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wren-kitchens · 4 months

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it was not your fault but mine

in which joel tries to kill scott and ends up having a panic attack. (3641 words)

content warnings: panic attacks, lots of mentions of death

i’m being so normal about traffic scott and joel rn guys

joel’s breath is coming too fast and too shallow for him to be able to convince himself that he’s fine, even as it tears at his throat. tears blur and warp his vision, welling up in his eyes faster than joel’s ability to wipe them away with his sleeve. his ribs threaten to crack against his heart, hammering against the inside of his chest like it’s trying to escape. joel can’t blame it.

it’s been hours- okay, it’s been four stupid hours, and he still can’t calm himself down from today’s events. everyone else has been able to sleep, to rest, to patch themselves up and recuperate with their team- or what’s left of it. everyone else is fine, they’re all fine, and they’re going to be fine until they die in whatever unjust, careless death they can’t escape anymore.

for the past four hours (four fucking hours- it’s so stupid-) joel has been failing to get a firm grip on the last remaining threads of his sanity. he thought he was fine- he thought he was safe from that bloodlust, that agony, that grief. but as always, the looming threat of his inevitable breakdown hangs over his head like an anvil-

(mumbo tried to turn on them, mumbo tried to send them to their graves with anvils, mumbo failed and then he died-)

not an anvil. just- anything but an anvil. dripstone- hangs over his head like dripstone-

(joel can see the spot where lizzie dropped dripstone on his head, lizzie dropped it on him because he was the last resort, lizzie was here and joel asked her to hurt scott, and she tried and was killed-)

scratch that metaphor entirely.

just- void, he’s so tired of waiting for that snap, of fearing what will inevitably make something inside of him break and lose himself in the grief-fuelled bloodlust. maybe dying first wouldn’t be so bad; you don’t have to watch as everyone else leaves you.

even through his yellow sanity, joel’s mind seems to be on its way out, and he finds himself wanting to give in. just give in- kill some people, lose a battle and die in a crushingly painful way. it’s easier, isn’t it, than trying to hold onto the threads that slice at his hands once he has a secure hold. besides, if he dies, he can be with them again.

before he even registers the action, joel finds himself gripping his axe with a kind of determination he hasn’t felt in a little while. sure, he’s yellow, but he can’t imagine the big winged fuckers getting too pissy if he went and killed someone. he’s just starting the party early, after all.

joel seems to be zoning in and out, as moments later, he finds himself treading the well-known path to scott’s, knowing that- well. if he’s going to kill anyone, it may as well be scott, right?

smug, crude, stupid scott; who stood by and watched as lizzie was flung into the void, who laughed as joel failed his tasks, who has either won or almost won three out of four of these stupid games. he deserves to be knocked down a peg or four, really. it’s only fair.

out of the corner of his eye, however, joel spots scott’s nametag behind the secret keeper’s statue. oh, of fucking course. scott ‘30-full-hearts’ smajor just couldn’t resist a chance to show off by walking around in the dead of night, huh? piece of shit- like he doesn’t even care that he just let lizzie die.

well, if scott wants to play with fire, he ought to know he’s going to get burned.

he’s making a fucking grotto.

scott smajor, winner of one of these stupid games, top three in all games but one, is out in the middle of the night after a wither and warden fight, building a goddamn magic grotto underneath the secret keeper statue. of fucking course he is- fucking show off.

joel watches with utter distain as he prances about with his stupid azalea bushes and his stupid moss and- where the hell did he even get moss in the first place?! honestly, does he not realise this is a death game? they don’t have time to be making places pretty.

finally- finally, scott backs up against one of the stone walls, surveying his stupid pond like it actually means anything. joel creeps along the shadows, the (surprisingly still alive) grass muffling his careful steps towards scott- towards where joel is going to put an axe through his stupid throat and kill him.

“is this really worth the time?” joel says, because he has to- he can’t let scott have all the stupid quips and one-liners, because he would just go insane.

joel might already be insane.

scott looks up, eyes widening in fear as they land on joel’s figure. his whole body lurches away, but joel is too quick—in an instant, joel is in front of scott, pinning him against the wall with the blade of his axe pressed against scott’s throat. joel grins; all manic eyes and sharp teeth and the sweet smell of blood on his breath.

“looks like someone wanted to push his luck, huh scott?” joel says—and even he can admit he sounds a little hysterical now—but scott is trembling, eyes darting all over to find a way out, and that’s all joel cares about right now. “got a little big for our boots on our midnight stroll?”

