just started dabbling in Ranchers the other night, i've had something nebulous brewing in the back of my mind regarding them for a while. and i was kind of puzzled as to why i've been sorta dancing around them for so long because on paper i find their dynamic very compelling.
so i wrote some stuff down to try and figure out what the mental blocker was, and then it hit me.
i didn't really struggle with the idea for this, but I struggled with the execution. ranchers is the only one explicitly tagged as a ship so far on ao3, but Honestly it can be read /r or /p, it's up to you. hope you enjoy<3
(when this goes out I will be one hour into my first exam btw. I hope it's going well! I'm so scared..)
ao3 post here! I do yap in the start and end notes of the ao3 posts btw, but I don't include that here. nothing too much rn but there may be some important stuff in the future :)
@liferadayjune
Everything tasted like rage.
Did that make sense?
Tango didn't care, it was accurate.
It was hot and ashy on his tongue.
It tasted like regret.
The fire was everywhere.
It was on their house, it destroyed their walls, it scorched the grass...
Tango was gonna kill somebody...
It was his first thought.
His only thought.
Thick black smoke filled the air, billowing out in strange swirling patterns on the lapis blue sky.
It was actually quite pretty.
Tango wanted to die.
Not literally of course.
That might be the one thing that could make this horrible situation even worse.
He wanted the ground to swallow him.
That was better.
And it had the added benefit of his soulmate not having to witness this scene.
He could tell he was starting to lose control.
His skin burnt at ungodly temperatures and his blazerods whirled at a hundred miles an hour and he was fighting the urge to just burst into flames right there on the lawn.
Because the solution to fire was most definitely not more fire.
He was thinking clearly enough to know that.
Barely.
Everything felt red hot.
Everything felt red.
Which wasn't possible.It shouldn't be.
Tango was only yellow.
He knew that.
But the feeling that crept into his skull right now was suspiciously adjacent to bloodlust, and he was actually very lucky that Scar wasn't in his line of sight at that moment, because he could honestly not promise he wouldn't have lunged at him.
He thought he might be screaming.
He wasn't sure.
Everything felt fuzzy and removed, like he wasn't inhabiting his own body, but rather watching the proceedings through his eyes.
A screen.
No feeling.
No emotions, except fury and rage and burn, burn, burn.
No, he was definitely screaming.
He still didn't know if there were words involved, or if it was just pure feral shrieks, but he must be screaming, because Etho had approached him, reaching out one gloved hand in what must've been an attempt at a comforting gesture.
Needless to say,
it didnt work very well.
It actually made him panic more, because he was burning, and everything was burning, and Etho couldn't touch him because he'd get burnt.
(His frazzled brain was refusing to acknowledge the gloves apparently)
He stumbled backwards in a daze.
thiswasnotgoodthiswasnotgoodthiswasnotgood-
He hadn't lost control like this since.. last life.
It must have been.
He didnt even think that had been this bad.Because back then, it was just himself he had to worry about.
Now there was also-
shifting his gaze towards his soulmate had been a mistake.
That might actually even be an understatement.
Jimmy's bright blue eyes were filled with hastily wiped tears, and his wings curled in on him, almost involuntary, as they tried to hide him from the world.
He was trying to look unaffected and in control.
He looked like a kicked puppy.
Tango thought he might cry, if the tears wouldn't evaporate on the spot.
It was an utterly pathetic sight.
It only fueled Tango's anger, like coals on a hot fire.
Bad comparison.
Not fire.
He shouldn't be thinking about fire, because if he thought too hard it made him want to to explode, and he could lose the very loose grip he did have on his emotions.
He needed to calm down.
What did calm even mean?
He'd forgotten.
Calm wasn't real.
It was a myth.
all he knew were flames.
He was hyperventilating now, we was sure, and he probably looked a sight.
He could imagine it if he tried.
He'd seen it in the mirror enough times.
His hair would be burst with flames, and his ruby pupils would be blown, and his tail would be skittering, smoky and leaving a trail of soot around him.
Terrifying sight.
Horrible.
He was surprised his friends were even still here.
He would've thought they'd have run for the hills by now.
Etho might as well have.
He'd backed away from Tango, muffled apologies falling on dead ears.
Tango had probably shrieked at him.
But it was easier to believe he was shifting slowly backwards because he wanted to.
He should want to.
Who would want him like this?
His brain was ignoring context clues in favour of filling with whatever best fit his twisted thoughts.
The flames kept flickering on the burning building?
Failure. It was his fault. Any blazeborn worth his salt could put a flame like that out in seconds.
Tango could do it, when They weren't blocking his powers.
His friends around him started to slowly disperse, the grass around him become lonely and desolate?
Also his fault. They were leaving because they hated him, because they feared him, because he was disgusting and obscene.
The fire had been put out, and they were going home, to continue on with their days.
He sunk to the ground, tears turning into instant mist on his face, still hissing for all he was worth?
weak. weak, weak, failure, pathetic, weak-
When he looked up he saw gold.
Shining.
Whispered, coaxing words that he heard but forgot to take in, radiant smile, saffron wings.
His soulmate.
Tango pressed himself further back against the wall.
His hair lit it again.
He was past caring.
"Hey rancher, watcha doing?"
Tango stared at him. Jimmy was..he was acting so normal, even when Tango could still see the faint tear tracks across his cheeks, his ruffled wings, his blistered hands.. it was...
It was disorientating.
But it felt safe.
So he tried to answer.
"I- I... Jim-" His voice was cracked and broken from smoke inhalation, and he was cut off by an unsightly fit of coughing and spluttering.
Jimmy didn't seem to care.
"Hey it's okay, It's okay. You don't have to speak. Just.. you good?"
No was the first answer that sprung to mind.
Was he good?
He'd spent the last hour screeching, his home had just been burnt to a crisp, he'd completely lost control of himself, even if it was just for a second.
Was he good?
Well.
He hadn't been.
He was still panicked and shaken.
But here, with the fire mostly out, with his soulmate looking at him as if he were perfect, instead of a monster, well.
