#Barking Abbey

[dubmill]

Barking, London; 19.3.2023

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 4 March 2024

Always wash the bark of Betula utilis subsp. jacquemontii (Himalayan birch, Kashmir birch) prior to winter removing any build up of algae, resulting in startling white bark for a display which will last into spring.

Jill Raggett

[cedarboots]

consumed by thoughts of flight of the heron removal of the stone of scone au

[golden-rats]

Mountain and Cumulus at a ren faire... My brain is doing the thinking again. All the nature around them, soft folk music, sunshine in Cumulus hair, flowers adoring Mountains horns, pretty clothing, feeding each other snacks, getting compliments for their "fantasy costumes"....

As the sun danced through the branches of the forest, casting dappled shadows on the grass below, two ghouls wandered through the bustling crowd of the renaissance faire. Cumulus, her hair adorned with wildflowers, and Mountain, his horns camouflaged by a wreath of ivy. The soft strains of medieval music filled the air, weaving around them as they looked through the vibrant stalls and colorful tents. Laughter and chatter surrounded them, mingling with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

With mischievous grins they sampled an array of delectable treats. Under the hanging branches of a towering oak tree they found a secluded spot a little away from the hustle and bustle of the fair. A patchwork blanket was spread out beneath them, adorned with intricate patterns. No one had to know they… Borrowed it from the abbey.

As they settled down, the earth ghoul playfully juggled an apple before offering it to Cumulus. Her giggle was carried in a soft breeze. They arranged all the delicious treats each of them gathered at the stalls. Ranging from sweet pastries, over still warm bread to more savory dishes. It's not every day one indulges in such a feast, they told themselves while feeding each other bits and pieces. Mountain let out a content sigh as his back rested against the oaks bark.

As the gentle melodies of a folk tune drifted through the air they couldn't resist the urge to dance. With a smile, Mountain extended his hand to the ghoulette, his eyes twinkling with excitement as she rose gracefully to her feet. Their movements were fluid and light, a seamless intertwining of two souls perfectly in sync. Cumulus’ dress swirled around her ankles as she moved swiftly, her laughter echoing through the clearing. Their hands clasped together, they spun and dipped, lost in the music and the magic of the moment. Jumping to the sound of flutes, circling each other as drums echoed in a rhythm.

Passersby stopped to admire their elaborate costumes, showering them with compliments on their "authentic" attire. With a wink and a grin, Mountain bowed deeply, his cloak swirling around him, while the air ghoulette curtsied gracefully, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

As they strolled hand in hand, basking in the warmth of the setting sun and the joy of each others company, they felt truly alive amidst the magical ambiance. And though they may have been ghouls in disguise, in that moment, they were simply two best friends lost in the enchantment of the world around them.

[st-danger]

saint. rimming (of which you are the king of writing). swiss being a whore for rains tongue. pls grace us with your wise words 🙏

The water beats down on them both, higher pressure then they'd find at the abbey. The hotel is nice the water is hot and inviting after the ritual, and Rain has no intent on leaving until his skin is pruned- they don't have to worry about the water usage on the road. Imperator would throw him back into the Pit for the expenses he would incur were he allowed to take the kinds of long, indulgent showers he wishes to.

Swiss holds him tightly under the spray, and kisses his ear.

"How long are we staying in here?" he murmurs. "Bed looked comfortable." Rain tilts his head to give Swiss more access to his neck. He wastes no time in peppering it with open-mouthed kisses. Wet, he's sure, but there's no way to be sure here.

"Ten more minutes?" Rain asks, and then at the huff of breath under his ear, "Five minutes?"

"I could be convinced," Swiss tells him then. "If that tongue wants to convince me."

Rain rolls his eyes, but it's affectionate. Of course it's no hardship at all to sink to his knees, insist Swiss spread his legs and brace himself against the tile, chilly compared to the heat of the water.

Rain drags blunt nails down his cheeks, grabs. Massages.

"It's nice," Swiss says, "but that's not your mouth." Spreading him open, exposing him and his very private place, Rain hums.

"Awfully demanding."

"How bad do you wanna stay in here?"

Rain rubs the pad of his index finger lightly over his hole. It's enough to make it wink. Swiss looks behind him, eyebrow quirked. Hair soaking and stuck to his face.

"You look like a drowned rat, you know," Rain says lightly. Swiss barks out a laugh, and means to retort, but Rain leans in and gives him a long, firm lick, and whatever words Swiss may have had for him die before they come to fruition.

"That's it, baby," Swiss breathes, and Rain repeats. One long drag of his tongue, and then a pause. Warming him up. A little bit at a time. Swiss is greedy, it's true, but never so much as to rush anything. So, Rain takes his time. The longer he does, after all, the longer he gets to rack up the hotel's water bill without recourse. It's never hard to convince him, but Rain knows Swiss will be extra eager to choke him after this. On his precious, comfortable looking bed.

He licks. Keeps his tongue wide and flat and remarkably unhurried. A little pause each time. And then, because he can, because he knows it will make him jump, he presses the tip firmly against the ring. Swiss starts, as expected.

"Feels so nice," Swiss nods at the wall, and then there's a soft thump where his forehead rests against it with more force than was likely intended. "Wanna give me a little more?"

"Make yourself useful and hold yourself open," Rain says. Swiss is reaching back and spreading himself nice and wide without another thought. It's a pretty picture. A nice view.

"Please," Swiss moans when Rain gives it a little tickle. "Make out with it for a bit, huh? Kiss it the nice way you kiss me."

Rain gives it a kiss, and then goes for it. He could spend more time teasing, but hunger is a peculiar thing; sometimes you don't know how hungry you are until the dish is served. This is much the same.

He laps, filthy, needy. Moans with it- he can't help it. He knows Swiss likes hearing it, of course, but Rain genuinely finds it too hot to keep quiet. Swiss echoes it all. Choked off, high pitched little whines. Embarrassingly feminine, needy.

Sounds he only makes when Rain kisses him here.

His leg trembles. That's the tell, outside of the noise, that Rain's doing something very, very right. Reaching under, he strokes at Swiss’s heavy sack, holds and fondles it, and tries to wiggle the tip of his tongue inside.

Swiss shouts with it, the desperation bouncing off the walls. Rain chuckles when Swiss’s hips jerk back, trying to press himself even closer to the tongue he loves so much.

"Rain, oh, sweetheart, that's so good," he moans, strangled, as though his vocal chords are twisting around the syllables and trying to keep them in. It just makes sense to double down, to reach further and toy with his shaft. Rain waits until Swiss swears a blue streak, and then pulls away, so he can stare at it. How wet it is. How pink.

"Sure gets your leg going," he notes. "Like a puppy."

"I swear I'll bark if that's what it takes to get you to keep going," Swiss begs. Actually begs. Voice threaded with a tinge of panic like he's afraid Rain would change his mind now.

"Five more minutes," Rain says, nipping sharply at a cheek.

