#Oli Shrieks

[tornoleander]

Nya has the best writing out of anyone in skybound an I will not hear otherwise

(this is just a rant but I will finish my argument with evidence soon but I was feeling like yelling at phone)

Just watched a video completely butchering her character.

I’m fuming about Nya’s treatment in general like RRRRR SHE IS LIKE THE BEST WRITTEN. Most people I see talk about her never tried to see Nya’s motivation.

And because she’s grumpy and won’t take bullshit treatment. And a large part of the audience Treat her like she’s a brat for it like…

Her ark against all odds is great. The only reason so many people don’t get that is ALL because of the awful framing and them focusing on Jay at all the wrong times I PROMISE YOU.

The audience is made to focus on Jay’s feelings in moments that should’ve been about her.

Nya always thought she would end up with Jay like she said later on. She always loved him She wasn’t trying to hurt or play with his feelings but she had bigger problems, and she simply didn’t want to be dating him. Because she hated how that would make her be perceived. Which was the issues that she overcame by the end.

She is frustrated by way she’s perceived by the city. They only see her as her gender. A self insert of sorts. (There’s a scene about it first ep subtle but boils my blood) Not a person. She HATES IT.

BRRRR

Nya has A lot more going on like it was never her Job to walk on eggshells around Jays feelings. She was having a lot harder of a time that first episode but more screen time was dedicated to Jays moping about her.

Just AAA ggghg

LIKE EVERYONE REWATCH SKYBOUND AND FOCUS ON NYA Specifically. Ignore how much the narrative drags you to look at Jay. I swear Nya’s struggle is shockingly the most well written bit

[swamp-chicken]

smooching in sanctuary ft. mythical sausage and jimmy solidarity, by oli theorionsound

[peachesofteal]

Trick or Treat

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/female reader 1.8k words For @glitterypirateduck's GAZFEST Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but contains suggestive themes, slice of life, dad!Kyle, light angst, fluff/comfort. Brief character appearance from another series. I didn't use a prompt for this but it is a one shot.

Trick or treating is an odd custom. 

You feel this way, because like Kyle, you didn’t grow up in a place where knocking on doors for candy was a predominant tradition. Halloween was celebrated, surely, but dressing up as little ghouls and running around, screaming ‘smell my feet’ to your neighbors was just… not a thing when you were a child. 

Times have changed though, since you were young. Customs have floated across the oceans. They have melted into new traditions, new practices that took over schools and playground chatter. 

“I wan’ ta be a ghost!” Oliver’s little face beams up at you as he clutches your hand, skipping beside your body with boundless energy, crisp brown leaves crunching beneath his heels. 

“A ghost?!” you gasp, fake fear making him shriek with giggles. “That’s too scary!”

“Naw it’s not!” it’s a playful protest, and you when you turn the corner, he forgets all about the allure of trick or treating for something infinitely better. 

The sight of his dad standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. His dad, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three weeks, waiting for him. For you. 

He takes off into a sprint.

He’s only four, but fast, and you stay on his heels as he flings himself into the arms of his father. 

“DADDY!”

“Don’t you look the part.” Kyle murmurs, heat creeping up your neck into your cheeks when his hands graze your waist. He ducks under the brim of the black, pointed witch hat you managed to find last minute, and presses his lips against yours. You savor him, soaking in everything, the smell of his skin, the remnant flavor of sweetened peppermint on his tongue, the heat of his body pressed to yours. 

Everything you’ve been missing. 

Everything you’ve ever needed. 

“Do you like it?” you croon, and his hands lift the edge of your shirt, just enough so that his palm lays flat against you, kneading against your hip. 

“It’s… bewitching?” He tries the word before the crack of a smile forms, a breathy chuckle, amusement at himself blooming across his face. 

He stuns you. Still. Even after five years. Even after being married, having his child, being separated across continents for too many too long stretches of time. 

“I think-“ you’re about to tell him that you’re thinking about after trick or treating, when Oli will be asleep, when the house will be quiet and dark, all of the candy given away, the candles blown out. When his body will be flush with yours in bed, and you’ll push and pull one another into a daze of pleasure. 

He’s been home for a week, but the longing, the wanting never stops. It only builds, desperate to drink up as much of him as possible, eager to hang on to everything he gives you before he goes again. 

“I’m ready!” Oliver’s shout interrupts you, chiming over some camp Halloween music crackling in the background, finally ready for his grand entrance even though you got him ready over a half hour ago, and Kyle huffs a laugh into your neck before you both pivot to where your son stands on top of the stairs, clad in his very fancy, brand new Buzz Lightyear costume. 

“What's this?” A perfectly packaged Buzz Lightyear costume sits on the kitchen table, and Kyle rubs the back of his neck. 

“He ah- didn’t want to be a ghost anymore.” 

“What?” The dog barks from the backyard, pulling a glance from you to where Oliver plays with her, where they chase each other around in circles in the dusk lit grass.  

“And I couldn’t tell him no…” Your husband tries to explain sheepishly, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Yeah, you’re not really good at that.” His hand envelopes yours, lips pressing to your knuckles. “That’s alright though.” You know he feels guilty. He feels the weight of his absence, feels the pain every time he comes, or goes. 

You try to hold it for him. The sadness. The remorse. The struggle. Try to put the flames out, when they grow too high, when it’s too much for him to bear. After all, Oliver was a decision the two of you made, together.

Sometimes you succeed in lessening this weight that he carries.

Sometimes you do not. 

“Okay, hold still!” you hurry backwards, lining them up in the frame on the front step, flanked by the poorly carved jack o lanterns, the jagged teeth and uneven eyes glinting at you from where the LED lights flicker inside their hollowed-out guts. 

Oliver grins, looking between you and his dad, who crouches beside him, holding him close in an embrace. They have their arms around one another, and they're so happy, so sweet, that you have you hurry up and blink your tears away before Kyle’s super senses catch on. 

You click a million frames of the same photo, just in case, selecting the second one to send off in a group message. 

>Buzz and his favorite Sergeant go trick or treating!  >Soap: I thought I was his favorite Sergeant?  >Price: Enjoy, make sure you get some of the good candy for yourselves!  >You: Of course, and we will! Soap, send pics of Bee in her costume and the fam!  

The response comes fast, a picture, a selfie in an elevator. Soap’s got a half full pillowcase in one hand, and the phone in his other, their partner standing behind him, her fingers folded over his waist, face beaming and bright as she smiles up at the camera. Ghost looms next to her with a little girl curled up against his chest in a homemade bumblebee costume. 

Kyle barks out a laugh, and types out a quick reply. 

>Kyle: Who made that costume? I know it wasn’t you, Soap. >Ghost: It definitely wasn’t. 

“Muuum!” It’s an impatient whine, and you slide your phone away, handing him his plastic pumpkin. 

