#our snail means death

[finngualart]

skull snail is finally up on Redbubble :) also available as a flag(!)

[loopnoid]

(visibly vibrating) i think i hauve covid.

[ramsaybaggins]

I made Sned and Snede! I love them so much 🥰 Pattern is the Giant Snail by Crafty Intentions on Etsy!

https://www.etsy.com/shop/CraftyIntentions

I'm so happy with how these guys turned out!

[a-sassy-bench]

remember when we went through a snail phase? i think we should bring that back so here's my contribution

[serious-goose]

waiting for ofmd s2 updates type mood

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

hi, mascot here, poll for the OFMD fandom

Uh, so first, my condolences to you all, I understand the fandom is in mourning. And also infested with snails, and someone died, and Izzy is involved. Some of you must wish to be left alone, and some want me to cheer you up. So... here's a poll, do I summarise Our Flag Meets Death, or do I wait till you guys are, uh, more stable?

Maggots, help me get this to as many OFMD folks as possible, because I am scared to do it myself.

[homomobile9000]

Husband and I binge watched OFMD, here are some of his thoughts

[rosamayarts]

i have only known our flag means death for less than a week but stede bonnet writing that romantic as hell message in the bottle for ed and being like 'yes he has committed atrocities but like who cares lol he's just a little guy' is everything i was hoping for, this feels like a fanfiction

[mymultifandomhell]

bug race (part 8) x

[gaypiratethoughts]

I'm having a tattoo next week with a snail and some lavender, and the lavender is a slight nod to yummy lavender soap.

[warmhappycat]

Hey crew, look what I found!

[gender-euphowrya]

pushing through my steam library again and holy fuck death's gambit is fucking Good

[serious-goose]

and with that, an army of pirate clowns disembark from their clown car. 😔

didn't even mention us? not even for stupid rainbow capitalism reasons?? shame. 🤡

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #31

Belphegor: Snail but with no shell

Beelzebub: Oh those is then uuuuuuuuuuu slurms

Satan: A what

•

Diavolo: Maybe dogs lick us so much because they know there’s bones beneath our skin

Lucifer: This is worst thing you’ve said by far, thanks

•

Beelzebub: Aye can I get Uh…..ingredients on my burger

Satan: Beetroot?

Satan: You want beetroot?

Satan: You want fucking beetroot?

Beelzebub: Ingredience

Mammon: This post feels exactly like a conversation you would witness in a dream and think was completely normal and then wake up and think “what the fuck” for a single millisecond and then immediately forget about completely

•

Diavolo: I’ve lost 20% of my couch

Diavolo: Ouch

Solomon: That’s the funniest couch joke I’ve seen sofa

•

Mammon: *begins breakdancing gently* what’s wrong son?

Asmodeus: What the fuck. What does this even mean. Who thinks of this shit, why is it so funny. I hate this site

•

Mammon: You know what really gets my goat?

Barbatos: El chupacabra

•

Leviathan: The future: holograms can physically touch you and there are 12 cases of homicide committed by Hatsune Miku

Solomon: Just 12?

Diavolo: It’ll be 13 if you don’t stop asking questions

•

Satan: Do you ever get so excited you just want to crush a human skull in your hands

Mephistopheles: You just described breathing

Satan: I am fairly certain I Did Not

•

Mammon: I love it when the city gets rainy at night, and the floor gets all reflective and pretty, and everything becomes more vibrant and gorgeous and you can put any fluid on the ground and people will think it’s water, fools

Lucifer: This post was great until the last part, what are you implying

Mammon: Fool

•

Diavolo: Science puns, go!