“joel-“ scott gasps, and even his voice is shaking. “please-“

and- okay, it’s not exactly what joel was expecting. don’t get him wrong- he loves the fear and the trembling and the pleading, but- it’s weird. scott doesn’t fear joel, and he especially doesn’t plead with him, and- now that he’s actually looking at scott, the guy seems kind of- well, pathetic seems too cruel a word. disheveled. weakened. whatever.

“what’s wrong with you?” joel spits, looking him up and down with a distinct sinking feeling in his chest.

the tips of scott’s fingers—currently grasping at the axe’s handle—are a poisonous black, tendrils spidering up his veins. he looks exhausted, as if he’s been up all night, but- scott isn’t that dumb to have not slept. as irritating as it is, scott is a survivor, a strategist. he wouldn’t be in this state if there wasn’t something wrong.

“wither.” scott manages, and joel can’t pretend to himself that he didn’t know- “what’s wrong with you.”

joel’s rage seizes him like a fist again, and he shoves the axe further into scott’s throat. “nothing’s wrong with me you piece of- who the fuck do you think you even are? coming here, middle of the night, flaunting your thirty goddamn hearts-“

“half a heart.” scott breathes, and joel’s mind goes searingly blank.

“what?” joel’s voice is infuriatingly quiet.

scott’s hands have stopped clawing at the hilt of the axe. when did that happen? “i’m- i’m on half a heart.”

“you’re- no you’re not.” joel half mutters because- he can’t be. scott was going to die a long and painful death by his hand, but if he’s going to fall the second blood is drawn- what’s the point? “no, you’re- you’re not.”

“why do you even care?” scott says. “you’re going to kill me anyway.”

“i don’t.” joel says, far less certain than he ought to be. “I don’t care, i’m- i’m happy.”

“tell your face that.” scott mutters.

joel slams his fist against the wall, inches from scott’s face, practically breathing smoke. “you can shut the fuck up, or i’ll kill you where you stand.”

“oh, so you came here and put an axe to my throat because you wanted to protect me?” scott sneers, and- this is all wrong- how has scott gotten the upper hand? joel is threatening to kill him, and scott has the goddamn upper hand.

and it’s so easy- it’s so easy. push the axe in, slide it across scott’s skin and slit his throat. he’d be dead in an instant—it’d barely take a second—it’s so easy. the axe is firm in his grip, there’s no danger of someone interrupting, scott is far too weak to push him off and get away- it’s all so fucking easy.

there’s something distantly satisfying about the way scott flinches as joel gives a scream of frustration, flinging the stupid axe across the goddamn secret grotto. it sticks in the muddy banks of the river at an odd angle, sinking ever so slightly as the earth gives way.

he can’t do it.

he can’t fucking do it.

joel’s breath is coming too shallow again, tearing at the inside of his lungs as he gasps against this invisible force that seems to be sucking the wind from every breath he takes. tears burn in his eyes and it’s only after joel notices how damp the knees of his trousers have become that he realises he’s dropped to the ground, hyperventilating.

is this what a panic attack is? joel is pretty sure this is a panic attack. he is having a panic attack. how does he stop having a panic attack?

he tries desperately to slow his breathing, to straighten up and pretend it never happened, but his thoughts clamour inside his mind far too loudly for him to even begin to calm down. lizzie dead, jimmy dead, mumbo dead- joel nearly killed scott. what if he had done it- what if he killed someone else? there’s too much death, joel can’t be the cause of another death. joel nearly killed scott. lizzie is dead because of scott-

no- lizzie is dead because of joel. he let her- he didn’t tell her he failed- she tried to kill scott and then she died and now she’s gone and joel killed her just like he was about to kill scott and he still can’t fucking breathe-

there’s a hand on his shoulder (he can’t breathe-), squeezing gently through the fabric of joel’s hoodie (lizzie is dead-). scott is saying something- scott is telling him to look at him, and joel thinks his hands are going numb.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t-” joel’s voice is nothing but a broken whisper. he can barely hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears, the taste of iron in his mouth. “I can’t-“

“it’s okay.” scott is saying and he’s wrong because it’s not okay- it’ll never be okay. “you’re okay. you’re gonna be okay.”

“they’re all-“ joel chokes on his words. he can’t even say it. fucking pathetic.

scott takes a trembling breath, which- void, it’s so strange to see him having any emotion at all. “yeah.” he glances down, and the uncertainty of it all is what brings joel back to the present.

joel’s hands are shaking uncontrollably, regardless of how much he tries to stop. scott holds his own out in an unspoken offer, and joel grabs them embarrassingly quickly. their eyes meet, and joel doesn’t look away.