“Alright, rules.” Kyle begins, the tone of his voice serious enough to jog Oli’s attention immediately. “Stay with us at times. No running too far ahead. Mum or I should be able to see you, yeah?” Oli nods agreeably. “No crossing the street without a grown up. And say thank you at the door.” 

“But wot if they give me apples?” 

“Say smell my feet.” Kyle deadpans and Oliver’s eyes go wide, while you smack your husband’s bicep lightly. 

“No! You still say thank you. Buzz Lightyear likes apples, you know.” Oli deflates a bit, and Kyle laughs, pulling him in for a hug. The little boy melts, still content to just be cuddled and held by his dad, even though he tells everyone he’s a ‘big boy now’. You try to memorize the sight, something to think back on in a few weeks when your bed is empty again, and there’s one less setting at the dinner table. 

“What are we waiting for?” Kyle pats Oliver on the back, and then the three of you take off down the street under the orange glow of All Hallows Eve. 

“He’s cleaning up well.” Kyle muses. Oliver runs down the sidewalk, pointing at his orange globe with pure excitement. 

“Mmmm.” You hum your agreement, pulling your jacket a little tighter. It’s gotten cooler since the sun went down, and the crisp fall air nips at your skin.  “Cold, love?” A warm arm goes around your shoulders and then tucks you in tight, close enough that your face can nestle into his clavicle. “I’ll warm you up later.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re so cheeky sometimes, you know that?” 

“I do.” He’s solemn when he says it, but his eyes twinkle, mischievous streak simmering just beneath the surface of his enchanting gaze. 

“No question where he gets it from.” Kyle’s fingers touch your temple and then swipe down, glancing across your cheekbone before he’s cupping your face fully, tilting your mouth up to his for a dizzying kiss. 

“You’re not so well behaved yourself.” He chides between the slide of your lips, and you smirk into it, nipping at him when he deepens the kiss. Your heart glows in your chest, warm, happy, sated, and you melt into him, content to be swallowed in the bliss of his touch, his love- 

Oliver screams. 

Everything happens at once. 

Oliver screams, and you both recognize it immediately. You gasp, moving to turn away but you’re too slow, far too slow compared to Kyle. You feel the strength of his body, his muscles turned to action in your grip, and then nothing, save for his absence. 

He’s already gone. 

He’s already over the fence, and up the little yard of the house where you son stands with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

There’s a bowl of candy on chair next to him, and as you get closer, you notice that it has one of those animatron hands in it, the ones that snap forward and grab someone unsuspecting when they reach for a treat. 

Oh. Your body sags with relief. Your heart slows to a slightly elevated pace. 

“You’re alright, shhh. I’m here. Dad’s here.” Kyle has Oliver in a hug, and he rocks him side to side, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly. “Just had a scare, is all.” Your son’s crying relaxes, and he sniffles, keeping his face pressed into Kyle’s chest, hands clutching at him. When Kyle moves to stand, he lets out a frightened cry, and your husband is quick to comfort him, shushing in his ear as he holds him tight. “I’m right here.” He coos, rising with the boy in his arms, looking at you over his head. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight then.” You whisper, leaning forward to peer at Oliver’s sleepy and tearful face. It’s late, well past his bedtime, and he’s already hit every house on the block, filling his little jack o lantern to brim. “Let’s go home?” Kyle nods his agreement. 

Your fingers intertwine with his during the walk home. He holds you, and his son, the entire way, until the front door is swinging open and the two of you are lowering Oliver into bed, tucking him in carefully and kissing him goodnight. Kyle strokes a gentle touch across his cheek, and you volunteer to do the clean-up downstairs so he can linger there, sitting by his son’s bed, watching over his sleeping form. 

When you’re done, and the lights have been turned off, the jack o lanterns no longer flickering in the night, the street nearly quiet, Kyle pulls you into your bedroom.

“Want to leave the hat on?” He raises a brow, and you smother a giggle before pulling the pointy hat off your head with a flourish.

“Trick or treat?” He steals the question from your lips with his, pulling you downwards, burying you between his body and the sheets. 

“I love you.” He whispers against you in the dark, mouth tracing a map across your skin. “Happy Halloween, my love.” 

[hatchetfield-bang]

It's here!! The 2024 Teams Roster!!

Wow! Our most popular year so far, and our most successful first check-in/claims! We also had a very successful beta claims for the first time ever!!! Without further ado, get excited for the teams of the 2024 Hatchetfield Bang!!!

Love Runs Blue Author: Amanda/Calc Artist: Arran/Wiz Artist: Jade

For as long as my heart beats, our love shall fill it Author: Arthur Artist: Crypt Beta: Cami/Mike

Double Trouble Author: Love Artist: Kostya Artist: Axel

My Imaginary Friend, the Horror Author: Hayley Artist: Apollo/Pax Artist: Indigo

A Budding Conspiracy Author: Ash Artist: Artsy Artist: Oli

Sleazy Grown-Ups Must Die Author: Nab Artist: Jude Artist: Noodle

Little Briar Rose Author: Cal Artist: Teddy Beta: Pamela

Save The Town, Save The World Author: Felix Artist: Banana Bread Artist: Myth Beta: Lou

The God Of Friendship Author: Cas Artist: Grape/Kai Artist: Chloe Beta: Lou

when everything gets heavy, i've learned to travel light Author: Dragon Artist: Lo Artist: Teddy Beta: Lou

Ziria Author: Rats Artist: Noodle Artist: Jade Beta: Andi

She Walks Among the Stars Author: Dylbo Artist: Maddy Artist: Temmie Beta: Feather

Abstinence Camp Continued Author: Myth Artist: Ricky

Let's Do The Timewarp Again Author: Feather Artist: Kaz Artist: Nico Beta: Violet

Flash, Bang, Jane Author: Amanda/Calc Artist: Chloé Beta: Charlotte

Learning to Love Again (For the First Time) Author: Dylbo Artist: Finn Beta: Lucy

2003 Author: Love Artist: Tere Artist: Storm

Hallowed be thy name Author: Frog Artist: Olly Beta: Feather

The Senior Shriek Author: Felix Artist: Jasper Artist: Achilles Beta: Violet

Bleeding Memories Author: Ash Artist: Chloe Beta: Andi

Transfer My Tragedy Author: Felix Artist: Maddy

Grace Rips Off A Carrie Author: Ember Artist: Myth

Branches of the Willow Author: Nick Li Artist: Dan Beta: Temmie

leaning over us in icy stars Author: Rats Artist: Ace Artist: Ash

Reflections Author: Megan Artist: Domo

innocence died screaming, honey (i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door) Author: Scott Artist: Olly Beta: Feather

How Far We've Come Author: Nier Artist: Morgan

Sweetheart Author: Grape/Kai Artist: Maddy Beta: Violet

The Hatchetfield Games Author: Charlotte Artist: Achilles Beta: Cami/Mike

i'll never let you go (take me back) Author: Ali Artist: Green Beta: Charlotte

Alice Woodward Must Die Author: Emmelie Artist: Silver Beta: Love

The Hatchetfield Poets Department Author: Charlotte Artist: Andi Beta: Love

NPMD Among Us AU Author: Andi Artist: Ren Artist: Emmett

Nothing means everything (to me) Author: Frog Artist: Amy

dead kids (where do they go?) Author: Em Artist: Cass Artist: Ace

and the bible didn't mention us (not even once) Author: Amy Artist: Storm Beta: Love

Only Hers Author: Abi Artist: Marc

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Twenty One

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier and @faceless-mirror.