"I don't think I have five more minutes in me," Swiss confesses. His hole flutters against Rains finger, and as Rain presses it inside, just a little, it tries to pull him all the way inside.

"Five minutes," Rain repeats. "And then you can cum yourself stupid."

"Five minutes," Swiss says.

[calxia]

(This is part 2 to this ask here, so I recommend reading that first!)

“What do you mean he’s run away.”

Copia was furious. When his ghouls returned to him, he was expecting them to bring the elusive quintessence ghoul with them. He was not expecting Rain to nervously present him with a slip of paper telling him that his youngest had decided to flee.

“That’s what the note says Papa,” Rain replied nervously, “The rest of the pack are currently scouring the abbey but based on that note he’s no longer here.”

“And what would’ve made the kit decide their only option would be to leave the ministry?” Copia barked out. He had begun to pace back and forth in his office and was growing more and more worried by the second. It was one thing having a ghoul unaccounted for inside the ministry, but having one missing off clergy grounds was a disaster waiting to happen. Phantom was young and still inexperienced in human ways. He was in so much danger and he might have been missing for a week.

Rain’s ears pinned back at Copia’s words. He knew this was all the pack’s fault. They’d been so blinded in their grief that they had willingly shunned the new ghoul. They had made him feel so rejected that he had decided the only option was to run away from the safety the clergy provided them with.

“We need to find him immediately before anything bad can happen.” Papa was putting on his shoes as he spoke to Rain. They had been having a lot of wet weather recently, and it was very unlikely that Phantom had thought to take any sort of coat or umbrella with him. Phantom would also have zero money because he still wasn't allowed free access to his band funds. He was much too young and inexperienced for that, which meant that he would be Satan knows where, soaked in rain, with zero money for food or shelter.

Rain followed Copia as he practically ran out of the ministry and started down the drive. The rest of the ghouls were gathered around something just off the side of the pathway and he made a beeline towards them. He shoved through the ghouls to see what they were looking at. It was a ghoul track with clearly defined paw pads and claw marks. The claw marks were clear evidence that it had to be Phantom’s; the ghoul was still too young to retract his hind claws. He also had a known hate of shoes which meant that, wherever he was, he would most likely be glamoured with his bare feet vulnerable to the elements. The tracks still being visible at least meant that it was unlikely that he had been gone for the whole week. The heavy rain would have washed the tracks away by that point if he had been.

“Ghouls, follow his tracks and find him as soon as possible. Mountain and I will follow up in a car. And you better hope that he is still alive otherwise I'll make you all wish it was you.” Copia announced.

The ghouls immediately leapt into action. Copia was never cruel to them, but the anger in his voice made it clear that he would follow up on his threat if needed. They took off after the tracks with speed, following the faint traces of his scent that had somehow not been washed away by then. They followed the ghoul tracks to the ministry gates, where they turned into barefoot human tracks. They faced towards the nearest town, so the pack followed in that direction. They stuck to the wooded verges by the tracks so that they could remain travelling at speed without being seen. They followed the tracks for another 10 miles, clearing the ground much quicker than the kit would have been able to shifted. The human tracks then stopped.

The tracks had come to an end, yet there was no sign of the missing ghoul. His scent was still fresh too and there were no recent human scents to suggest he hitched a ride. It was as if he’d just vanished into thin air.

“What are we supposed to do now?” hissed Rain, his tail angrily swishing behind him.

“He couldn't have vanished so he’s gotta be somewhere around here.” Cirrus pointed out to them. This whole time Aurora had been snuffling through the undergrowth like some kind of demonic dog. She could smell the fatigue and pain sullying his crisp, sweet scent and the underlying acrid tang of fear. The scent couldn’t have been older than half an hour for her to still be able to make out the emotional undertones clearly. She started circling around the other arguing ghouls trying to pick up where the scent was freshest to follow. One by one the ghouls pause their arguing to watch her and try to work out what she is doing.

“Aurora darling, what on earth are you doing?” asked Cumulus. Aurora did not pause to reply to her, instead continuing to circle before fixing in one direction.

“He went that way.”

She was facing down a steep hill dotted with thorny undergrowth and leaf litter, which would easily be able to hide both human and ghoul footsteps. There were some patches where the undergrowth had been slightly flattened and displaced too.

Without hesitation the ghouls started following Phantom’s trail again, leaving Cumulus at the roadside so she could flag down the car when it passed. The scent has formed a strong trail again and leads all the way to the muddy lake at the bottom of the hill. The rain had caused the water levels to rise and the waters were churning and unhappy. Phantom’s scent was strong, but they couldn’t see any sign of him. They move closer to the river and notice a vaguely humanoid lump in the mudbanks. They rush forward towards it and it shudders with a pained animalistic groan.

The lump was Phantom.

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘛𝘸𝘰: 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘚𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴

Pairing: Copia & Aether (hints of Aether/Dew, and just general Polyghouls) Rating: G Word Count: 852 Mushy May is the brainchild of the incredible @forlorn-crows divider by the wonderful @ghuleh-recs

Aether stays up late. A product of his element and too many night shifts at the infirmary, he finds it nearly impossible to sleep before 3am. He has a midnight ritual. A snack, a cup of tea, a few minutes of middle of the night quiet to calm his ever racing mind. 

It’s become a routine at this point–he isn’t the only one who doesn’t sleep well.  Dew–however–sprawled out on the bed next to him–taking up most of it–has no trouble. Dew’s snoring softly when Aether gets up. Careful not to disturb the fire ghoul as he gets out of bed. Dew’s a light sleeper, but Aether’s mastered the art of it. If he gives Dew just a little jolt of quintessence to keep him asleep, he’ll never tell. 

Dew grumbles a little as he’s jostled, but nothing more than that. Aether slips from the room, he leaves the door cracked lest the sound wake Dew up. The hallway is dark as pitch, but Aether knows the way. Has wandered these hallways a thousand times in the dark. Could do it blind folded. 

He walks past his packmates rooms. Cumulus and Mountain are still up–judging by the soft noise drifting through Mountain’s door. Rain is too, there’s the faint glow of his computer monitor light emanating from under the door. There’s a bark of laughter from behind the door–Aeon. Unsurprising that the new quint ghoul has the same aversion to sleep that Aether does. 

He rounds the corner, goes down the stairs onto the main floor of the ghoul wing. He passes the dark dining room, the practice room, the “den” that they rarely ever use, and the full kitchen, until he comes to the common room. The light in there is on, warmth pooling over the hardwood floor outside. 

Aether can hear someone rustling about in the kitchenette. He hears cabinet doors, the fridge. He smiles to himself as he ducks into the room. Copia is bent over with his head in the fridge, clicking his tongue. 

Aether clears his throat and Copia starts, standing up and spinning around on his heels like this isn’t a thing they do most nights now. 

“Papa,” Aether says with a smile. 

Copia looks sheepish. Aether likes him best like this–make up off. Wearing a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. Human. Just a man for once rather than a idol on a pedestal. 

“I was just looking to see if you had any of that cheese spread left–the one Mountain made–”

“It’s in the back, behind Sunny’s juice. You could ask him to make you some you know.” 