“but they’ll be back.” scott says, quiet. “they’re not lost—they’re still here.”

“but they’re not here.” joel almost winces at how raw he sounds, but he can’t bring himself to. now is not the time for embarrassment, however deeply he is going to regret that later.

scott’s eyes seem somehow more sunken, the bags underneath more pronounced—the scars of nightmares. joel knows those scars well. “I know.”

and- despite it all, it just seems so strange for scott to share that sign of grief with joel. scott, who hides his feelings so well from the outside world, not even jimmy knows all of him; whom joel has contemplated on numerous occasions if he is a robot or not because of this fact; who won’t let himself die to anyone but his allies’ hands since double life.

so joel decides to do what he does probably the worst, and tries to lighten the mood.

“you- maybe he is here. jimmy, I mean.” he blurts. “he- y’know when you wake up after you die and he’s laughing at you for whatever dumb death you just had?”

something flickers in scott’s eyes—almost like candlelight. “usually he’s just annoyed I lasted so long.” he says, a note of amusement lacing his tone. joel jumps on it.

“I reckon he’s here- with lizzie maybe.” joel says, scrutinising every detail of scott’s expression for any signs of reassurance. when did he start caring about scott? “they’re both making fun of us for being so sappy about them- and they’re gonna go tell mumbo so he can join in.”

scott glances down at his hands—still holding joel’s. when he looks back up, there’s something warm in his eyes. “you don’t comfort a lot of people, do you?”

“I- what’s that supposed to mean?” joel says, but it’s too softly spoken to come across as a threat.

“nothing.” scott says, and he sounds like he means it, which is- fucking weird. “you’re doing a good job.”

“yeah, too right I am.” joel says haughtily. he can feel his hands again; his mind isn’t so loud anymore. “thanks.” he says, quieter.

“you’re- you’re welcome.” scott says, apparently taken aback by joel’s humility.

there’s a long pause, and a silence stretches out between the two. it’s not strictly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s extremely strange—silence in these games is a luxury that too often means trap to be trusted.

“this is- this is fucking weird, right?” joel says, barely managing a grin.

scott rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at his lips. “you always have to ruin the moment, don’t you?” he pauses. “but- yes, this is very strange.”

“I don’t like it.” joel says, and.. maybe that was a tiny lie. okay- a big lie, but. just- oh, whatever. shut up. “feels unnatural.”

“I can go back to killing you if that makes you feel better.” scott grins.

joel scoffs. “how about I kill you and we call it even.”

scott huffs a quiet laugh, and the two drift back into a comfortable silence. only- there’s something in scott’s eyes that makes joel think he hasn’t said everything he wants to say. how does he know this, you may ask? well, joel isn’t exactly the most.. open with his feelings; he’s seen that look in his own eyes too many times not to recognise it.

“what?” he asks, and scott practically startles.

“I- what do you mean?” scott says, that look still plastered all over his face. joel isn’t feeling anything at all about the fact scott has started to let his guard down around him. shut up.

“you have that look.” joel gestures vaguely. “like you want to say something but it sounds stupid in your head and you can’t decide if it’s worth it.”

scott blinks at him. “you- how did you-“

“I know everything, scott.” joel says, some of that swagger back in his voice as he half-grins. “but what is it?”

“it’s- I mean you hit the nail on the head.” scott chuckles. “it sounds stupid and I can’t decide if it’s worth saying.”

“well, in my expansive worldly knowledge,” joel says pompously, grinning as scott scoffs at him. there’s something very strange going on in his chest as he notes the fond undertone of it. is he having a heart attack or is he just happy? hard to tell. “it’s almost always worth it. and if it’s not- well, I just had a panic attack because I almost killed you, so.”

“okay, well- you’re not allowed to laugh.” scott preempts, as if joel even has any right to laugh after scott helped him through his breakdown. “but, um. can I hug you?”

joel’s brain seems to have gone entirely blank, and so it’s a surprise to even himself when he says, “yeah- yes. you can.”

scott seems to be genuinely scared of doing anything that might upset joel, which- okay, that’s a whole other thing to have a crisis over later, but it also is kind of funny. oddly enough, it makes it easier for joel to shuffle so he can lean against scott’s shoulder, grinning as scott practically freezes.

“y’know, you asked.” joel nudges him.

scott scoffs a little. “yeah- I know, I just- I assumed you weren’t very.. huggy.”