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: Angsty SMUT ahead

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday @high-wire

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Twenty One

Ryan was thankful that he was on patrol with Chris, as much as he loved Justin, he did, he knew that the man wasn’t able to ever keep his mouth shut. He would just jabber on and on all night long. Look at what happened after Chris spent the night with Vinny, he brought him home almost disembowelled by a demon, Ryan didn’t want his insides almost to end up on the ground thank you very much. All because Justin couldn’t keep his mouth shut. No, Chris would be respectful, and hopefully, potentially keep his thoughts to himself.

Though, even if that was asking too much, he’d at least be decent about it, and stop if he asked him to.

Chris, he was just happy to get out of the Church. While he’d gone out the night before and had his little tiff with the hellhound before that, had Jerahmiel called it, Oli? Had shown up, what kind of hellhound had that one been? He’d never seen the likes of one that massive before. It was either old, or a new breed so massive, that hell had specific plans in mind for it. That worried Chris, what did Hell have planned to have sent something that massive out to guard a fallen angel? Jerahmiel had to be a fallen if Gwynn was classed as one, right? Gwynn was a precious being, to be called fallen, Jerahmiel had to be one too.

They were walking in silence, both of them so focused on keeping guard, and their own minds if they were honest. Chris had Chenza back in Vinny, and Ryan… Ryan was not going to talk about it, about any of it. Most of all, though, it was the night after Halloween, and the night after Halloween was just as bad as the night itself. There was no telling how many demons were able to slip through the veil between the realms the night before when it was so thin.

Hearing a scream down an alley down the street, Ryan already had his hammer drawn, extending the handle ready to swing, Chris extracted his daggers from their sheaths immediately, unquestionably. Their steps quickened on the pavement as they broke into a run down the street, following the sounds of the mortal's distress. They rounded the corner of an alley to find a circle of demons surrounding a woman, that was all, a single woman.

“Never change it up, do you boys, always have to gang up on the weak and the helpless.” Ryan’s words came as both gargoyles grew larger, their bodies shifting into their bestial forms, covered in their living stone, wings erupting from their backs as the demons let out vicious shrieks. Scales shed from the beasts before the gargoyles down in the alley, they didn’t even need to run at them. The hoard of hell spawn didn’t have a cell in their collective minds when they decided to come at the immortal warriors, running toward them to their dooms. They intended to guard their prey, but Chris and Ryan weren’t about to let that woman stay in their clutches.

At the church, Gwynn was up and moving best they could, though right now, Gwynn was eating, as Vinny was feeding Honesty and themself as many eggs as possible, along with feeding Justin. Ricky had crashed back to bed as soon as he had come back from the restroom, and was currently still asleep in his room. Vinny had already lured his mate away with cheesy scrambled eggs and fresh bacon and ham steaks with green onions sprinkled over both. Justin had walked out of Ricky’s room, and taken one look at Atsuko with all those plates in front of him, and smiled. He remembered that first morning with Vinny cooking all those different eggs for him, Vinny making all those different types, trying to figure out what he liked to eat, and figuring out… yesss cheesy scrambled eggs. Climbing onto the stool, and devoting his love for Vinny right there, she was perfection.

Gwynn had been dazed, not remembering much but feeling… good and confident. They were eager to see Ryan after patrol, wanting to wrap him up in their arms and wings, but part of them knew better, still fearful of that harsh touch. 

Chris and Ryan fought hard through the hoard of demons, and it was a hoard. Turned out there was a small tear in the veil that they used a rune to seal before they could leave. The more they fought, the more demons that kept pushing through, thankfully the woman got away unscathed while they slashed and smashed their way through the gore of the masses. The bodies of the demons bursting into flames and descending back down to hell the moment they were hit with the runed weapons. Once Chris had sealed the tear with his daggers dipped in holy water, they killed the last few of the demons and finally, they could rest… Just a moment… Shit…

Now, now, they could make their way back to the church. 

Rather than walk, they took to the skies, knowing they were drenched in blood, and if they were seen, they would raise a few eyebrows… just a few.

A teenager looked out the window to see them and shouted, “DAD. THERE ARE GIANT MONSTERS OUTSIDE-”

A booming voice came from deeper in the home, “Damn it, Will! Did you get into my mushrooms again?”

Chris took in a sharp breath, glancing over at Ryan, they had both heard the kid shout, even from the sky, they could hear, well, everything almost. What were they going to do, usually it was dark enough they could be hidden, and then, before either of them could say anything, the next voice came… The amusement that washed over him was such a shock to his system that he almost forgot how to fly for a second. For a second, he almost fell from the sky, Chris having to grab at him before he got too low... that had his commander smirking and laughing his ass off at him.

“And to think, I didn’t think I’d get a laugh out of tonight.”

Gwynn looked up as the rush of the night air changed, they were back! They moved to greet them freezing seeing Ryan, jaw slack and looking over him, they swallowed, “Hi.” they wanted to reach out and touch him, but something told them not to reach out. A voice. A worry in the back of their mind, itching and angry, snarling in their head.

Landing on the balcony of the rectory, while they had more access than that, they had the different alcoves open, this was the one that they used. There was also the fact that so many of the alcoves used to belong to fallen members of their troupe, and it felt, different, to traipse over them sometimes. They were both so covered in blood, and heaven knows what, they were probably dripping it everywhere…

Chris looked between Gwynn and Ryan, “I'm going to clean up at Vinny’s.” Escaping the rectory before either of them could say a thing, he wasn’t going to deal with that tension right now, not to mention he wanted to be near his mate. 

Ryan took in a deep breath, swallowing, there was an adrenaline rush after a fight, but he was covered in blood and the thought of tainting Gwynn, tainting… clearing his throat brokenly… “I’ll just… uh…”

“I could join you- or… I would have but-” Gwynn stopped talking, remembering their leg, and sighed, “Go ahead and clean up. Get some rest if you want… whatever feels right.” they said gently, licking their lips, “If you want to… find me later?” they offered sweetly.