Copia waves him off. “No no,” he turns back to the fridge, reaches deep, and comes out with the container with the spread in it. Aether crosse the room and reaches into a high cabinet for the crackers. 

“Then you wouldn’t have to come all the way over here in the middle of the night.” 

Papa’s chambers are on the other side of the abbey. Across the main building, through what sometimes feels like miles of winding hallways. 

Copia offers Aether a small smile. He pulls the crackers from Aether’s fingers and retreats to the other side of the common room–the side that holds the couches and the TV. He sits, crosses his legs, and starts to eat. 

Aether turns the kettle on, grabs a banana, and joins him. 

“Maybe I like coming here in the middle of the night,” Copy says, dipping his cracker into the cheese spread, gathering more than is strictly necessary and popping it into his mouth with a satisfied groan. 

Aether raises an eyebrow. “To the ghoul wing?” 

Copia shrugs. He eats another cracker. “I feel…at home here.” 

“You are.” 

Copia hums an ascent. The kettle whistles and Aether stands. 

“Do you want a cup?” 

Copia looks up at him, mismatched eyes meeting his as Aether stands on the dividing line between kitchenette and living room. 

“Do you want me to stop coming? Raiding your fridge in the middle of the night? Interrupting your peace?” 

Aether shakes his head. “No. No. Of course not. I–I look forward to this.I don’t want you to stop I just thought–maybe–maybe you just came for the food.”

Copia nods, quick, like it confirms something he already assumed. He eats another cracker. “Does Mountain put magic in this?” 

“Probably.” 

Aether turns, heads toward the still screaming kettle as Copia chuckles into his cheese spread. Aether pulls a mug down, gets his tea bag, starts the ritual of making his tea. He leans against the counter as he waits for it to steep. 

Copia watches him, lips turning up into a soft, exhausted smile. “The food is good, but the company is what keeps me coming back.” 

Aether feels something flutter in his chest. Warmth. Light. A fondness he cannot contain. “Tea?”   He offers again, unable to stop himself from wanting to take care of his Papa. To extend their quiet moment alone just a little longer. 

Copia puts the lid back on his cheese, and settles deeper into the couch. “Yes, my ghoul. I’ll have a cup.” 

[thelampisaflashlight]

Walk It Off

[How Dewdrop's vessel wound up at the abbey. Mentions of alcohol/drinking/being drunk] Below the cut.

Somehow, the thing he remembers the most from that night is the rain.

The way the heavy droplets smacked against him without mercy, drenching him from head to toe, filling his shoes with water, and how the ground seemed to rise up to meet him time and time again; Between the mud and the beer, he might have gotten further on hands and knees than trying to stumble around like a fool.

But he had to do it.

He had to walk, because...

The bartender took his keys, but it didn't matter, because some asshole had already towed his car.

And his friends.

His friends were gone.

He's not sure why, just that they said...

They'd said...

"Walk it off."

They'd said, "Walk it off, man."

Walk it off.

Yeah.

Yeah, sure, walk it off.

To this day, Dew's not entirely sure how he managed to get so far from the bar.

How or when sidewalk turned to gravel, then dirt...

It's a blur.

The night plays out in black and white, a wash of gray that is only broken here and there by flashes of blue, and the occasional brushstroke of green as he tunneled his way through the soft leaves of reborn trees.

Spring.

It was spring.

He knows that much.

Fuckin' all the pollen.

All the fuckin' sticker bushes starting to bloom, snagging his clothes.

His head had spun at the overwhelming smell of fresh pine, and his fingers and palms had grown painfully scuffed and uncomfortably sticky, for every time he faltered as he walked, he leaned upon the trees, and their bark was unkind.

At some point, the trees gave way, and that's when he fell.

As a child, he'd taken a roll down a hill or two, had had his fair share of grass in his teeth, but that night, he hit the earth with the entire force of his being.

Rocks seemed eager to punch up at his body, to bruise his skin, and sticks were poised to stab and pull at the rest of him.

The only respite from the barrage; The bottom of the hill, and the soggy clover that cooled his head, rattling forth the first sober thought his mind could utter forth...

"Walk it off."

Walk it off.

Who had said that to him?

What was the context?

Had he picked a fight again and been told off, or were his friends trying to sober him up in the rain?

Even now he isn't sure.

But it was enough to get him to push himself up onto his knees, which had complained then -and still do, every time it rains- from the ache inflicted upon them.

And that's when he saw it.

A warm, yellow light.

Distant, but so, so, so very welcoming.

Like the first glimpse of home on the horizon.

Had he cried then?

His face numb from the cold, shoulders trembling.

Had he cried?

It gets fuzzy here.

Dew isn't sure if he stood or if he crawled.

If the distance was covered in seconds, or if he struggled more, but the moment he reached for the light...

It all went black.

...And then white.

And then there was only sound.

A cacophony of noise that was sometimes words, but also not, and never made sense, and yet always did.

Eventually, it wasn't only sound or monochrome, it was... a hand on his forehead.

Large and warm.

A calloused thumb that brushed over his cheek, making him wince as it glided over a sore spot, and then it was...

"Hello."

[angellayercake]

Would you write number 16 with Secondo for me? (or you can choose any of the other Papas if you don't feel like writing him) ♡♡

Of course you can have Secondo 😊 full disclosure most of the credit for this idea goes to @ghostchems who was amazing as usual to brainstorm with. I hope I have done him justice for you!

16. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

There it was again! The incessant giggling from the back of the room had disrupted his train of thought for the third time and he'd had enough. This was not something he allowed in his classroom and he had to find out what was going on. He spins on his heel and marches towards the culprits, spotting a note being exchanged and before they even register his presence he snatches it from their hands and slips it straight in his pocket. 

‘That is enough of that.’ Two sets of terrified eyes peer up at him so he gives them a stern look each. ‘You need to concentrate if you are going to pass the upcoming test.’ A chorus of groans follows him as he walks back to the front of the room, finally able to pick up where he left off and finish the lesson. He had already gotten off to a bad start, his last day waking up without his love. He had barely been able to sleep the night before and had missed his alarm, getting up far too late to be anything other than quick so having to forgo his paints and his robes. There had been enough time to pull out a suit at least but it didn’t quite inspire the same respect and was not how he would like to present himself to the bunch of unruly teenagers but there you are. 

The class comes to an end, his last of the day and he breathes a sigh of relief. If all has gone to plan you would be back with him in just a few hours and then he could relax. He packs up his desk intending to take some work back to his office when he finds the confiscated note and his curiosity gets the better of him. Unfolding it carefully he has to squint to read the messy scrawl. 

You know who papa looks like today? 

No who??

Pitbull! 

Oh he kind of does huh? Still would though 

You want to meet him at the hotel motel holiday inn?

Idiot!!!!