Belphegor: You must have a pH of 13 cause you basic as fuck

•

Satan: Shut up @ people who still say “science side of tumblr”

Belphegor: Science side of tumblr why is this man so salty

Solomon: Osmosis

•

Satan: 100 years ago everyone owned a horse and only the rich had cars. Today everyone has cars and only the rich own horses

MC: The stables have turned

Mephistopheles: I laughed too hard at this and I hate you for it

•

Leviathan: Guys, I’m sorry but I think December 31st is going to be my last day on Tumblr for this year

Leviathan: …If one more person asks me why I’m leaving

Diavolo: Kids, this is why school is important

•

Simeon: In primary writing school we had a creative writing assignment where we had to ‘write about a character in a new strange environment’ and I wrote about a squid that was somehow transported from the ocean to the forest floor and slowly choked to death for two pages and I’ll never quite forget the look on my teacher’s face because it turns out she wanted ‘this new school is scary, I hope I make friends’ and not a graphic description of a squid dying

Lucifer: Well that’s just the risk you take if you decide to teach creative writing

•

Raphael: Why do stores always say “gifts for her”??? Who is she? Why are millions of Americans being encouraged to buy gifts for this entity? Someone explain

Mammon: We must appease Her

MC: She is all that keeps the darkness at bay. Without Her the Old Ones will rise again, we must not disappoint Her

Solomon: She is watching. She knows.

Last • Next

[dixons-sunshine]

Punishment Enough | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: After Beth's death, Daryl took it out on himself. He hunted for the group, but refused to feed himself. One day, you've had enough, and you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Genre: Angst, fluff.

Era: Post Terminus; Pre Alexandria.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, blood.

Word count: 3k.

A/n: Alright, here's yet another vamp!Daryl fic to add to the growing number. This was originally supposed to be a 1k word thing, but it got way longer than I had anticipated lol. (ALSO, yes, I know some things in this isn't factual to most vampire things we see online, but I took some creative liberty and wrote it in a way that I liked.) Anyways, I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“This is getting out of hand,” your leader and friend, Rick Grimes, whispered to you as he watched Daryl disappear into the woods for the millionth time since your journey on the road began a mere two weeks ago. “He needs to feed. He's going to die otherwise.”

You sighed as you watched one of your closest friends disappear beyond the treeline. You continued your snail's pace of a trek next to Rick, the heat from the blazing summer sun beating down on you relentlessly. Your stomach grumbled with hunger and you were thirsty beyond belief, but you knew that it couldn't compare to the discomfort the archer was experiencing. You had eaten, even if just a little, a few hours ago, while he hadn't fed since Beth had died, which was at that point already two weeks prior.

You knew that if he kept that up, he would die within the next few dies, maybe even the next few hours. He was punishing himself, and soon, he would pay the price for it.

“Rick? I don't mean to interrupt whatever intelligent discussion you were having with miss Y/n over here, but Rosita and I have managed to locate a river on the map not too far from here. If you send two people down to replenish our water supply, we should be ready to move on with our trek in about thirty minutes.”

Rick stared Eugene down for a few moments. You were sure that he was going to turn down the offer, but to your surprise and great relief, Rick finally conceded.

“We need to rest anyway, so okay. An hour. That's all I'm willing to offer up,” Rick told Eugene. Your leader whistled to capture everyone's attention, and raised his voice to be heard clearly. “We stop for now. Eugene says that there's a river not too far from here. Tara, Glenn, you two go refill our water supply. The rest of you, get as much rest as you can. We move again in an hour.”

Everyone nodded and dispersed, leaving you alone with your benevolent leader. You eyed the spot you had last seen Daryl, all the sounds and sights around you being evaporated from your mind. However, you were startled when Rick snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, recapturing your attention again.

“How about you go after him and see if you can talk to him?” Rick suggested, lightly patting you on the shoulder in encouragement. “If there's anyone he might listen to, it's you.”

“No, he won't listen to me,” you denied, a sullen expression on your face. “If he won't even listen to Carol, what chance do I have of getting through to him?”

Rick pursed his lips, trying to keep the words that wanted to spill from his lips to himself. He couldn't betray his found brother's trust like that. He wouldn't. That was something Daryl had to tell you on his own time, even if it took years to do so. All Rick could do in that moment was gently urge you to go talk to the man.

“Believe me, I have a feeling that you might be able to break through to him. Just go try, please? I don't want him to die just because he blames himself for something that isn't his fault.”

You inhaled sharply, but ultimately agreed. “Okay,” you mumbled, handing your bag over to Rick, but keeping your compound bow and knife handy just in case you needed it. “If I'm not back by the time you guys need to move on—”

“We go on without you,” Rick finished for you, slinging your bag over his shoulder. “I know. Just go check on him. See if you can get him to drink from something.”