Ryan’s breath caught, if he wanted, what he wanted, the feeling then that gripped him was like Jerahmiel was standing behind him, reaching under his rib cage, and wrapping his fingers around his heart and gripping. A rune on his back glowing, focusing the pain for a moment before fading back and disappearing again, the illusion disappearing with it. Swallowing heavily, his fingers flexing by his sides, “Alright.” Shifting on his feet before making for the bathroom, inching his way around them.

Gwynn took off from the balcony, going up to their old alcove, touching the door before easing in, seeing it covered in dust and dirt. Some birds had once roosted here but no longer… they paused before clapping, and it steadily cleaned itself. Leaving the room spotless, Gwynn sighed and looked around. They upgraded the bed with a simple touch and laid down groaning softly, their body stretched out as their fingers worked their pants out of the way, stroking their fingers over their folds slowly, moaning softly his name.

Listening just inside the door for the sound of them leaving, sighing as Ryan knew he was alone, damn, what was he doing. This morning, this morning, had been so different. He hadn’t even slept properly, in what more than twenty-four hours, he was dead on his feet. Okay, he’d rested some with Gwynn this afternoon, and it had felt so strange, nothing compared to a rejuvenation cycle of stone, but, not the point, he, he didn’t know what the fuck he was thinking right now. Stripping the bloody clothes from his body in the bathroom, discarding them aside, he stepped into the shower, he started it and just began scrubbing, washing every inch of his marred and scarred body.

They weren’t supposed to scar. Gargoyles, with their ability to seal their wounds with one rejuvenation cycle, they were never supposed to form visible scars on their bodies. Even Chris, when he’d taken so long to heal, it had all been internal, his muscles struggling to support his bodies internal functions. How or why they could never explain it, but injuries that they endured always took longer to heal, leaving them to linger in pain.

Once he was clean, that was when Ryan’s fingers were wrapping around his cock. Sighing, thinking about one person, a face, a name he’d once forgotten falling from his lips, that he hadn’t said like this in so long.

Alone, Gwynn was whimpering and mewling in pleasure, legs shaking, as they remembered the feeling of waking up with Ryan. His cock had slid between their clothed cheeks and remembering that, Gwynn stroked faster, teasing the clit that had adapted instead of their cock they still missed. They teased their folds as they melted in delight, trembling with their eyes rolled back.

Ryan braced himself against the wall of the shower with his other hand as he stroked his cock, head hung forward. Hair wet as the scalding hot water running down his body washing away pink with the blood down the drain all evidence of the patrol forgotten now as he moaned out, “Gwynn…” Having his hands on them this morning was too much, and, not enough, more than he’d ever deserve again and he knew it. 

Gwynn was moaning fingers working into them as their other hand gripped the sheets beneath them softly, whimpering out Ryan's name, pleadingly. “Ryan- Ryan please-!” They whispered, throbbing as they moved just a bit faster.

Groaning as the warmth of the water was a poor replacement for the press of Gwynn’s body against his, the feel of them wrapped around him, being inside of them, their cock in his hand instead of his own. No… fuck… that could never happen again, could it? He’d never feel their cock in his hand again… not that he had any right to touch them at all again any longer, anyway. Thumb rubbing over the tip, so careful, and it wasn’t even how he liked, it was, he sobbed, they, they had always liked, “Go on baby, cum for me…” Words barely gasped from his lips as his hand works them in his mind, not wanting to let go of this moment. He wasn’t going to get a reality, why couldn’t he have this?

The angel squirmed and gasped, wings fluttering as they fought their orgasm for a minute before crying as they came, imagining Ryan’s frame pressed over theirs as they sobbed out his name cumming hard. They wouldn't get it for a while yet… they would earn it back. The right to touch him.

The feeling of his orgasm ripped through Ryan as he came into his hand with Gwynn’s name on his lips. There was a pain to his pleasure now, and admitting that to anyone never happened, ever, but a sob escaped him, knowing that he couldn’t escape it. Escape the things that he’d done, the horrible monster that he’d become, giving in. He hadn’t just been abused, he’d wanted it, time and time again, just so he could feel anything at all, for centuries. Sure, Ryan had never been wanting for lovers in the troupe, even as their numbers as dwindled, but it had always been different. He was the monster, he was ruined, and he knew it, Jerahmiel always made sure he knew it. He had accused Gwynn… And yet, he was the one that would never deserve them… Ever.

Gwynn stared at the ceiling, tears in their eyes, longing for the gargoyle they loved, wanting to be buried in his arms once more. Wondering if they would ever feel him like that again now that he knew how broken they were. What they had been used for. Then they got up, cleaning up and laid back down curled up ignoring the throbbing in their leg.

Chris had gone to clean up with Vinny, and spend some time with her, coming back from a patrol like that was always a horrific feeling. He had known it would be jarring for her to see him like that, and while he could have cleaned up beforehand, continuing to hide everything, wouldn’t have felt right. What's more, staying around Ryan, and Gwynn, with that tension, he didn’t think anyone in this building wanted that. 

Sexual, emotional, it was just all kinds of tragic and passionate and none of them wanted to deal with it.

So after he cleaned up, and spent a rather substantial amount of time wrapped up in bed with his mate, reaffirming her he was alive, and perfectly fine. No more injuries. No demons had gotten a scratch on him… Even though one had almost gutted him just a few weeks ago, yes he understood her upset there, these things happened, he was fine… Chris went looking for Gwynn. Eventually, he went looking for them in their old room. He couldn’t remember if anyone had ever taken up their old alcove they’d once shared with Ryan, or if even Ryan had been able to bring himself to stay in there, after…

Knocking on the doorway, he waited, “Gwynn, Justice?”

“Come in.” Gwynn called, standing up, leaning on their cane as they grunted softly. “I'm good. I'm right here… I figured I should clean up the alcove… since…”

The alcoves tended to appear a lot smaller from the outside of the church than they were on the inside. This was one of the higher ones, and if Chris was honest, he was surprised the magic expanding the inside still worked. Then again, it was connected to Gwynn, so that was why it did. Nodding as he stepped in, “Of course, I just thought, I’d come by, see how you were going, healing, whether physically, or, otherwise?” Chris had gotten used to being the one to watch out for those around him, even if it was technically Gwynn’s job, it didn’t even occur to him to let it go now they had returned to them. Gwynn was still healing, just demanding everything of them would be detrimental anyway.

They smiled at him softly, “I'm okay… I'll be fine… I don't know if Ryan will ever want to move back in here… but…” Gwynn stopped looking over to see the hand carved cradles that Ryan had made for their future babies and their eyes watered. “When I was in heaven, I had dreamed of being here… home with Ryan… I'm fine. I’m fine…” Gwynn said, talking fast enough to distract themself from the cradle haunting them. They had been so excited, remembering when Ryan had shown them the matching set of cradles. Their diamond eyes gleamed in pain and anguish. “... I’m fine, but, but Ryan-”

Chris couldn’t say if Ryan would want back in this particular alcove either, sometimes, the past could weigh on you, such as those cradles. Would Gwynn feel the same about those cradles? So bittersweet with both wonderful and painful feelings, it would bring should anyone suggest using them for any babies the troupe brought into the world, some potentially very soon. By the angel, if Jerahmiel was right, those babies weren’t just going to be half-breeds, and Gwynn had heard everything. They hadn’t blinked. He wasn’t sure how to take that if he was honest. 