“why does everyone always say that?” joel huffs. “etho said it, grian and jimmy said it-“ joel is interrupted (very rudely) by scott snorting, and hurriedly covering his mouth. “what?”

“nothing, nothing, just-“ scott grins. “eefo.”

“wh- oi!” joel exclaims, digging an elbow into scott’s side. “i’ve heard enough about that from him, I don’t need you joining in.”

“you’re gonna end up killing me if you do that again.” scott says, exasperated. joel does notice him relaxing though.

“oh no, what a shame.” joel says sarcastically, cackling as scott elbows him back.

there’s a pause, and joel is beginning to notice that there are a lot of pauses with scott. he kind of appreciates it. before joel has time to unpack that, he takes the opportunity to shift into a more comfortable position, which apparently startles scott, if the momentary tense is anything to go by. joel doesn’t get a chance to apologise before scott relaxes and puts his arms around him.

“this whole.. murder thing,” scott starts. “it hasn’t been red bloodlust since- well, ever, has it?”

and- joel wasn’t expecting to be asked that by scott- probably ever in his life, in all honesty. but. he can’t lie and say he doesn’t have an answer.

“I don’t think so.” he admits, quiet. “how long ago did you figure that out?”

“limited life.” scott says, and- yeah. that makes a lot of sense. “I was surprised that you hadn’t gone- well. batshit. and then jimmy died, and you were losing time like there was no tomorrow.”

“yeah.” joel leans a little closer to scott, almost unconsciously. “jimmy is- he’s- well. you know what he’s like.”

“I do.” scott says, a little distantly.

“I don’t- it’s never really.. on purpose.” joel says. “I mean- suddenly someone’s gone, or i’m on my own, and then it’s kind of like- why does it just have to be me? and then that turns into, maybe I should just go. get it over with, y’know?”

“pick fights you know you’ll lose.” scott realises, and joel hums in agreement. “get someone to do it for you so you can pretend it’s accidental.”

“ding ding.” joel says, emotionless. maybe he should feel a little more.. anything about that. he doesn’t.

“fuck.” scott breathes. he squeezes joel a little, almost as if he wasn’t thinking about it- as if it was natural. “I didn’t- I never realised.”

“well, I only just realised.” joel says. “I never really.. clocked it, I guess.”

“and so now.. was that part of it?” scott asks, almost cautiously. oh. gently.

“might’ve been.” joel shrugs. “though, I might just not like you.” he manages a grin and scott rolls his eyes. “who’s to say it’s not both?”

“can I.. tell you something?” scott says, almost hesitantly.

joel gives a soft laugh. “somehow, I feel like you probably can. just a feeling.”

“you have a knack for making things so unserious.” scott tells him, but there’s a smile in his voice. “well, I was gonna say that.. winning is probably the worst thing you can do in this game.”

joel frowns, looking up to peer at scott’s face. to his surprise, he’s entirely serious. “what do you mean?”

“just- it’s all fine until it’s just you, and everyone you know is dead, and you killed half of them, and then- and then it’s all gone.” scott says, suddenly quiet. “you never.. you don’t recover from that. when you’re the only person alive in a sea of blood and bodies that used to be your friends.”

joel gives a long exhale. “fuck.”

“sorry, that’s probably- a bit much.” scott says suddenly, apparently realising the depth of what he just said.

“it’s- well, it’s a lot.” joel says. “but what I- I mean, are you okay?”

scott is silent for a moment. “can you ever be okay in these games?”

“true.” joel says, more to himself than to scott. there’s a long stretch of silence, and joel finds himself wondering whether he should have more silences in his life. he’d tried to avoid them, especially when he was on his own; if he kept making noise, he couldn’t be entirely alone, right? now though, he thinks he’s starting to like them. “i’m sorry i’m always such a dick to you.”

“you- that’s- I don’t mind.” scott says, sounding slightly taken aback. he does sound pleased though, and joel decides to take that as a win. “I mean, I keep killing you. it’s fair enough.”

joel snorts. “yeah, well. still.” he closes his eyes. “I am sorry.”

another stretch of silence fills the little cavern, but this time, it isn’t broken. as the quiet settles on them both like a flurry of snow, it dawns on joel just how tired he is. after all, he’s had a hell of a couple days with very little rest in between them, and- yeah, he definitely needs a nap at some point.

as joel’s eyes begin to close and he nudges closer to scott, ‘at some point’ is starting to look a whole lot more like ‘right this second’. he’s about to sit up again, but scott wraps an arm around him and leans against him as well, and he gets the impression that he’s allowed to sleep here.

it is kind of bizarre that, just earlier today, joel was trying to murder scott—only half because of his task—and now here they are. void, death games are so weird.

joel kind of loves it.