You sent your leader a small nod, and turned on your heel to disappear into the woods. You walked in the general direction of where you saw the archer disappear, soon finding yourself surrounded by trees and dirt. You kept your eyes on the ground, lazer focused on the faint tracks of the man you were trying to find.

A chittering sound from above you redirected your attention from the ground to the area of where you heard it. Up in a tree, on a branch low enough to reach if you jumped, you spotted a total of three squirrels, all sitting in a straight line as they went on doing whatever squirrels fancied as entertainment. They were blissfully unaware of your lurking presence, so it made it easy to line up the shot perfectly.

By some stroke of luck, the arrow found it's mark in all three squirrels. Proud and a little giddy at the prospect of food, you walked towards the tree and jumped to get your prey from the branch. Marveling at the kill you made, you almost missed the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. Almost.

On instinct, you dropped the arrow holding the three squirrels and loaded your bow with another arrow, turning around and releasing it in the direction of the sound. The arrow flew towards the walker, but the walker caught it with ease. Calming down and allowing your eyes to adjust, you could see that it was not a walker. Instead, it was the very man you were tracking down.

Daryl Dixon.

“If ya wanna kill me, yer gon' have to do a lot better than an arrow,” Daryl mused, walking towards you to hand the deadly object back to you. “Wha' the hell are ya doin' here?”

“Looking for you,” you stated matter-of-factly, putting your arrow away. You looked up into Daryl's eyes, but instead of finding the usual blue irises that you have grown to love, you found red coloured ones in their place. A clear sign that he was starving. “We're worried about you. Rick thought I might be able to talk some sense into you.”

“Dun' need someone to talk no sense into me,” Daryl grumbled, turning around to stalk away again. “M'fine. Dun' need no damn babysitter. Leave me alone.”

Picking up the dead squirrels from the ground, you took off in a jog behind Daryl to keep up with his speed. Even though he was only walking, his enhanced speed made his pace faster than the average human's, hence why if he wanted to, he could lose you with ease.

“Daryl! Daryl, wait!” you pleaded with him, finally catching up enough to grab his arm. “Daryl—”

“I said, leave me alone, damnit!” Daryl roared, spinning around to look at you. A furious glare painted his features, but instead of being met with fear, he was met with a stubborn glare instead. Well, he could give you points for that, but he wouldn't give in to whatever you wanted from him. “Wha' dun' ya understand? I dun' need yer concern or yer company. M'fine on my own. I've been alone for decades. Dun' need to change tha' now.”

“Daryl, you need to feed,” you explained as calmly as you could, trying to keep your anger in check. It wouldn't do anyone any good if you were to snap at him right at that moment.

“M'fine,” Daryl replied stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“Really? Because if you were fine, your eyes wouldn't be red right now,” you countered, motioning to his eyes. “Do you wanna die, Daryl? Because if you don't feed, that's exactly what's gonna happen.”

“Dun' need ya to lecture me, woman!” Daryl exclaimed loudly, waving his hand around in anger. “I know my own damn body better than ya do! I've been like this for a long time. I know when I need to feed and when I dun'!”

“Then why the fuck can't you see that you need to feed right now?!” you snapped, pushing Daryl's chest for emphasis. The man barely moved, his inhuman strength countering your attempts to sway him.“I may not be a vampire, and I may not know exactly how being one works, but I do know that you're either going to die, or lose control and hurt one of us. Is that what you want? Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't have to use all of your willpower to refrain from lunging at me and draining all of the blood from my body. Tell me that drinking my blood doesn't sound good to you right now.”

Daryl's silence only confirmed your suspicions. You scoffed and shook your head, taking one of the squirrels off the arrow and extending it towards the stubborn archer.

“Feed. Don't even think about saying no because I swear I'll fucking kill you.”

He knew there was no use of yelling at you anymore. What was the use of getting mad at you for caring about him? If anything, knowing that you did made him feel all funny inside. However, Daryl still shook his head in denial, refusing to take the dead animal from you. “Nah. Y'all need the meat to survive. If I drink the blood, my venom will taint the meat and then y'all can't eat it.”