“Gwynn, breathe, Ryan will be fine.” Chris was worried about them, he knew Ryan, he knew he could handle himself. They would have to figure out how to get him help, but he was more worried about Gwynn right now, with the way they were talking so fast. He reached carefully for their shoulders to gently turn them away from the room to the panel to the outside from the alcove. “We will work it out, you have my oath. I’m more worried about you right now.”

They looked up at Chris, silver eyes glimmering. “… what if he doesn't want me anymore? Am I too broken? I'm not able-bodied anymore. I can't even walk properly-” they whispered, closing their eyes and leaning their head back, staring up at the stone ceiling. “I wouldn't blame him if he hated me for everything… I can’t even fight right now, I’m not strong enough anymore… I don’t know what to do.”

The angel was broken. “And now… knowing because I was gone… Ryan got hurt more than I could have imagined… I hate myself more.”

Chris shook his head slightly, “Vinny told me Ryan’s first reaction upon seeing you, well, aside from confusion, there is no way, in the creator's blessed earth, that gargoyle does not want you anymore.” Sighing, these two, what was he going to do with them. “Besides, sadly, you are not the only one that is broken, able-bodied or not, it's not going to matter to him Gwynn, or any of us… Vin and I care for you too, and I’m sure Justin, and Ricky will love you just the same once they know you.” Provided the nephilim issue doesn’t prove a problem…

Reaching for Gwynn’s hand now, “Gwynn, I’m so sorry, but the truth is this isn’t your fault, the only people at fault were the people who kept you away, the people that tortured you both. Until we can get justice for both of you, all we can do, is do our best to help the two of you deal with this trauma… tell me, please, how can I help you deal with yours?” This wasn’t all about Ryan.

They looked at Chris’ hand holding their own, and they trembled, holding it just a bit tighter, “… Chris… I don’t know… I have no idea what to do… for the first time I’m clueless, and I’m looking for stability… and I can’t find it. Every time I think I have a grip, it's torn away… I felt best being near him. I don’t know what to do… Chris. I just wanted to be close to him, but he didn’t seem to want to be close to me, and I don’t know how to relax around him again. I just want my mate to touch me.” they whispered, chest aching. “Yet I’m terrified of his touch at the same time. What’s wrong with me…? He… I miss him… But… I don’t know what you can do… I’m better from resting with Ryan for a bit… My leg isn’t as sore… but…” they sighed, “If you could get him to come and see me even if I’m asleep… That would help.”

Pausing, Chris couldn’t say on what Ryan wanted, though he did know while he was fighting against being near Vinny, every cell in his being wanted to be right beside her, but he pulled back, so… maybe. The difference was, they were already mates, and for them, it was so much more painful, he knew Ryan had to be feeling this as much as Gwynn, they had both been feeling this pain for the last thousand years. It was a part of the bond. It had been, to put it as kindly as possible, slowly killing them. Nodding slightly, his hand squeezing Gwynn’s gently, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Gwynn nodded slowly, braiding their hair a bit, mostly just to keep it out of the way with how dreadfully long it was now. They would need to cut it soon… Perhaps in the morning. “Thank you- thank you, Chris. I don't quite know what to make of this…”

“None of us do.” His mate had come back from the dead, their handler had come back from heaven, and turned out wasn’t as dead as they had been led to believe. Pausing, “We should get out of the Church for a moment, to breathe… Maybe after we take some time to sleep all of this off tomorrow morning.”

They nodded with a soft smile, sitting back down and crawled under the covers. They were exhausted, but at least it was better.

Chris moved towards their bed, reaching for the covers to pull them tighter over Gwynn and tuck them in, he’d go down to Ryan, and then go talk to the others about what they could do tomorrow. Something they could work out they could do that was relaxing, or at least together. They needed to be able to watch over Gwynn and Atsuko, Atsuko, because it had been so long since he’d been, well, socialized. If Chris was honest, Atsuko had never been that good around mortals, he had a tendency to, well, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He loved him, he did, but you try convincing him that lying was the actual virtue when it came to hiding from the mortals what they were. Still, after how long in the catacombs, he deserved out in the world too. Even if they had to duct tape his mouth shut! Gwynn, was healing, Chris wasn’t going to risk them getting traumatized anymore. 

“I’ll talk to the others, and figure something out for tomorrow. You rest… And Gwynn,” As he tucked them in, he spoke softly, leaning over, Chris pressed a soft kiss to their cheek, “Ryan isn’t the only one that missed you.” He did. He knew their relationship hadn’t been the best. Chris had been different back then, but he’d trusted Gwynn with his life, more than any other angel, and he’d give his life for them. Having them back meant the world. “Sleep well.” Now, to go kick Ryan’s butt and get him up here.

Gwynn's eyes widened, and they turned, leaning up enough to kiss his cheek in return. “I missed you all as well… sincerely.” they added as they laid back down, curling up once more. With that, they nodded and after a few moments drifted off, savoring the quiet and being home… As much as home was right now.

Their leg was stretched out stiff from earlier but otherwise comfortable on their side of the bed, and that was how Ryan found them when he stepped through the doorway of the alcove. Chris had indeed come down to the rectory. None of the three of them had stayed in any of their alcoves in so long, they hadn’t seen the point, besides, when their beast forms had been moved, they hadn’t really had a choice anymore. Gwynn they actually slept, Ryan he, he remembered now, laying beside Gwynn, wrapped up in their arms, after patrol, waiting for them to wake from their nap. 

Chris had argued, that no matter how Ryan felt, that he knew that just being in his presence would aide, Gwynn’s healing. So whether he felt that either of them deserved the other… 

“No, no, don’t argue, I don’t care what you think Ryan, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve heard Gwynn’s side, I’ve no doubt yours is probably the exact same on the reverse. You are both going to be a pain in my ass, I can feel it. Just go up there, and lay with them. You and I both know, the mating bond, and touch, helps the healing process. Now march.”

Ryan had felt guilty hearing that, remembering Chris in his delusional state trying to get to Vinny. They all realized later that he had accidentally mated to Vinny already, and if he’d let him go to her, his healing might have been smoother. There would have been a lot more questions, but it would have been smoother. Now he climbed into bed with Gwynn, and sighed softly, wrapping around them, gently, careful of their leg, slowly drifting off to sleep for the rest of the night, and into the next day.