#the ending is weak don’t judge me this has been a wip for like two months now I wanted to finally post it HKFJDK #trafficblr #scott smajor #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #secret life smp #wren writes #watch this get like 5 notes GKFHD

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bakaqb · 5 months

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wanted to explore the enemies part of "enemies to lovers'. Also wished we had more 1 on 1 interaction between them while on the ship so i cooked this ;;;;

#wolfwren #sabine wren #shin hati #sabine x shin #shinbine #ahsoka series #ahsoka tv #star wars #star wars fanart #fan comic #bakaqb-art #im going to go sleep forever now bye;;#this has been my main focus for all week and idk what else im going to do with my life after this #sw

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vintagewildlife · 14 days

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House wren feeding a cowbird By: Arthur A. Allen From: The Book of Bird Life 1961

#house wren #wren #passeriform #bird #cowbird #1961 #1960s #Arthur A. Allen #The Book of Bird Life (1961)

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scribbling-dragon · 5 months

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45 and flower husbands (or maybe emberfrost/snowbugs :eyes:) for the ask game!

breath from death

summary:

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus. When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him.

(ao3 link)

(2,473 words)

hdjsk this was meant to be more angsty than it actually was,, i just made tango into a bit of a loser tbh. but! hope you enjoy the snowbugs (i can't lie the only reason i wrote them is bc i loved the name hdsjhsjk). did i see scott gift tango a heart and go a little silly? yes. yes i did

also! if you liked this and want to send in another request the list of prompts is here! i've got a lotta free time at the moment, so i'll definitely be writing stuff a lot more than i have been recently

“Ooh, Skizz really wasn’t lying, hm?”

Tango glances up at the voice, not even bothering to lean away from the bush he’s made himself a comfy spot against. Or as comfy as he can be when every part of him is in burning pain and agony. But the slight slouch he’s found himself in puts the least amount of pressure on his various injuries and maladies, and so is the most comfortable he can be right now.

“Scott,” he croaks out, wincing a little at how terrible his voice really sounds. He’d been spitting smoke earlier, angry with how much energy it was taking to simply haul himself to his feet. It’s left him with the inside of his mouth covered in ash, and his throat feeling like it’s been rubbed raw. “Good to see you could make it.”

Skizz is somewhere nearby, but not close enough to interrupt if Scott decided he wanted to put him out of his misery right here and now. He’s somewhat caught between being thankful for such a thing, and angry that he couldn’t go on any further.

He’d just be another footnote at the end of a book, another mention; a small aside, make sure to mention the one that almost dies in the most silent and insignificant ways.

He is well aware of his previous contributions to these games. He goes out with barely a sound, and the world carries on without him, continues to spin round and round, maybe a few choosing to mourn him. Be sad over the misfortune of his death, how easily such a thing could have been prevented.

He doesn’t even realise he’s breathing smoke again until Scott coughs, waving a hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away. Tango snaps his jaw shut almost immediately, muttering a quiet “sorry” when Scott continues to cough.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Rough day?”

“You could say that,” he stretches his back out, wincing as it tugs at the edges of unhealed injuries. A stray branch from within the cherry blossom bush scraping a hot line of agony across his spine. He curls inwards on himself with a hiss of pain, tears beading in his eyes at the sudden sting of all his injuries making their protests known.

The small relief from earlier, afforded to him by other servermates, swayed by Skizz’s plea for a small gift of love, a small act of mercy. A better act of mercy would be to put him out of his misery entirely, he thinks humourlessly.

“Hey, c’mon, you're just making this worse for yourself,” a hand lays over the back of his own hand, slowly encircling it before pulling it away. The movements are done with such delicacy, such gentleness, it’s as though he’s made of an extremely fragile glass. Like he’d break if the hands moved him too fast, that he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

Maybe he would. He feels about ready to fall apart right now, anyway.

“See,” the person – Scott, it’s still Scott, he’s still here, Tango realises belatedly – breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s much better. Now, where has your teammate gotten off to?”

“He, agh,” he coughs again, a small curl of smoke rolling off his tongue as he hacks, one or both his lungs threatening to make an appearance as he doubles over again, stomach cramping with the force of his coughs. “He went to get some resources, something to better survive the next few hours.”

“He didn’t stay with you?”