“Taint the meat?” you questioned in confusion, furrowing your eyebrows. “I've seen you drink from a human before and they didn't turn. How's this any different?”

“Humans are different,” Daryl explained. “M'not gon' explain it to ya because I dun' even fully understand myself, but all I know is we dun' have control over our venom when it comes to animals. We do with humans. Tha's the most basic explanation I have fer ya.”

You nodded in understanding. You scanned your surroundings for a moment before your eyes fell on an empty can, and you had a lightbulb moment. You walked over to pick up the aforementioned object, before crouching down. You picked up one of the squirrels and, very carefully so that you didn't accidentally nick your finger, cut it in multiple places to drain it of its blood, into the can.

You could hear Daryl inhale sharply when the smell of blood flooded his nostrils. His already bloodred eyes darkened, and you could tell that his self-restraint was dwindling by the second. You had to make quick work of your activities, and fast, otherwise Daryl would lunge for the blood. And you didn't know whether or not the blood he went for would be the squirrel's, or yours.

Once the can was practically overflowing with blood, you hastily got up and pushed the object into his hands, some blood trickling over the edge and onto his hands.

“Drink,” you ordered him, leaving no room for argument.

Grumbling to himself, he brought the can up to his lips to slowly take a sip. However, as soon as that first drop of blood fell on his tongue, he drank the rest of it in hurried, messy gulps. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth, and you had to resist the urge to bring your hands up to wipe the blood away.

In five seconds flat, the entire can was empty. Some colour returned to the archer's cheeks, and his eyes slightly changed from a deep crimson to a dull red. However, even though Daryl handed the can back to you as a way to say he was done, you knew it wasn't nearly enough. He needed way more than that, even if he wouldn't admit it. And, come hell or high water, you would make sure he drank more.

“Thanks,” Daryl mumbled, wiping at the blood and making an even bigger mess on his face. “Ya satisfied now?”

“Not even remotely,” you mused, picking up the three dead squirrels, one of which now had its blood drained, and offered one of them to him. “Here, take it. We need to head back and there isn't time to drain another one for you. Don't worry about one lousy squirrel. We'll survive.”

“But—”

“No buts, Daryl,” you cut him off, forcing the dead critter into his hands. You picked up your knife and sheathed it, before adjusting your bow on your back. You sent Daryl a look and walked off, calling to him over your shoulder. “C'mon. We gotta go.”

Cleverly sensing that there was no room for argument, Daryl followed behind you with a frustrated huff, shaking his head to himself at your stubbornness. However, your stubbornness was one of the many traits that made him feel drawn to you, one of the many things that made you perfect in his eyes. Well, it was perfect when the stubbornness wasn't directed towards him.

Unable to resist the urge any longer due to the taste he got from it earlier, Daryl brought the squirrel up to his mouth. He sunk his fangs into the dead animal and began to drink mouthfuls of the delicious crimson, his deep hunger not going away but being satiated for the time being.

“You need to stop this, Dar,” you began, shaking your head to yourself. “You need to stop punishing yourself. Beth's death isn't your fault. You need to know that. And you need to stop punishing yourself for it. Beth wouldn't want you to starve yourself. You know she wouldn't, so stop doing it, please. Blaming yourself for a death that wasn't even remotely your fault is punishment enough.”

Daryl drained the squirrel of the last of its blood, before withdrawing his mouth from the creature. He stared at you in wonder, walking beside you silently as he pondered over your words. He didn't believe that Beth's death wasn't his fault. He probably never would, but what he did believe was that Beth wouldn't want him to die. The girl voiced in so many different ways that she wanted him to live. And even though he felt terrible about her death, he decided that he would honour her. He would live because she couldn't. He would honour her by doing what she wanted him to do—he would live.

And, once he built up enough courage for it, he would honour her by following her advice and admitting his feelings to you.

The two of you walked from the treeline and back towards where the rest of the group rested. When the two of you made yourselves known, everyone looked up and shared similar looks of relief at the sight of the blood on Daryl's face and the drained squirrel in his hands.