[enderwoah]

expanding upon my watcher grian pix and zedaph vs listener jimmy oli and martyn post, id like to say that pix is actually the most obvious out of all of them and here's why.

zedaph is rather experienced with it. he's probably been one for hte longest and he makes it a point to not hide it, which is basically the best way of hiding it. nobody is going to ask how he's everywhere at once, how he crosses over servers without actually connecting to them, or how he can simply Know things that he shouldnt Know because it's zedaph. zedaph is always like that.

grian isn't the most experienced, but he at least knows to duck into a room if hes going to start spying on people with all the eyes lined across his wings. and he has the life series, which is basically a watcher dream, so thats his creative outlet in which he can pull on strings as much as his sadistic (/nsrs) little heart wants to and its all perfectly normal.

pixlriffs? pixlriffs has no idea what the hell is going on.

on any given day someone could walk in on him staring down an ancient ruin, trying to See what it looked like at its prime and being met with giant purple eyes surrounding the structure, unblinking and unmoving until they all shift their gaze to the poor intruder and he turns around, shrieks, and the eyes are gone. he doesn't bother trying to hide the watcher's insignia plastered on the top of his bucket hat because it'll appear on whatever headwear he dons and he needs to wear a hat. pixlriffs runs a series recapping the events of a server that he is not even on. subtlety is absolutely foreign to him. he falls into sickness and workaholic mode and people start seeing his projections of the ancient capital in its former glory, then he sneezes and they see it as it was torn asunder and engulfed in flame, then he clears his throat and the giant purple eyes dotted above his empire turn to you and stare you down until you fly away.

the funniest thing is that people see this and simply elect to ignore it. like, yeah, its empires, everyone has their little quirks. honestly, they would have been more suspicious if pix really was just that awkward archeologist architect that lives alone in an ancient city inhabited by birds and corpses. they see the eyes in the sky and ask him if he's had water in the past few days. they welcome his help when he approaches them to help with something he never should have known about. the only person that's terrified of the guy is oli, since his listener ass literally starts sounding alarm bells in his mind any time he does something out of the ordinary.

before he knew what was up with pix, oli probably went to go find him in the ancient capital once. he crossed through the doors, found where pix's base was, and an eye immediately appeared in front of him, scanning him up and down. oli probably almost pissed his pants and ran away screaming.

pix resurfaced from the catacombs wondering where the hell his visitor went. it dawned on him a few minutes later that crap, right, maybe people would be scared of a purple eye showing up in front of them and staring them down. he just wanted to see who it was!!!!

[rev-pirate]

Between fwhip’s shrieking shack and Oli’s looping Axel F note block machine Scott is never going to be able to hear himself think in his town square ever again

[shyrose57]

I was INSPIRED by this gorgeous piece of drowned Pearl fan art by @dailypearldoodles.

--------------

If there was one thing anyone could tell you about Kestrel Scar Goodtimes, it was that he was a liar. And a very good one at that.

The second thing was that, like any doomed man, he had ghosts snapping at his heels, and the seas were not his friend.

(There are five rules for anything to do with the things beneath Scar’s boat)

The water is dark where his ship lays docked, shadows rolling beneath the waves that follow it wherever it sails. 

Captain Sausage comments on it, only once. But the shrieking laughter that erupts from the dark mass follows him into his nightmares for days after, and he learns to avert his eyes, lest he dream of something like screaming again.

(The first rule you need to know is that if you speak of them, then they’ll visit)

Whatever haunts him sends his boat rocking at every move, lurching wildly to both sides. They cannot overturn it. Not yet. They’re young still, in death. His days are counting down, but for now, he simply learns to work with it, and politely smiles when others decline to come aboard, eyeing the things below.

(The second rule is that they’re only here to haunt one man, but if you get in the way, they’ll happily take you overboard too)

Scott Denholm dips his feet into the sea, decidely drunk. A hand settles against his leg, light and curious. It feels like a hello. A pair of eyes in the water, shining blue, blink up at him in greeting. There’s a name on the tip of his tongue, as he dips his fingers into the waves to clasp someone else’s. It feels like running into an old friend. 

And then he’s hauled back into someone’s chest, looking up at a pale face as Martyn shouts at him. The thing in the water is gone, and Scar’s ship sways beside them, waiting for the realization to cut through the alcohol’s pleasant fuzz.

(The third is that they remember things you don’t, and are all the more bitter for it. Sometimes though, it means they’ll play favorites)

Oli tries to sing to them sometimes, usually in boredom than any real desire to soothe the things in the water. Most days they seem to delight in it, muffled calls rising up to join his half-strung shanties, distracted from rocking Scar’s ship as much as usual. 

Some days though, it seems to do nothing but grate on their ears and nerves, if they possess them in any sense, and instead shrieking loud enough to make ears bleed while they turn their violent attention towards whoever’s ship he’s on, be it his own or others.

(The fourth rule is that while they can be appeased, they can just as easily be angered, often in the same method. Dead things do not care for predictability)

There are good days and bad days, for Scar Goodtimes’ trips at sea. The good ones are more usual lately, plently of things in his new area distracting his phantoms and drawing them from their usual destructive habits. Of course, then comes the days they make up for it tenfold.

Those days, even the ocean bends to their wrath. The sky darkens and pours, as it did so many years ago when they toppled overboard with gaping wounds that bled the water red. The thunder screams in tandem with a past long gone and hidden, behind deceptive smiles and tongues lost to landfolk’s ears. 

The tide pushes with them, putting it’s strength behind their clawing hands to try and bring the ship beneath the waves where it has belonged since the moment he put them all down there. The scent of blood in the water brings all sorts of deadly things about, waiting for the stronger predators to reach their prey, hoping for the scraps their messy kill will surely leave behind.

Those days, Scar docks his ship wherever he can, and makes his way towards whoever he can. Sausage is easiest, an arm tossed over his shoulder and a look directed at the water has it writhing in anger even as his captain guides him away.

Martyn too, works, though not quite to the same extent. He’s of similar nature to Scar, after all. He looks out for himself before anyone else.

If he’s feeling particularly bold(or as some might put, cruel), he invites his two favorite Herons out to talk about interesting new discoveries by the ship. Scott and Cleo always keep one wary eye on him, which works just fine, because it means they don’t look too hard at the sudden, furious stillness of the water, or the hand settled where he keeps his blade in a familiar threat-to his ghosts, of course. The two Herons would just be the unfortunate collateral his warning requires.

Scar is a dead man walking. He’s not too concerned-he’s very good at stretching both the truth, and his time.

(The fifth rule is that they are going to win, in this battle of patience. That no matter what he does, they’ll still be there, waiting for any slip.

But they can be held back. If you’re clever, and you know what to look for.

If you know what to hold over their heads)

[blocksruinedme]

JIMMY FINALE SPOILERS (but i tagged it so)

If Jimmy can get there on his own, he can come back on his own. My brain is aggressively rejecting any idea that he's gone for good or impossible to reach. It's kinda of funny to see it happen, I'm well aware of it but I'm just going with it. I don't know how much i will even muse on emp s2 post canon.