He rolled his eyes, even now there were always a few who had a crush but the comparison to a pitbull gave him pause. Was he that aggressive? He knew he could be strict but he thought he had softened? Terzo had been teasing him just the other day that now he was in love his bark had lost all his bite. He screws up the note and goes to throw it in the bin but decides against it. There was someone who needed to see this. 

You had returned early from your trip and eager as you were to see your Papa you were waiting in his office for him to return from his day of teaching. He would never admit it but you know he loved it, being able to share his wealth of knowledge with the younger members of the Abbey. The door opens and you perk up in your seat anticipating his surprise at your early arrival. But as you take him in your face falls. His frown lines are creased deeply, his lips pursed and he doesn’t even register your presence he is so lost in his thoughts. 

‘What's wrong, my love?’ He starts at the sound of your voice, snapping out of his mood for a moment and wordlessly gesturing you towards him so he can wrap you in his arms. 

‘I’m very glad you are here Tesoro. I have missed you so and the children have been vexing today.’ You rub up and down his arms and try to give him a comforting smile but he is lost to whatever is troubling him once again. ‘Look at this,’ he grumbles handing you a crumpled piece of paper as he steps away undoing his jacket and waistcoat. He plods to the seating area, huffing as he sits, feeling the weight of the day pressing on him. As you read it you try to keep your face straight, sensing your laughter would not be appreciated right now. You drop the note on the table and perch yourself in his lap, his arms instantly coming to your waist and he rests his head in the crook of your neck as he continues to mutter. 

‘What is wrong with pitbulls anyway? Si, they have a reputation but they are misunderstood. They are strong loyal dogs, it's the owners that are the problem.’ You ease his head away from you so you can see his face and as much as you want to correct him the ridiculous pout he wears takes priority. You start with a quick peck, but it persists, so you continue, kiss after kiss until he starts to respond. He hums against your mouth, squeezing your waist as he succumbs to your sweet lips and just as he tries to deepen it you pull back. 

‘There’s just one thing Papa.’ His eyes are still closed, a peaceful expression having replaced his stroppy frown and as much as you loathe to ruin the moment you know you can’t resist. 

‘What is it Tesoro?’ His eyes blink open looking at you with open adoration that you savour the peace for just a second longer.

‘I don’t think they were talking about dogs.’ He tilts his head to the side looking at you inquisitively and you can no longer hold in your laugh. ‘They meant Pitbull, Mr Worldwide, the rapper, the …’ 

‘WHAT!?’

[dubmill]

Barking, London; 19.3.2023

[ghuleh-recs]

It's gotta be RainDrop themed this week because they CAN'T KEEP THEIR HANDS OFF EACH OTHER.

you in the moonlight - @kkaisarion - E, 2.4k

When Dewdrop finds out that Copia accidentally summoned a new water ghoul, he’s ready to throw hands. He’s been the only water ghoul at the abbey for so long, there’s no way he’s about to share his territory with whoever just showed up.

boiling point - @waywardsamaritan - E, 5.2k

“You really want me to hit you?” Rain’s voice drops, taking on a dangerous hue now. He advances towards Dew, slow and intentional, predatory. Dew gulps, his eyes locked on Rain’s as Rain backs him into the corner with measured steps. “‘Cause here’s the thing, Dewdrop,” he continues, letting out a little bark of laughter when Dew startles as his back hits the wall. “You’ve been irritating the shit out of me. I’m sick of it. And you know what I realized today?” He pauses, taking a moment to savor Dew’s wide-eyed stare. “I do wanna fucking hit you.” In which Rain and Dew both get much more than they bargained for.

Change My Mind - @papaslittlesunshine - E, 2.1k

For the RainDrop fanclub. You know who you are. Dew is down bad for Rain after he steps up onstage. Inspired by the videos from this tour. You'll get it if you've seen them.

rotten work (not to me) - @riconas - T, 2.6k

“What happened?” Aeon asks timidly. “What’s wrong?” “Bad headache,” Rain murmurs. He holds a finger up to his lips as he strokes Dew’s hair, braid now messy and poking out of the elastic. “Happens sometimes. Because of the—” He pauses, cutting himself off. “Doesn’t matter. It happens sometimes.” or Aeon stumbles upon Dew and Rain after a show.

All Water Holy - @miasmaghoul @st-danger - E, 6.5k

“Rain, I’m not- I’m not kidding,” he manages, but the laughter removes the seriousness and urgency from his voice and Rain can’t stop himself. “Not kidding about what?” he asks, mock innocent. He would have thought it would be taking more out of him to keep Dew pinned beneath him, but he seems increasingly weak the longer it goes on, wearing himself out. “Fuck you,” Dew spits, pained and forced to smile through it anyway, “seriously, I’m gonna piss myself.” Or, As always, Rain gets what he wants, and Dewdrop suffers (affectionate).

Petals Falling on Demand - @crimsonclergy - E, 1.9k

the boys find out that rain has a thing for panties… or maybe he just has a thing for dew, that sappy little rascal

Floodwaters of Phlegethon - @belle--ofthebrawl - E, 5.8k

He should have called one of the others to check in on Dewdrop, Rain thinks as he stares down Alpha. This could have been avoided. Everyone underestimates Rain. Alpha won't make that mistake again.

⛧ now go forth and read, bookmark, kudos, comment, & subscriiiibe

[feralghxuls]

Hiding From the Light

Rating: T

Pairing: Dew/Mountain

Tags: First Kiss, Fluff, Ghoul Lore, Breeding Mention

Words: 1,218

Summary:

Dew was Mountain's first kiss topside, and also ever.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Dew said, raising himself up on his toes and pulling Mountain down at the same time. “I don’t know what that is,” Mountain said, but whatever it was, he knew he wanted it, and he wanted it from Dew. He didn’t laugh. His thumb brushed slowly over Mountain’s cheekbone, and Dew said, “I’ll show you. Stop me if you don’t like it.” Mountain nodded, and let Dew pull him down further. Their faces were very close together, close enough that Mountain could count Dew’s eyelashes, and see the patterns in his irises, and the faint white freckles across his cheeks he’d never noticed before, and still Dew was moving closer.

When Mountain was first summoned, he had a very difficult time with the other ghouls. He didn’t understand why they were so friendly, he didn’t get the social cues, he didn't like the touching. Dew wasn’t like the others. He kept to himself, bright, intense eyes taking in everything before him, observing conversations and interactions, and when he chose to participate he was blunt and straightforward. He largely ignored Mountain for a good long while, until the day he strode up to him in that oddly precise way of his and asked what his problem was. Demanded to know why Mountain was always staring at him

Mountain didn’t realize he was staring. He felt inexplicably drawn to Dew. Where he came from in the pit, there was no friendliness. You met other ghouls only to chase them out of your territory, or to be chased yourself, and trying to befriend the others was a good way to get yourself killed. That wasn’t a threat here, though, as far as Mountain knew.

Dew had asked him two questions, so Mountain gave him two answers: it’s too loud and too bright; he stares because Dew is interesting to look at.