Everyone except Gabriel, who looked at Daryl in disgust and fear, but was wise enough not to say anything. The last time he had voiced his obvious disdain towards the archer because of what he was, he was met with a punch from you and quite the amount of hateful words and glares from the rest of the group. It was clear that nobody would stand for anything but acceptance towards what Daryl was, and he appreciated that.

“Glad to see you're looking better, brother,” Rick voiced to Daryl, getting up to give his found brother a quick hug.

“Thanks,” Daryl thanked him, patting him lightly on the back before withdrawing from the hug. “She wouldn't let me not drink anythin', so ya really should be glad 'bout her. And she found y'all some dinner.”

“Sweet!” Carl voiced excitedly, eliciting a bunch of laughs from most of the adults there. “My dad found us a few rabbits, too.”

Rick took the squirrels from you with a grateful nod. “Seems like we're gonna be here for another hour or so. Let's cook these up, get ourselves regenerated.”

As everyone fell into their own separate conversations and Rick and Carl took it upon themselves to start a small fire, you walked over to a tree before sliding down against it, looking up at Daryl who had followed you there.

“M'surprised ya didn't offer yer blood to me,” Daryl told you, sliding down next to you.

“Why the hell would I do that?” you asked him in genuine confusion, staring into his eyes that were busy turning back to their usual beautiful blues.

“The ladies back at the prison always offered their blood to me when I couldn't feed on animals. Figured ya'd do the same.”

“Yeah, no. I like you and all, but that's not something you're gonna get from me anytime soon, no matter how hot you are,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Ya think m'hot?” Daryl asked in surprise, eyeing you with a small smile.

“I—shut up. Don't let it go to your head,” you mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest.

Daryl chuckled. “I won't,” he promised, looking over at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Thanks again. Fer the squirrel and the lecture. I know I said I didn't need it, but I did. So, thanks.”

You smiled and brought one of your hands up to rest on Daryl's knee, rubbing your thumb against it softly. “Of course. I'd do anything for you, Daryl.”

Daryl ducked his head in shyness. However, he couldn't help the way he felt about you. In less than an hour, you had managed to track him down, give him a much needed lecture, and made him feed on something. You truly were amazing to him, but he didn't know if you'd ever feel the same about him. The two of you were so vastly different, in personalities and species, so he wouldn't be surprised if his feelings were one-sided.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, however, you did feel the same. And that first night in Alexandria, you showed him exactly how you felt about him.

[deityoftherain]

redhot anger - Snowbugs Wild Life Session Three Fanfic

there are wild life session three spoilers because it takes place then

Rating: Gen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 2,028

Summary: It's Wild Life Session Three, and Tango is (rightfully) frustrated, stressed, annoyed, and angry- everything was going wrong and he could only contain himself, his emotions, his /fire/, for so long before everything boiled over... luckily, Scott is there to help (takes place around the time Tango is GRAJFHDSJKHFSDJ-ing as his base burns)

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

Tango saw red.

He did! Promise!

And Tango didn’t mean that he saw red in the metaphorical way, like people often claim to when they are very angry, though, well– he supposed that interpretation wasn’t necessarily wrong either, but still! He was furious and stressed, and he was having to pierce his tongue with his fanged teeth to bite back the long string of swears threatening to escape his lips. 

Ugh, why did Grian insist that they attempt to stay PG while playing a death game?

He knew the answer, but that didn’t mean he cared for it, but Tango tried his best to not argue and abide by them anyway. It was a small price to pay to be included.

Tango was a blazeborn, and because of his heritage, his vision literally became tinted with red the more extreme his emotions became. Doc theorized that it was something related to how red his eyes were, but seeing how very few blazeborns even attempted to live a full life away from the nether and their birth Pyre, there was little information on them in the overworld, and the goat-creeper hybrid hadn’t gotten around to attempting in-depth research on blazeborn anatomy or culture before getting to know Tango.

Anger simmered violently in his stomach, threatening to boil over as he tried (and failed) to manage his stress and frustration. Everything seemed to be going wrong for him, and it was all piling up, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate it all! His hair grew in both size and temperature as he stalked away from his murder snail and complained about the actions of others. Even while actively moving and talking, it was difficult to think clearly, difficult to focus!