But.

After Joel's finale, i was thinking through "Jimmy knows people can get Actual God Joel's attention but he refuses to cause Joel didn't say goodbye" and then Joel show up to demand Jimmy's attention (and kisses).

Now I'm thinking fWhip finds out Jimmy left and tracks him down like the insane goblin he is, and Jimmy knows about the shrine and that gives him what he needs to have an actual conversation. That and the emotional space of having left and reflected, and fWhip's panic at Jimmy being gone and seeing what his life is like both without his gobland obligations and without Jimmy - and friends gone too!

I gave up on writing real fWhimmy set during the season, maybe this is what i needed. (God I'm going to miss them)

And in my headcanon Joel can physically manifest wherever he wants. Like Weekend Town. It really seems very plausible, and Joel can be annoyed Jimmy ran off and then argue briefly before kissing. I have TWO late season emp2 smallidarity fics in actual progress, so maybe i should write those lol.

Also Jimmy could come back to visit and be surprised at who is gone! Feelings!!

Oh i haven't watched Scott's, but he went adventuring? Obvs he can show up in WT for feelings and kisses. (They had so much unresolved sexual tension lets be real) Everyone gets to have feelings about other people leaving empires, including "well it made sense for me to leave but you should have stayed (for my emotional reasons i don't understand)". I could do a series of NO NOT ANOTHER SERIES NO uh hey one could do a series of diff visitors to weekend town!

Here's what i said on discord immediately after watching (in a parked car)

"Well i shrieked and literally pounded the roof so ill call it a win

Did i get any resolution between Jimmy and anyone? No.

Did Jimmy fly over to Joel and call him attractive? Yes.

Did we see fWhip? No.

Did i have feelings about Jimmy talking about him and his self-esteem? Yes.

Had it been so long since the shrine that I had full on given up hope Jimmy would ever see it? Yes.

Did i lose my fucking shit? Yes.

Does it give me fic fodder? Absolutely, ideas churning.

Did I literally scream about Jimmy being inducted into a lineage with mandatory bisexuality? Yes

Do i want other people to write Jimmy/old sheriff? Yes."

-----

Now, asap, just give me a new long term smp with at least some lore and rp featuring (at minimum) Jimmy fwhip scott joel oli lizzie, and I'm good. It's not that i need it for fic, i just need boys crashing into Jimmy's streams.

(if you are inspired by any of my fic ideas, go ahead, just let me know if you are working on one so i don't write sometime too similar!)

Empires season 2. It's been real, y'all. (I will not stop talking about them ever. Just less after awhile)

[tornoleander]

Everyone Knows Nya died in S6 but no one talks about Zane’s Falcon. 😔

He was brutally torn apart and never heard from again in Skybound timeline.

Uncared for and forgotten in the main timeline afterwards too.

I care about you Falcon :(

[thedevilinmybrain]

since the music video came out, i think it’s only fitting that i post a snippet for my @momrryficfest​

“What have I gotten myself into?” Harry mutters, hides a kiss against the plump skin of Bowie’s cheek. “You think it’s too late to sneak out the back?”

Bowie gives Harry an innocent blink, the greens of his eyes so similar to Harry’s, even down to the ring of gold around his pupil. Harry loves that he can see himself in his son, the curve of his cupid’s bow, his wild curls. There is Louis there too, the shape of his nose, his cheekbones, that mischievous grin Bowie gets right before he tosses a toy or a cup.

“Right, I feared as much.” Harry lets out another sigh, kisses Bowie’s cheek one more time, feels the soothing tug on his hair from Bowie’s fist in reply. “Alright babe, let’s go find your Daddy.”

It doesn’t take long. Harry hates the way his chest catches, stumbles a little on the deck steps as he spots him in the crowd. Louis is standing out in the law, a beer in his hand while he laughs with Zayn and Oli. Silver sunglasses perched on his nose, Louis has on low slung pair of blue shorts, the waistband decorated by a fine red belt that is doing nothing to keep them in place as the thin band of his Calvins are peeking out. He’s paired it with a white button up that he’s left open, skin a golden bronze around the dark ink crawling over his chest.

“Da! Da!” Bowie shrieks, his little hands raised up off Harry’s skin to wave. It’s not a real word yet, more just babble, but it works immediately as Louis turns his head, his grin going wide.

“There is my little Starman! Hi baby!” Louis coos, leaves mid-conversation to come stepping over the grass, his own arms outstretched. “How are my boys doing today?”

[thedo0zyslider]

Sweet Exchanges - 2k words

A storm is coming, and it brings a certain archeologist to Oli’s doorstep. Not that he's complaining.

A03 Link

The sun was unusually tame that day, Oli found. It wasn’t radiating as much heat as it normally did, particularly because it was starting to be covered by a handful of light gray clouds. Oli really, really hoped there wouldn’t be a storm. Storms weren’t particularly great when you lived on a beach, especially bad ones. So if the gods wanted to curse him today, he hoped it would be with a calm one. He was still cross about having to fix and remake all of his outdoor decorations after the last bad one.

He spent a few hours like that, working himself into a tizzy over a storm that might not even happen. And if you asked him, the storm came before the rain that day, and it came in the form of a very familiar man jumpscaring him and bloody laughing about it.

Pixlriffs himself had showed up, right when Oli had worried himself so much that he was now beginning to move anything that would fit inside his main tent. The archaeologist had appeared behind him out of nowhere, which was something the man had a talent for. The bard had jumped maybe a foot in the air, screaming about god knows what, when Pix leaned down and whispered “boo” in his ear while his mind was elsewhere.

“PIXL!” He shrieked, growing a little more indignant at the laughter flooding the air. “What was the bloody point of that!?” The blonde yelled further, throwing his arms up into the air.

It took that dastardly man a whole two minutes to respond; he was laughing so hard, damn him. “Sorry,” Pix wiped the beginning of tears from his eyes. “You’re just really easy to scare.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to do it!” Oli huffed, playing up his earlier indignation for the dramatics. He crossed his arms over his chest for extra flare, sleeves that were slightly too puffy being pressed down against the front of his bard’s shirt.

“Sorry again,” The brunette repeated, and Oli gave a rather drawn out shrug and eye roll as a response.

“Well,” He sighed, noticing how the corners of Pix’s lips quirked upwards slightly. “You just sound so genuine, so i guess it’s fine,” Oli smiled--almost smirked--as he got in the other’s personal space, having to strain upwards slightly. Whoever granted Pixl almost a whole half foot of height on him should be fired, but that was just a personal opinion.