Dew barked out a laugh and took Mountain by the elbow, grip firm but surprisingly gentle, dragging him down a half dozen halfways and halfway across the abbey. He took Mountain somewhere he had never been before, where the air smelled of dust and the walls were old, uncovered stone bricks, and the next thing he knew he was being steered through a doorway and into a room. Just before Dew kicked the door closed, Mountain could see shapes covered by white cloth and a layer of dust. Then it was dark. And quiet. Quieter than anywhere in the abbey, except for two sets of lungs breathing and two hearts beating.

After spending an eternity in the pitch black, Mountain’s eyes only needed a few seconds before he could see everything in the room as plainly as if all the lights were on. He was only looking at Dew, though, standing in front of him. unmoving and staring right at him, his pupils reflecting the tiniest bit of starlight filtering in through the covered windows.

“Even in the dark, you’re still staring at me,” Dew said, tone flat. but then he laughed. It wasn’t the rough, caustic laugh he’d barked out earlier, or the bitter, scathing one Mountain usually heard from him. It was still rough around the edges, but it was warm. Sincere.

“I want to touch you,” Mountain said.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[wrathofrats]

I blacked out in @divine-misfortunes DMs as usual because one of us mentioned the idea of murder Zeph so im here to bless you all with 1k of just zephyr being unhinged

Content warning for gore, body horror and graphic depictions of violence. This is just a description of zephyr killing someone, please be aware of what this is before you proceed

Anyways, hope you all enjoy <3

-

Zephyrs body has never worked correctly.

Their joints ache and scream when they move, their back burns some days when they use their cane to hobble through the halls. They feel pathetic and helpless on their bad days. Left to rely on ifrit for simple tasks even though it gnaws and pulls at them to be so practically helpless.

Zephyr gets somewhat pent up, over it. A sick craving for blood and gore that goes beyond making their stomach full. A carnal rage to rip into something, to play god with the life of something beneath them.

They want to see the life in someone’s eyes die, the fear as they beg them not to. They want to feel powerful and in control. Can’t help but to play with their food and draw it out for as long as possible.

They don’t often get prey in their grasp with no way for them to wriggle free, zephyr might as well have their fun with it.

It’s almost laughable how easy it is for them to find their victim.

They’re unassuming. Zephyr knows their reputation in the halls of the abbey, always has a bark harsher than their bite. With the cane or having to lean on ifrit to get through the corridors it’s really no surprise that they’re not seen as a threat.

It just makes it easier for them.

It’s really almost too easy.

Zephyr stands in wait in one of the halls late at night, paces a bit to seem like they’re busy. It’s almost entirely empty at this hour, they walk up and down for what feels like hours. Their mouth waters as they think about their plan, the metallic taste tingles in the bottom of their fangs.

The click of a sisters heels startles Zeph out of their crimson fantasies.

“Zephyr? What are you doing out at this hour?”

They don’t recognize her, almost feels bad but at their age the constant rotation of devotees for their cause makes it impossible to keep up. It won’t matter in a bit anyways.

“Can you help me push this door open? It’s just too heavy for me today”

The sibling smiles and gives a look that’s a bit too close to sympathetic. Pity almost, if it wasn’t for the nature of the interaction zephyr may be a bit more forgiving but it only really fuels their desire. It becomes a show of power rather than the need to feast.

She pushes open the door, standing in front of it to make sure it stays open while Zeph makes a show of hobbling through. She even asks if there’s anything else she can do while she’s still there. It’s a shame she’s so polite, zephyr almost feels bad.

The oxygen is soon ripped from her lungs so fast that she collapses to the floor in a vain attempt to force it back inside. She looks up in shock, mouth agape gasping for air.

It’s not enough to make her unconscious, just enough to incapacitate her because oh it wouldn’t be much fun if she wasn’t awake would it be?

The sibling tries to fight against zephs power to gulp in the oxygen. It doesn’t work, painful and useless and she struggles against herself not to panic completely when they see Zeph staring at them with a claw raised. Their eyes glaze over in black, a bloodlust invading their senses as their pupils blow wide.

She can’t fight, the lack if air combined with the sheer primal panic of not being able to breathe is enough to have her incapacitated, not able to do much more than writhe on the ground like a roach.

It’s entertaining to watch them struggle while she still doesn’t know what’s going on. The lack of oxygen isn’t enough to kill the poor prey, sadly enough for it, but it’s enough to finally steal away their consciousness as zephyr prepares to go in for their kill.

Again, it’s almost too easy.

A sharp claw runs down her sternum, digging in just enough draw blood, the sharp sensation enough to jerk her awake.

Zeph quickly rips away the air from their prey’s lungs again once they start to scream. It’s loud, piercing, almost annoying. Much easier to have them silently mimic trying to gasp for the air it must know it won’t receive.

The claw sinks deeper on the way down. Past the hard bone of the ribcage and truly ripping through the soft flesh of the stomach. Its face contorts violently as they slash through the fat and muscle. Can’t fight, only can watch and thrash their head as if maybe if it turned at the right angle it would be able to breath again.

The white hot searing pain that comes from its abdomen would take its breath away anyways, its lungs fight to expel the air from the feeling of being flayed open but desperately tries to open to take in the oxygen it hasn’t had in minutes now.

Zephyr completely disembowels the prey, something sickly powerful about seeing an organ work in a still living body. The way its stomach moves or seeing the underside of the bottom of its ribs move with each breath they’ve now allowed them to have back.

Their mouth starts to water again. They debate tasting their meal as they prepare it.

Zephyr clots their wounds closer so the steady river of blood stops trying to tempt them into losing the control they’ve fought so hard for.

The state of being in and out of consciousness is gagging torture, being in so much pain that it passes out before being brutally forced back into the hell state by zephyr allowing it to breath again.

It’s a horrific realization after a couple passes that zephyr is eating it alive.

The ghoul just stares at it low from its abdomen, covered in blood and entrails in their mouth, shredded at the ends from where they had been forcefully ripped from their confines. The blood that they haven’t clotted drips down their chin and over the skin that has yet to be cut open wide.

This is the best part, a true delicacy. Fleshy and easy to access but not enough to kill the prey in any fast amount of times it’s enough to savor it, really take in everything while it’s still alive.

The mercy only comes when Zeph is done eating. A slash to the throat is fastest, leave it wide open to lap up the blood until it stops twitching.

Zephyr is a contradicting sight. Prim and proper, all pale and delicate but covered in blood with a wild look in their eyes. Soaks through their shirt and drips down their arms and wrists from where it coats their hands.

Properly unhinged and brimming with a sick sort of glee.

A dark power, being able to kill and covered in their pretty blood.

proud and hungry.

[hearts-hunger]

it's a wonderful life || danny wagner x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: You and Danny spend a quiet night in decorating your tree and watching the first snowfall.

Pairings: Danny x Wife!Reader | Genre: fluff | Word Count: 2.8k | Warnings: none!

A/N: This fic is the definition of "a fic I wrote for myself" because the reader is a teacher and her favorite Christmas movie is It's a Wonderful Life. Nevertheless, it's very sweet, and I hope you enjoy this little holiday treat ♡

“Danny! I’m home!”