The extra energy and adrenaline that pumped through his veins were the result of territorial instincts every blaze had ingrained in their code, aiding them as they protected whatever they thought of as theirs. If Tango lived his life like most other blazeborns have the last who-knows-how-long, then perhaps he could have cultivated his fury to be a mighty asset to his Pyre, likely tasked to guard a nether fortress from invaders, but that life wasn’t for him. Tango knew that for a fact, and even if he wasn’t as sure, he doubted his old Pyre would welcome him back with open arms after functionally deserting them. 

Even if they would accept his return, Tango didn’t plan to crawl back to his old Pyre and prove them right, that he would regret leaving his home. There were times where he grew uncomfortably needy, desperate for a Pyre’s connection, but he’s learned to soothe himself by seeking out his friends. They were his Pyre now, even if he hadn’t expressed such a concept to them yet. They didn’t need to know the exact reason why he was suddenly clinging to anyone who would let him after emerging from working on redstone the past two weeks.

If the involuntary response had any uses for the life he led now, he didn’t know them. All Tango could see were downsides, his genetic coding maladapted to the world he was currently living in. Whenever his emotions got the best of him, he attempted to control himself, he really did, but it wasn’t like the fragility of the overworld could handle any margin of error like the nether could. Tango struggled often to tame the fire and bloodlust within him when every fiber of his being itched– screamed– to destroy, destroy, destroy!

Such an instinct may have been a strength to his ancestors, but it wasn’t to Tango, and he learned to despise this part of himself over the years. The willpower he had to gather in order to hold himself back– to prevent himself from becoming as hot as a dying star– was astronomical, and maintaining it was sickening. 

When Tango’s vision went red, he would make senseless choices and take irrational risks, but there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t like he had a say in the coding of his genetics! It wasn’t his fault that he was hardwired for a much warmer climate, one where he could let off steam when it got this bad without causing irreparable damage! It wasn’t–

Do it, a voice in the back of his mind tempted. Burn bright and fierce. Show them how dangerous you really are. Make them fear you, Tango! Don’t let them view you as weak.

Tango shook his head as if to physically dismiss the thought, trying to bring himself back into the moment. If his friends were speaking to him, he wasn’t registering a thing they said. He knew that he needed to calm down, but the quickest way was to burn off steam, but it was too risky, it was too much! Too much, too much, too much–

He could accidentally hurt someone, which may have been fine if he was permitted to kill, but he wasn’t a red name yet, and he couldn’t break the rules like that without consequences, and he didn’t want the others to hate him or kick him out of the game... Tango didn’t want to lose his friends, his Pyre! He had worked too hard to get to where he was just to let it all slip through his fingers like grains of sand!

Smoke and fumes billowed off of him, unable to prevent their existence any longer. The rational part of his mind ordered him to jump into the water, to extinguish himself before this whole section of the map looked more like a meteor landing site than a base, but his body refused to obey. His body seemed to move without him consciously aware of what he was doing, and he could hear himself talking, but he couldn’t make out what he or his friends were saying. Focus, Tek! Focus!

Tango had to stay calm– try to stay calm– the normal way, even as his body was trembling with the effort. Even as he jumped around the base he hadn’t even managed to finish before someone (cough, Scar) took a flint and steel to it, attempting to outrun Tangastrapod, his snailificatior of death! Even as various snarls, growls, and irritated cries spilled out of him…

Everything was just building, building, building, and he braced for his will and spirit to finally Snap! under the pressure, and, and– it never came. 

Instead, something pleasantly cold took Tango’s hand in their hold. The contrasting sensation seemed to snap Tango out of whatever funk he had entered, the red that flooded his senses clearing up as his consciousness was fully returned to his body. Tango blinked rapidly, encouraging his eyes to focus on the owner of the cold.

“It’s okay, Tango, just breathe,” Scott instructed serenely, tone even and touch soothing. “Big breath in, deep breath out, just like that. Good job, firefly, you’re doing great. Just like that, keep going, keep focusing on breathing and the sound of my voice.”