“The idiot would have,” he scoffs, laughing slightly. He then has to cough again, appreciating Scott’s gentle stroking over the top of his shoulders. He’s nowhere near as warm as Tango himself is, the fire stoked within his core happily blazing away, despite the disrepair of the rest of his body. “I made him leave. I’m dead either way. My death will be nothing to gasp and cry over, better he’s not around when it does happen.”

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him. His hand is still lying over the top of Tango’s shoulders gently, though no longer stroking to soothe him through a coughing fit.

When Scott had turned up, looking down at him with those gleaming red eyes. Eyes that herald violence, promise it, Tango had willingly accepted his death. Would probably have stretched his arms out and taunted Scott for coming after someone when their guard is so far down that it’s ripped to shreds if even twitching his arms didn’t hurt so badly.

And then he’d just…stood there, crouched in front of him and comforted him as he coughed.

It’s his own fault that his lungs are in such a sorry state, anger over everything about these damn games making his flame burn too hot too quickly. He usually has better control over it, breathes fire for a party trick sometimes, not to clog his lungs with ash. Still, Scott had provided the comfort happily, despite them being on rival teams now, people that should be looking to kill each other. Not make sure that he can breathe and is comfortable and that his ally hasn’t abandoned him.

“Every death is worth shedding at least a tear over,” Scott tells him. His hands have migrated from his shoulders to cradling the back of his neck, now kneeling in front of him instead of crouching. Tango almost wants to tell him that he’ll stain his jeans with grass and mud; they may already be wrecked beyond repair, ripped in ways that aren’t purposeful and stained with old blood, but the thought still crosses his mind. “You’ve built good alliances here, love, there will be several tears shed over your death.”

“And a few oh, poor Tango, what a terrible way to go!’s following behind it,” he snorts without humour, only sparing a moment to be relieved when it doesn’t catapult him into another coughing fit. “The same way it goes every time,” he finishes, slightly bitter. It brings a sour taste to his mouth to think about his previous failures. His previous embarrassments.

He’s jolted from his self-pity party when Scott’s fingers twitch over the nape of his neck, making his efforts to ignore how Scott’s hands are currently resting against the back of his neck null and void. His efforts to ignore how the hands reach far enough round that Scott could easily strangle him. Could simply wrap tight and squeeze the last drops of life from him. Scott would definitely benefit from it, numerous superficial injuries littering his body that he’d probably be relieved to get rid of.

But Scott doesn’t grip to his neck tighter, doesn’t shove him to the ground and crush his windpipe. His hands remain a heavy, almost comforting, weight at the back of his neck. Their faces are close like this, he realises belatedly, the intimacy of such a thing settling over him suddenly and heavily. Like a weighted blanket’s just been chucked on his head. He feels a little unbalanced by such a realisation, even as close to death’s door as he currently is.

It makes an odd feeling wash over him, only increasing as Scott moves his hands, fingers tickling the short furs at the back of his neck. Can feel the way Scott’s thumb brushes over his pulse point – stupid, doesn’t he know that the thumb has a pulse? That you can’t measure someone else’s heartbeat with your thumb, as your own racing heart will interfere?

Scott’s pinky fingers ghost over his jaw as his hands retreat, and tango almost makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat when he thinks Scott’s pulling away from him.

He’s glad he didn’t (really, really glad) when Scott’s hands still again, settling over his jaw, cradling his face gently between his palms.

He really is quite close now, close enough that Tango can take in the smudged state of his make-up, like Scott’s been rubbing his eyes and smearing it around the corners of his eyes. Or that he’s not reapplied it recently and he’s simply been wearing the same make-up for the past few days.

He’d given up on the stupid pink eyeliner and little hearts he’d draw on his own and the others’ faces ages ago, tired of reapplying it every morning, wasting precious time that could be spent doing other things. More important things.

Scott’s make-up still looks good, though, smudged the way it is.

“I’ve always noticed when you died,” Scott tells him. This close, he can see the pink flecks in Scott’s eyes. They almost match the shirt he chose to wear for this go-around, wanting to fit better with the whole vibe they had going on at the Heart Foundation prior to its burning. “Kinda hard not to, when you're checking your comm every few minutes and hoping it’s not one of your allies that’s just died.”

“Oh,” he says, maybe a little dumbly. So sue him! He’s not sure what to say to a man very close to his face, still looking pretty despite his smudged make-up, when he gets told that he always notices him.

Yeah, some snide part of his brain comments, always notices when you make a fool of yourself and die in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh,” Scott repeats, snickering a little. It makes his shoulders shake, meaning Tango’s face is wobbling a little because Scott’s still holding his face, cradling him carefully like he’s some delicate thing to be treasured.