You nudged the door closed as you came inside, arms full of gift bags and cellophane-wrapped treats and the collection of coffee mugs you’d taken to work but rarely remembered to bring home. You’d just finished your last half-day at school before winter break, and it was a nice change of pace to be happy and energetic when you came home from work instead of dragging yourself right to the couch for a nap. 

You went to the kitchen table and dropped off your bounty, looking over each item with a full heart. There were handmade Christmas cards that said “thank you for being my teacher, Mrs. Wagner!” in messy, loving scrawl; there were baked goodies from parents sent in festive tins; there were gift cards and candles and all manner of little gifts given with notes that valued the hard work and love you poured into your students every day. As excited as you were to enjoy your gifts over the break, you appreciated even more the reminder that your work didn’t go unnoticed and the generous hearts the gifts were given from.

“Dan,” you called again, smiling as you peeked inside one of the tins. “That mom gave me more of those pizzelles you love.”

You expected to get a response to that — the same mom of one of your middle schoolers had given you a batch of cookies at Thanksgiving, and Danny had eaten almost all of them — but you didn’t hear anything. Snagging a piece of peppermint bark from one of the gift bags and grabbing a pizzelle for Danny, you headed out of the kitchen and went to find your husband.

You found him in his music room, sitting behind the drums with headphones on. It was no wonder he couldn’t hear you calling him; he had the volume so loud you could hear the demo of one of the new songs they’d been workshopping. He looked much more casual and comfortable than you were expecting. He usually liked to get “dressed up” for work, usually in his black jeans and a sweater, but he was in sweatpants and his well-loved Abbey Road t-shirt as he started to tap out a beat on the toms. 

You stepped closer to his kit and gave him a little wave in greeting, hoping to catch his attention without startling him. When he noticed you, he gave you a surprised, delighted grin that warmed you straight through.

“Hi, baby,” he said, pausing the demo and letting his headphones rest on his neck. His voice was hoarse, and your happiness at seeing him quickly turned to worry.

“Oh, honey,” you said. “You sound awful.” You came around to his side of the kit and put your hand to his forehead. He hadn't gotten up with you that morning like he usually did, and you’d suspected he didn’t feel well; he was definitely warm now, and his cheeks held a rosy, feverish color.

“I’m okay,” he said, and though his voice was a wreck, he didn’t sound concerned. “I’ve been taking medicine. It’s just a cold.”

You tutted and moved your hand to cradle his cheek. “Poor thing. I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

He smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart. Do you feel alright? You’re home early.”

“Half-day, remember?” You held out his cookie. “And I got lots of presents.”

“Sweet!” he said, taking the pizzelle and giving an exaggerated sigh when he bit into it. “It’s so nice to be married to a teacher.”

You laughed. “You might not think so when you see the stack of grading I have to do.”

He waved you off. “I’ll help you. We’ll get it done today or tomorrow so you can enjoy your break.” He looked up at you. “Hey, speaking of enjoying your break, I made you hot chocolate.”

You grinned. “Really?”

He chuckled. “Yes, really. Come on, I’ll make you a cup.”

You followed him into the kitchen, fussing over him a little as he muffled a few coughs behind the collar of his shirt. He smiled when you rubbed a hand over his back, assuring you that he was fine but thankful for your concern. Danny had always been a low-maintenance patient when seasonal illnesses came through, content to take it easy and let himself rest. You knew he’d tell you if he was really feeling bad and decided not to worry overly.

He had you sit at the table while he ladled hot chocolate into a pair of mugs. His mom had a fantastic slow-cooker recipe for hot chocolate; she’d made it the first time Danny brought you home for Christmas, a few months after you started dating, and he’d asked his mom for a copy of the recipe that same night so he could always know how to make it for you. He made it on special occasions and when you needed some cheering up, and sometimes he made it just as a little surprise for you.

“Thank you,” you said, gratefully accepting the warm mug he handed you. You took a cautious sip; it was wonderful, creamy and cinnamony and rich. 

“Good?” he asked.

You gave a contented hum. “Like a melted bar of chocolate.”

He smiled, looking through the gifts you’d set on the table. “All this is from your kids?”

“Aren’t they sweet?” you said. “I always forget how nice it is on the last day before break. Everybody’s in such a good mood, there’s an air of excitement and festivity, there’s gifts and parties and sixth-graders belting out Christmas carols... it’s lovely.”

Danny gave you a warm smile. “I’m glad you had a good day, sweetheart. Are you happy to be on break?”

“Yes,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “It’ll be nice to sleep in and not worry about work for a few weeks. And to have lots of time with you.”

You offered your hand, and he took it with a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I have some ideas on how we could spend all that time,” he said, running his thumb over your wedding ring.

You smiled. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

He met your eyes and raised a suggestive brow. “We could... decorate the Christmas tree.”

You laughed, and he grinned as he watched you. You took his hand and spread his fingers so you could kiss his palm.

“I’d love to decorate the tree,” you said. You looked over your shoulder to see the full, beautiful tree in front of the bay windows in the living room. “It looks so... not-sparkly right now.”

He chuckled. “I guess we’d better make it sparkly, then.”

Danny put on Christmas music and started stringing the lights on the tree while you fished around in the attic for your box of ornaments. Your collection was small so far, both of you adding to it each Christmas since you’d been together, and you treasured each ornament and the memories they held. 

“Oh, Dan, it’s so pretty!” you said when you came into the living room, admiring the lighted tree. He stepped back from it and looked it over, adjusting a few strings of lights until it was perfect.

“You found the ornaments?” he asked.

You held the box up. “Sir yes sir.”

He gave a soft laugh and motioned you over to the coffee table. You set the box down and took off the top with a flourish, revealing the sparkly, colorful ornaments nestled in festive tissue paper.

“Do the honors, Mrs. Wagner,” he said. “First ornament of the year.”

You smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks, honey.” You picked a handmade one, a small cross-stitch hoop with the Greta Van Fleet logo carefully and lovingly stitched by Danny’s grandmother. She’d given each of the boys one, and they found a spot of honor on every Kiszka-Wagner tree each year.

You and Danny took your time decorating the tree, waxing poetic about the stories behind each ornament. You hung the ornament Jake had given you last year, a red globe with a cut-out picture of himself in the Oliver Reed/Santa getup modge-podged onto it; on the branch next to it Danny hung a polaroid of the two of you at your wedding with “Mr. and Mrs. Wagner” written below in his familiar handwriting. Your collection was equal parts beautiful craft-fair baubles and mementos of your relationship and jokey gifts from loved ones, and you thought it was perfect.

When most of the ornaments were hung, Danny’s enthusiasm started to flag as his fever caught up to him. He refilled your mug and took another dose of Tylenol while he was in the kitchen, nudging the ornament box to the side so he could sit on the coffee table when he came back.

“You sure do know how to put a Christmas tree together, Mrs. Wagner.”

You smiled. “I try. You’re just gonna watch?”