Tango did his best to match Scott’s exaggerated breathing, though he couldn't bring himself to maintain eye contact. As the blinding irritation eased, shame and self-consciousness took its place. Tango’s gaze fell to his right palm, the hand Scott was cradling gingerly.

Using his ice abilities, Scott traced designs made of ice on his up and down Tango’s arm. Because of Tango’s abnormally high body temperature, the ice designs didn’t last long, melting and then promptly turning into steam, but Scott didn’t complain. Instead, Scott simply acted as if the evaporated ice just gave him more of a canvas, replacing the designs as soon as the previous ones dissipated.

As Tango surrendered to the tranquil and pacifying nature of his boyfriend’s chilly touch, his emotions settled and his body temperature lowered enough for the flame on his head to shrink. Tango’s code prevented his fire from charring anyone or anything under a certain degree, which is part of what made his raging emotions so hazardous to those around him. 

The ice designs Scott created began to last longer, Scott’s magic able to hold itself together against Tango’s typical range of heat. This meant that Scott’s canvas wasn’t renewing itself as fast, but that didn’t deter him. Instead, Scott expanded his canvas, trailing the artistry from Tango’s arm over his shoulder to spread the ice to his chest and then down his other arm. 

Tango may have described it like a warm hug, but, well, it was quite the opposite, and it was fantabular, just so everyone was aware of that fact. He cracked a weak smile at the silliness of his mind, but it dropped after only a heartbeat of time as embarrassment took over as his primary emotion.

He slumped forward into his boyfriend, resting his forehead against Scott’s shoulder and sighing heavily. Scott wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer to his chest. His boyfriend was so pleasantly cold that Tango wanted nothing more than to curl up in a comfortable bed and allow Scott to small spoon him, but that wasn’t an option right now… It wouldn’t be until the games were over. They were a part of different factions, and the session was still running, meaning they couldn’t stay still much longer or those stupid jerks would catch up, even though they seemed to have moved a decent bit away from their snails.

“Thank you,” Tango murmured, breaking the quiet peace sooner than he wanted, but he had already taken enough of Scott’s time. He knew it was important to Scott to play these games fair and by the rules, and the rules instructed against outside-the-game-earned favoritism, and Tango hadn’t done anything to earn Scott’s favor since Wild Life started. With how things have been going for him and his team, Tango was sure he’s done the opposite and he doubted that would change anytime soon.

“Of course, lovebug. It’s the least I could do.” Scott continued to rub gentle circles on Tango’s back as he pressed a chaste kiss against his forehead. Void, Tango loved him. “Feeling any better?”

Tango raised his head so he could look up at his boyfriend, forever grateful that Scott loved him back. Instead of a verbal answer, Tango reached up to cup Scott’s face with both his hands, gently guiding him down a few inches so Tango could kiss him. Scott allowed Tango to take the lead with the kiss, though he pulled away before it became too deep.

“I would love to stay here and kiss you breathless,” Scott started, sneaking in the flirt with a teasing gleam in his beautiful blue eyes, “but I don’t think our snails will leave us alone for much longer. I don’t know about you, but I would love not to go down a life when I could have prevented it.”

Tango’s tail straightened in alarm, spinning on his heel to look at where Scott had glanced. As expected, Tangastropod and whatever Scott’s snail was named were crawling dangerously close to them. 

Scott interlocked Tango’s fingers with his before breaking into a mild run, pulling Tango behind him. “Come on! If they get too close, they will leap forward!”

Tango squeaked in surprise as he stumbled after his boyfriend, struggling to gain his footing at first, but he refused to let go of Scott’s hold, not yet. An amused laugh escaped Tango’s lips as he and his boyfriend ran away from their snails of death together, the humor not lost on him now that he was feeling better, and Scott joined in on his laughter, which was always music to Tango’s ears. 

Scott hadn’t magically taken away his all-consuming emotions, of course… and Tango was sure he would become victim to them again, that much was to be assumed, but, well… Scott had been there for Tango when he had needed him, when he had needed an anchor to ground him to reality and help him regain control of himself, and that was more than enough for him. Tango knew it would all be okay, as long as he had his friends, his loved ones, his Pyre by his side.