Man, he’s glad Skizz hasn’t made a reappearance yet. He’s not sure how he’d explain his current everything to him with a straight face. Skizz would probably laugh at him until he cries.

“What else do you want me to say to that!” he protests, a little embarrassed at his slightly lacklustre response. “Thanks, I notice every time you die too – I'm always dead at that point! I can’t notice.”

“No, no,” Scott shakes his head, brushing one of his thumbs over the paper-thin skin beneath his eye. The motion makes him shiver, something weird, but not unfamiliar or unwelcome, curl down and around his spine. He shudders again. “I’m just teasing you, love, promise.” His eyes twinkle with mirth, “Would you believe me if I told you I came here with kind intentions?”

“Not at all,” Tango says, half-joking. “You’ve only been mean to me so far.”

“Aw, I'm hurt!” Scott cries, eyes crinkling as he grins. “I saw Skizz’s, uh, plea for help on your behalf and thought I might as well pop over and give you a little boost.”

“Oh, really?” He perks up at that. A few people have been by already, each giving him a small boost. To think he was in an even worse state as the sun rose that morning is somewhat horrifying to think about. It’s a miracle he even managed to have a coherent conversation with Skizz as their day began. “Well, c’mon then! Don't leave poor ol’ me waiting.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott laughs again, a little quieter. “God, you tell someone you're about to give them something, and it’s all they can think about.”

“All I can think about is how much pain I'm currently in,” Tango jokes.

He realises that the joke didn’t quite land as he intended when Scott’s face doesn’t continue to crease with smile lines, instead dropping into something sadder. “Well,” he says confidently, “I can fix that real quick for you, love.”

And then Scott’s leaning and Tango’s floundering, because, sure, he’s kissed people before. For definite. Kissed people plenty of times, actually! But he never quite knows what to do with his hands, nevermind the fact that he can barely even lift his hands right now.

Scott seems comfortable taking the initiative, giving him a chaste peck on the lips, warm hands continuing to cradle his face gently, before pulling back just as quickly as he’d moved in.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied. “All better?”

“I – yeah. Thanks,” he manages. He mentally fist pumps when his voice doesn’t wobble and he doesn’t immediately chase after Scott with significantly less achy limbs than a few moments before. “That’s really appreciated, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Scott says, wiping a little around his bottom lip, clearing away some of the smudged make-up there. “Always glad to help!” He chirps, then stands. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, hopefully not at the other end of my sword!”

“Hopefully not,” Tango agrees. Really hopefully not because he’ll probably just stand there like an idiot and think about how soft Scott’s lips are, and the way they’d slotted against his own, and-

The clearing of a throat above him has him blinking his eyes open, squinting a little at the figure silhouetted by the sun.

“See you had a little visitor,” Skizz tells him, sounding far too smug for someone that probably only saw Scott walk away. Tango’s sheltered where he sits, so even if Skizz was on his way back while…all that happened, there’s no way he actually saw anything.

“I- what? Oh, Scott, yeah. He gave me a heart.”

“See he gave you a little something else, too.”

What?

“What?” He asks, sitting up slightly, hissing under his breath as his cracked ribs forcefully remind him that they're still cracked. “What d’you mean?”

“You got a little something,” Skizz says, “around here.”

And gestures around his mouth.

Tango wipes at his lip with his thumb, cringing when it comes away stained with make-up. Make-up that everyone has seen Scott wearing recently.

“Oh, wow, haha,” he laughs, not at all amused. “How’d that get there.”

“How indeed,” Skizz says, obviously already knowing, the dick. “Maybe we should ask the whole server, see if they can help us solve this mystery.”

“No!” Tango throws himself upwards as Skizz goes to retrieve his comm, smacking his hands away frantically. “No, no, I'm sure we can figure this out ourselves.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure we can.” Skizz says, and walks off. Still grinning.

Tango collapses back down to the ground, indulging his moment of dramatism even as it aggravates a few minor wounds.

Whatever shitty higher being watches over me now, he pleads, please strike me down before he comes back.

The shitty higher being watching over him decidedly does not strike him down, and Skizz comes back to laugh him again, though he brings a make-up wipe with him…maybe Tango can find it in his heart to forgive him. Eventually.

#juno.writes #asks #wren-kitchens #ask game #trafficshipping #snowbugs #emberfrost #scott smajor #tangotek #secret life smp #secret life spoilers #(slightly)#slsmp #secret life scott #secret life tango #traffic series #trafficblr #traffic smp

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wren-of-the-woods · 7 months

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I realized recently that I read so much Geraskier fic for so long that the phrase “and yet, here we are” worked its way into my vocabulary. I never used to say that but now I use it all the time.