He sighed and nodded, pressing the heel of his hand against his brow. “Yeah, I feel kind of lightheaded all of a sudden. But I’ll put one up high for you if you need me to.”

You kissed his forehead. “You just stay right there, Daniel.”

He smiled and followed you with his gaze as you went back to work. He pointed out when you needed to move something a little to the left and added in his own commentary as you reminisced on the “I’m a Danny girl” ornament you’d bought from a shop on Etsy.

“You remember how sweet she was?” you asked. “I sent her that picture with the two of us holding it and she posted it on her shop’s Instagram with the cutest caption.”

“Lots of hearts and crying emojis, as I recall,” Danny said fondly. “And she told you she sold every last one of them that year.”

You smiled at the memory. “I’m glad she did.”

Danny looked into the box and pulled out the last ornament, your heart turning over as he gently picked it up.

“This one’s my favorite, though,” he said.

“Do you want to put it on?” you asked. You wanted him to, but you’d do it gladly if he wasn't feeling well.

He stood, cradling the little drum kit spangled with tiny Christmas lights. “Of course I do, honey.”

He hung it on a branch and brushed his fingers over the small, handwritten note attached to it. You’d intended for him to take it off when you'd given it to him that year, but he'd said he wanted to keep it forever.

“To the heartbeat of the band and my very favorite little drummer boy,” he read, affection in his voice. “Merry Christmas, Dan. I love you very much.”

It was dated the first Christmas you spent together, and you remembered how shy and nervous you’d been when you gave it to him. He’d loved it then and cherished it now, and he gave you a chaste kiss when you came close.

“Am I still your favorite little drummer boy?” he asked.

You smiled. “Yes,” you said simply.

“I love you, Mrs. Wagner.”

You touched your hand to his cheek. “I love you too, Mr. Wagner.”

You tidied up after the decorating and made a quick lunch, sitting at the table with Danny and sampling the goodies you’d brought from school. You talked about spending Christmas with the boys, knowing your home would be full of warmth and laughter all through the holidays as you and your best friends gathered to drink and play music and enjoy each other's company. 

“Sam and Birdie want to do New Year's at their house,” you said. “They want to do a liquor exchange.”

Danny laughed. “Even though we all know it doesn't matter who gets what drink?” he said. “It’s all gonna be gone that night.”

You smiled. You were so glad you were finally done with work for the holidays and had nothing on the agenda but spending time with the ones you loved.

“Are we going to your parents’ this year?” you asked.

“They invited us,” he said. “I told them I’d ask you.”

“I’d love to go,” you said. “The boys are going home next weekend, and maybe we could all ride up together if you’re feeling up to it.”

He grinned. “Sure. I’d like a good old fashioned Kiszka-Wagner road trip. We haven't done one in a while.”

You stood to put the dishes in the sink and came back to drape your arms over Danny’s shoulders. You pressed your cheek to the top of his soft curls.

“Are you feeling any better?” you asked.

He patted your hand. “Now that you’re home I am.”

You kissed his cheek. “I think we should lay on the couch and watch a movie.”

“You’re tired?” he asked, turning to look at you.

“No, but you need to rest, and I want a Danny cuddle.”

He smiled. “As you wish, my love.”

You gave him a last squeeze before you went to set up your couch with a nest of pillows and blankets. Danny gave you his favorite sweater when you changed into more comfortable clothes, and he held you in a snuggly bear hug as It’s a Wonderful Life started to play.

“It’s weird that you can quote this entire movie,” he said affectionately when you’d said the iconic “lasso the moon” scene word for word along with George Bailey.

You laughed. “You married a woman of many talents.”

He kissed your nose. “I sure did.”

Near the middle of the movie, Danny fell asleep and you carefully untangled yourself from the blankets to sit on the floor in front of the couch and wrap presents. The sun set and left your living room with the cosy glow of the Christmas tree, the sound of Danny’s soft, congested snoring a comfort mixed with the sound of the black and white film you knew by heart.

After a while, you felt a gentle tug on your hair and turned to see Danny, drowsy and soft with sleep.

“Hi, honey,” you said softly. “You feel okay?”

He hummed in agreement. “It’s snowing. I didn’t know if you’d noticed.”

You looked out through the bay windows to the woods beyond and saw a beautiful, heavy snowfall drifting through the branches. You gasped in delight. 

“It is snowing!” You stood and raced to the back door, going out to the porch and sticking your hand out. You gave a joyful laugh when snowflakes landed on your palm. “Come see, Danny!”

He followed you out, wrapped in a blanket cape, and stood under the shelter of the porch as you pulled on your rainboots and went out into the yard.

You looked back at him. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

He smiled. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s wonderful.” As taken as you were with the snow, he seemed even more enchanted by you.

You came up to the porch, breathless, cheeks flushed.

“You know I love you more than snow, right?” you asked.

He tucked a snow-dusted curl behind your ear. “Then I must be one lucky guy.”

You smiled as he kissed you.

“Go play for a minute,” he said. “I’d come with you, but — ” As if on cue, he muffled a volley of coughs in the blanket. “I’m on death’s door.”

You laughed. “Josh’s flair for the dramatic is rubbing off on you, I see.” You patted his chest. “We can go inside so you don't freeze.”

“No, I want you to enjoy it,” he said. “I’ll be alright.” 

He gave you a sweet smile and brushed your hair back from your face. “You sure are cute with snowflakes in your hair, honey.”

You blushed and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you, Danny.”

You went back out and tipped your face up towards the sky, giggling when snowflakes fell on your cheeks. You loved the snow, and you'd been waiting for the first snowfall since it started getting colder. When the chill started to catch up with you, you came back to Danny and went into his open arms.

“Hi,” you said, muffled against his chest.

He smiled. “Hi, baby. I’m glad it’s snowing for you.”

You met his eyes. “Me too,” you said, beaming up at him. “Let's get warm and watch it from inside our very cosy house.”

He led you back to the couch, and the two of you snuggled up by the light of the tree and watched the snow fall. The end of the movie played as Danny peppered your face with gentle kisses and held you close.

“You know what?” he asked softly.

You smiled. “What?”

He kissed your cheek. “It’s always a wonderful life when I'm with you.”

You turned your face to him and he gave a gentle laugh when your noses bumped together.

“I love you very much, Danny.”

He kissed you. “My sweetheart,” he said, smiley and soft and oh so tender. “I love you very much too.”

fic taglist: @starshine-wagner @jakeydoesit @shutupdevvie @allieisacrybaby

gvf taglist: @gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf  @jakeydoesit  @gretasmokerising @loofypoofy @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @bowievanfleet @s0livagant @trplshotofdopamine @strugglingtodoshit @deadbeat-z @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones  @carlybubs @cowboysamkiszka 

danny taglist: @tearsofbri @busybeingtrash @myway-late

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

[iamthecomet]

Hiii ❤️ Ilysmmm

I was just thinking about how the ghouls would laugh, do you perhaps have any headcanons for them???

