Chuuya pointedly avoids looking at. The crazy bastard had let him do that, all for, what? Funsies? To torture him? Chuuya will unpack that for later. It never bodes well to try to make sense of Dazai’s brain. Besides, the much-needed sneeze is still eluding him. If he could just–just…

“Hih…Hept! Hh…Fuck! Shit!”

Dazai sighs. “Okay, I can’t watch this,” he says, striding over to Chuuya. “Stay still, Chibi.”

Chuuya glares at him, irritation evident in his eyes and in his raw, wide-blown nostrils. “If you’re doi’g anythi’g other thad helpi’g, Dazai, I will obliterate you,” he says darkly, throat crackling and sore.

Dazai grins wide. “Relax,” he says. He wiggles a finger. “I know Chuuya’s sneeze spot.”

“What the fuck even is a—” Dazai presses a finger to the bridge of Chuuya’s nose, in the center, and gives it a circular rub back and forth. Chuuya stumbles back and manages a wavering, shaky curse in French before he snaps forward with a fusillade of unrestrained sneezes.

“Hih-ASHHHu! Hep’ASHHU! AHSSHU! AHSSH! AHSSHH! AHSSHU! Merde!…Heh-heh…hih’ASHHU!”

Chuuya sneezes and sneezes, for once uncaring about decorum. It’s a miracle his hat doesn’t fly off. He’s so overcome with finally scratching the itch in his nose that he almost doesn’t feel the tap at his shoulder. Dazai’s extending a packet of tissues that look like they were newly purchased.

“Goodness! I don’t know whether to bless Chuuya or call an exorcist,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters around a tissue. With that annoyance out of the way, it’s seeping in just how awful he feels. He sighs, heavy, and rubs at a temple. “Nom de dieu…”

“I really don’t know how someone so little can sneeze with such ferocity,” continues Dazai, ignoring Chuuya. It’s easy to say the man was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making Chuuya’s life miserable. “Hih…ASHHU!” Chuuya’s head gives a throb and things slide out of focus for a minute. He coughs, rough, and pushes some sweaty hair away from his face. How unsightly.

“Oh, and Chuuya?” Dazai makes a burlesque of leaning in and peering at him. “The next time you’re sick, call in, okay?” And then he reaches one lanky arm over and pats Chuuya’s head.

“I never said I was sick,” Chuuya snaps, jerking out of reach. Dazai makes to poke his nose again, but Chuuya evades him with a hoarse snarl. “Stop.”

In response, Dazai gives him a condescending look that Chuuya knows well. It’s the one where he purses his lips and crinkles up his large, dark eyes. The one he knows infuriates Chuuya the most. “Please,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew before we even got here. Just wanted to see how long you could keep it up.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to utter some expletive, he doesn’t know which one yet, but the sneezy feeling decides to return—bristling like a thousand tiny whiskers along the rims of his inner nose. Stifling it to refute Dazai’s point will only make his head pound harder, so Chuuya wrenches to the side with a sneeze. Which, naturally, makes him cough.

“Hmmm, you really don’t sound good, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai makes a face. “Ew, no thanks. But since you’re already paying for my dry cleaning, why don’t I treat you to a nice bowl of leek soup and tea?”

Dazai is so confusing at times Chuuya could strangle him. Or at least blame him for the acute emotional whiplash.

“Hh’ASSHu! AHSSH! J'en peux plus…” Chuuya twitches his nose to the side and straightens his hat. “Whatever—let’s just find that drive and get the hell out of here so I can go to bed,” he grumbles. It’s not exactly a refusal (because tea does in fact sound nice), but Chuuya is more than done with this place.

“You mean this?” Dazai wiggles a little USB between two bandaged fingers. Chuuya sputters. “Yup. Found it ages ago and switched it with a fake.”

“AAH?!”

— Fin —

#snz #snz kink #hachiisnzart #ch/uuy/a n/akahar/a #b/ungo st/ray d/ogs #o/sam/u d/az/ai #hachiibunart #ppls fics #onetrickponi #my GOODNESS poni your writing #give all the thanks to poni for the wonderful fic and patience waiting for me to finish #seeing all the ppl into b/s/d nowadays is so lovely #i'm still v much into the series and especially this angry shorty #hopefully it shows in my part >;)

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