Everyone around me assumes it’s a normal phrase, but internally, I am always at partly referencing Jaskier.

#I make subconscious jaskier references now. this is my life.#the witcher #jaskier #wren talks #geraskier

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bedazzlecunt · 28 days

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i get sooo many asks and DMs asking for tips on how to get better at edging so i wanted to make an actual post about how i turned myself into a total edgeslut — and how you can, too! there's really only one main 'rule' to follow while you're learning how to edge, so i promise you can do it! this info should still be applicable regardless of your particular genitalia, but i mostly reference cunts because that's what i've got.

the one rule!

my ultimate suggestion for people who are new to edging and finding it almost impossible is to STOP TRYING TO EDGE. some of you are going like that's crazy edging is all i want to do! but listen to me. listen to me. we are going to get you there.

if horniness is a scale of one to ten, with one being 'not horny at all' and ten being 'orgasming' the ideal edging situation is that you get to a nine and then stop. that's really hard to do, though! but you could probably get to a four and stop, right? pretty easily, even.

that's what you want to do. figure out that highest number on that scale you can go and still stop, and go to that number. do this a lot. i love, love, LOVE touching like this, even now that i am a pro at edging, because there's zero risk of going over and it's still a great tool to keep you horny / submissive / feeling hot as hell / whatever it is you want to get out of edging.

start at bringing yourself to a four and then stop. once you've mastered that, once that feels almost too easy, move up to a five. then a six. seven. i encourage you not to cum at all while you're doing this, but also, i'm not your dom! do what you want! the point is you're touching-without-cumming a lot (which is great practice all on it's own) and you're acclimating your body to getting horny, sometimes even REALLY horny, without actually cumming every time it happens.

doing this regularly also has the pleasant side-effect keeping you aroused more often than not. if you're constantly bringing yourself to level seven horniness and then stopping, you are almost never going to drop below level three. you are going to be turned on a LOT, which feels sooooo good. which leads to...

getting addicted*!

the thing about being always horny, about touching yourself all the time, about never cumming, is that it feels really, really good. people wouldn't do denial if it didn't! and once you've had a month or so of touching-but-not-edging and your body's adjusted to the sense of being constantly turned on and how good it feels, it gets to a point where cumming is a lot less appealing. you know it's going to take away the good, horny, happy feeling that you're getting addicted to! once you've come to really, really enjoy being constantly horny, and come to associate the idea of cumming with losing that good feeling, that makes it a lot easier to keep from going over as you creep up to higher levels like eight and nine. and even when you do go over, the fact that you'll lose the sensation that you've come to enjoy so much will just reinforce for you that it's better not to cum!

*i'm using addicted as a fun little hyperbole word here, but i do want to add the disclaimer that if your edging / horniness / etc. starts to interfere with your life like a real addiction then you gotta stop that before you hurt yourself. do not actually jeopardize your job/relationships/etc. for kink.

edging!

by this point, you'll have lots of practice at masturbating without going over and you'll be addicted to the feeling of being constantly turned on — and you'll dread the thought of losing that feeling. those things combined are the peak edging scenario. this is the point when you can start trying to edge seriously; bringing yourself to a nine on our horny scale and stopping.

you will probably still go over occasionally as you figure out your actual limits — don't be angry at yourself for this, but do refrain from trying to edge again on days you go over. the last thing you want is to reacclimate your body to coming regularly. if you try to edge in the morning but go over by mistake, just bring yourself to a level eight for the rest of the times you masturbate and try again tomorrow. eventually, you'll know your limits, be addicted to the feeling of being edged, and be really practiced at doing it!

if you're still having trouble or just want to play in new ways, then find out what turns you on but you can't orgasm from. your nipples are sensitive enough to break your brain but you can't orgasm just from that? well then get to playing with them, dummy! love penetration but can't come from it without clit stimulation? tape off your clit and get fucking! i can never cum just from humping a pillow or grinding on something, so grinding is a great way for me to edge! try to find stuff that makes you really, really horny but that you can't orgasm from and really lean into those things!

#im so serious abt not jeoporadizing ur life for this. like #if u cant still go out w ur besties and to work and be normal then thats not good #u must continue 2 have a life outside of ur edging kink #BUT!!!!!!! once u find the balance...its fun #edgeslut #nsft #sub nsft #bi nsft #wren speaking!#bd/sm blog #bd/sm kink #3dging

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