-Hi

Hi!!! Yes, I think I do have some headcanons about laughing ghouls. Cumulus laughs a lot, but usually covers her mouth when she does. If she's cuddled up with someone else, she will turn her head and use their body to muffle her laughter. If someone calls her own it (Sunshine) she'll blush and laugh louder. She rarely belly laughs, but when she does she doubles over on herself. Cries from laughter very easily. Her laugh is reminiscent of wind chimes. Sunshine is the resident giggler. She's always grinning. Everything is funny. She giggles at every turn, especially in moments when laughter is not recommended. When she really laughs though it's loud, unapologetic. The sound is full and bright, warm. Cirrus is the least bubbly of the Ghoulettes, and as a result, laughs the least. She's a soft laugher, huffed chuckles under her breath. The sound of wind whispering through autumn leaves. She can be made to really laugh sometimes, though it's rare and treasured among her pack. When she really gets going it's a full-body experience. Swiss is the most boisterous. He doesn't generally chuckle, or laugh under his breath. He just laughs. Sharp, bright barks of laughter that echo through the halls. He, like Sunshine, is unapologetic about his volume. If he's having a good time everyone in the Abbey is going to know about it. Mountain, like Cirrus, rarely laughs loudly. He chuckles a lot. Small huffs of laughter that roll through his chest like water on stones. He's quiet. He smiles a lot, watches his pack fondly as they make fools of himself. But he laughs under his breath about it, shaking his head. Sometimes he's a silent laugher, all of the motions of laughing with none of the sound. When he does belly laugh it's low, rumbling, closer to a purr than real laughter. Aether laughs a lot. He is always smiling, chuckling. His laugh is rolling, contagious. He, like Cumulus, cries pretty quickly when he gets really going. It doesn't take much. What starts as chuckle will soon turn into full blown laughter with Aether. Also, loves to try to talk through his laughter to explain it--is unintelligible when he does it. Rain is the other giggler. He tries to pretend he doesn't. But it doesn't work. Everyone hears it, a short quick sound like water lapping at sand. He'll cover his mouth and try to hide it, but as soon as it's out Dew will be poking at his sides to try to drag more out of him. Rain doubles over when he laughs too hard. Gives himself stomach cramps a lot. Usually ends with him laying on the ground gasping for breath and begging everyone else to stop making him laugh. Dewdrop pretends he never laughs. He is all smirks and withering glares. He chuckles under his breath, throws wry remarks and then looks smug when it makes other people laugh. But under the right circumstances, he will laugh, and laugh loudly. When he really gets going it quickly tips to hysterical. His laugh turns high-pitched and unhinged quickly. He gets out of breath, but keeps laughing through his gasps for air.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Cowbell and Special's Variety Hour

[They're best friends, they're mortal enemies, they could be something more if they weren't such nerds. Cowbell and Special go on a tiny adventure.] Below the cut.

"This is stupid..." Cowbell says in a monotone, leveling an emotionless stare at Special, who pouts dramatically, "...And I am stupid for agreeing to join you."

"You're just being cranky because you know we're gonna have a lot of fun and you're jealous you didn't think of it first." Special replies, placing his hands on his hips, "I thought your macabre little tushy would be down for some good old fashioned ghost hunting, you already talk to dead things all the time!"

Cowbell tilts his head, his neck giving a sharp click, "Dead plants and dead people are different... mushrooms though. Mushrooms talk. They scream. Often."

Special smiles with his teeth to mask the sudden shiver he feels up his spine.

"Mushrooms aside, I think it would be fun!" he laughs nervously as Cowbell continues popping his stiff joints, his blank gaze never leaving Special's face, "...Bells?"

"Yes, Phillip?" Cowbell asks, bending fully backwards to crack his spine.

"...You're scarin' me, bud."

"It is unintentional."

"I see... Anyway, ghost hunting!" Special claps his hands together, "I was going to invite more people, but as it would turn out, you're the only friend I have that was even remotely interested in coming along!"

"That is because I am the only friend you have." Cowbell intones, straightening his back with a snap, "Others do not appreciate your noises."

"...Harsh."

"Is it? I see..." Cowbell nods, "I enjoy your sounds, is what I meant to imply."

"Awww, buddy, that's so sweet, weird way of putting it, but sweet!" Special chirps, "You know, I knew there was a reason I liked you! You're such a good pal, who's always keeping me humble-"

"I often enjoy when they stop, too."

"You're so mean!"

Cowbell gives a stilted laugh.

Special sighs bodily, wraps an arm around Cowbell's shoulders, and starts walking, "Bells, bestie, never change."

"...?"

.

.

.

The chapel on the far side of the abbey's grounds has been abandoned for nearly two decades now, having been badly damaged in a fire when some less than friendly evangelists learned who it belonged to, and, well...

"At least no one died." Special comments, making his way through the now overgrown building, brushing his hand over a moss covered pew, "Primo never was the same after that happened though..."

Cowbell hums and traces his fingers over the smooth bark of a tree growing out of the floor.

"This place is more sad than haunted." Special says, "But I'm certain there's ghosts here! There's always creepy shit goin' on."

"Hm... stone tape."

Special blinks.

"What?"

Cowbell crouches down, feeling the rotten wood tiles, crumbling a bit between his fingertips, "Residual haunting, maybe."

"Ohhhh... is that what that is?"

"Do you know me to be a liar?" Cowbell asks, tilting his head backwards to stare at him.

"I'm not saying that-" Special watches Cowbell bring his arms back and walk across the floor on all fours, upside-down, "-Why are you like this?"

"I find happiness in your perpetual torment." Cowbell responds, ambling up the wall like a demonic spider, "...And I am told I have poor impulse control as a result of what the humans call ADHD."

"Oh, same." Special says, following Cowbell's ascent, "Still, I don't know how that applies to the cryptid vibes you're givin' me, bro."

"...Phillip."

"Yes, Bells?"

"We are demons."

"Oh. Oh right, shit."

Cowbell drops down.

"You must do more weird shit." he says, dusting himself off, "It is good for you."

"Right, right, I'll keep that in mind." Special sniffs, "Uhh, so, whatcha think? Any ghosties around?"

Cowbell looks around the chapel, then shakes his head.

"Aw... Man, this was kind of a wash, huh?"

"Not entirely." Cowbell says, gesturing towards what's left of the chapel's stained glass windows, at the sunset filtering in through the glass, "We got to see something of your namesake."

"I don't know what's so 'lover of horses' about this situation, but okay...?"

Cowbell swats the back of his head.

"It's special."

"Oh, oh, awww, you're being cute again~" Special coos.

"You are ruining the moment with your noises."

"...You like my noises."

"...Unfortunately."

For a moment, they just stand there, enjoying the sunset, but right when Special is about to suggest they leave, Cowbell turns to him.

"Special."

And, fuck, his heart skips a beat, the setting, the soft expression that flits across his friend's face for a fraction of a second.

"Y-Yeah?"

"...You have bird shit on your shoulder."

"Goddammit."