“I’m glad my apology is accepted,” Pix returned his little smirk, clasping his hands together behind his back. Daro brown eyes filtered to the beach behind him, and the archaeologists gaze had a familiar look of muddled curiosity to it once more. “What were you doing over there, exactly?” He asked, taking a good few moments to scan over the scene behind them.

“Oh, you mean the thing you so rudely interrupted?” That earned a small, yet amused eye roll from Pix. “Just a little worried about a storm,” The bard began to explain, making a general hand gesture at the gray clouds forming above him. “I was trying to move some stuff inside, and I was almost done before a certain man showed up!”

“Want any help?” Pix asked, once again looking at the bard's stuff with a mild curiosity.

“Oh, you’re too kind Pixlriffs!” Oli exclaimed, throwing him part of the fences that had once kept his dragon egg over the fire. He didn’t really need to keep anything roasting anymore, but kept it around for aesthetic reasons mostly. Pix caught it easily, and apparently it wasn’t heavy enough for him because he picked up the other end before the bard could. Fine, he wants a strength test? Then he’ll get a strength test! Oli thought, adding his heaviest instrument to the load as well.

He instructed Pixl which chest they were to be stored in for the time being, before leaning back against his tent’s side to watch. The brunette lifted his things with ease though, gently putting them on the ground like they were exhibants at his museum. Oli had never really noticed how strong Pix was, but he supposed it made sense. The man was restoring a whole empire and had probably done his fair share of heavy lifting in the process.

Eyes traced over the archaeologist's muscles as he put the last item away, eventually moving downwards to his chest area. The front of the dark blue shirt was always unbuttoned, but just enough to reveal a small amount of its wearer’s chest. Oli had thought it was kinda slutty before, and very alluring. His eyes wandered to that spot more often that he’d like to admit, Pix usually making no comment if he noticed.

But today the archaeologist glanced back at him and smirked, an expression Oli did not like one bit. “See something you like?” Pixl asked, his voice becoming more deep and smooth than it usually was. He smirked at the flush that was spreading across pale cheeks at his words.

“Maybe..” The bard muttered, turning his back on the other to pop his head outside. More storm clouds had formed, ones that were darker than their predecessors. Oli frowned at this, glad he’d moved his stuff inside early.

“You were right,” A voice was suddenly right beside him, the sound of Pix’s quiet breaths in his ear. He hadn’t even heard him move. “A storm is coming.”

Oli glanced over his shoulder, failing to hide how startled he now was. Pix was bold today, wasn’t he? The brunette was standing behind him, chest pressed against the upper part of his back a little. If the archaeologist were to move his head slightly it would be resting on his shoulder, which Oli found when he turned his head to meet the man’s teasing gaze. Hands hesitated above his waist, as if Pix was unsure about resting them there.

“You’re quite close there, Mr. Riffs.” The blonde said quietly, almost bumping his nose with Pix’s. Hands finally went to rest on his sides, their soft touch burning. (Burning in the way that made Oli want more.) This was far too close to be anything platonic, but Oli didn’t mind. He was just leaning into the slutty bard persona, nothing more, nothing less. There certainly weren't any real feelings at stake here.

“And you’re not complaining about it,” Pixl watched as Oli moved his head away a little. He smirked as the tent’s entrance was zipped. It wasn’t closed fully, just enough to keep the coming rain out. Certainly wasn’t closed for privacy reasons either, though it would be embarrassing to be caught like this. For both of them, not just the bard, though Pixl dealt with his shame more quietly than the blonde did.

The next thing he knew Oli was pressing him into the floor, his bottom landing a little roughly against the tents flooring. The archaeologist was now being straddled near the back wall of Oli’s home, plush thighs pressing nicely against his own. The bard’s hands flailed uselessly for a moment, before pinning his wrists down against his side.

"Maybe I like being close to you, ever consider that?" Oli's voice is quieter than it had been a moment ago as he leaned forward. A few of his bangs began to fall, covering his half lidded eyes slightly. Pix knows he shouldn't do this, really knows that whatever is going through his head is a bad idea, but nevertheless he goes against his better judgment for the third time that day, suspecting he'll do the same again later. He gently brushes the hair out of Oli's face, and tucks it behind an ear. It would be a crime to have such pretty eyes hidden, after all.

Pix smiles softly at the reaction he gets, enjoying the faint redness that returns to Oli's cheeks. The bard really is quite a pretty man, if you take the time to admire him that is.

"You are such a tease," The blonde huffs, blush spreading to his neck as Pix tucks his hair away again. He unpins the brunette's wrists, going to wrap his arms around the other's neck instead. For now Pixl keeps his arms where they are, awkwardly against his side and hands fiddling on the floor beneath them.

"I know," Pix smiles again, leaning forward on nothing but an impulsive thought. And to his absolute delight, he is meet in the middle by warmer lips than his own.

Oli sighs into the kiss, smooth lips capturing his own slowly, a nice contrast to his own lips; which were surely a little chapped by now. He leaned into the action a little too quickly though, and was almost surprised at the softness of it all. Kissing Pix was nice, just a little unexpected is all.

Pix wasn’t a bad kisser, not in any form. This was just much more…gentle than previous kisses Oli had experienced. The bard had experienced a fair share of kisses, and all had ended up being more on the fiery side, so much so Oli didn’t think he’d ever been kissed calmly in his life. The archaeologist might have his flirtatious moments sometimes, but he’d never quite fit the criteria of passionate, so the more gentle approach didn’t come as a big surprise. Oli didn’t mind it though, he didn’t mind the softness at all, it was something he could be glad to get used to. He let Pixl gently cup the side of his face, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world and thumbing his cheek. And oh, he could definitely get used to being held like this.

A half gloved hand came to rest on the bard’s waist, clutching it just as gently as the other hand was holding his face. Oli smiled softly against the others lips, letting a tongue quietly slip into his mouth and explore it for a little while. Hands tangled into soft brown hair, pulling Pix closer to their owner until the former’s back was bumping against a tent wall. As far as first kisses went, this was probably the best one Oli had ever had. And if they didn’t need to breathe he was sure he would’ve had it for a few minutes more.

They pulled apart slowly at first, neither quite registering the need for air. More kisses were exchanged, some led by Oli, some not. They were small ones, not as long as the first one they shared, but long enough to steal a few puffs of breath from both of them. Small pecks were pressed to faces in between, to Oli’s cheeks and freckles, to Pix’s nose and right under where his glasses rested. The bard was quite enjoying the other’s tongue in his mouth, and a very big part of him wanted to get used to that as well.

The kisses that were eventually pressed to his neck weren’t pressed hard enough to even bruise, and the motion didn’t have a hungry air to it either. They were loving, the kisses were. They were akin to the casual pecks someone placed upon their partner's skin during lazy mornings. Everything about it was warm and gentle and kind, just like Pixl himself.

The two stopped kissing eventually; the archaeologist laughing at the small, playful and ultimately meaningless pout Oli shot him. The bard stopped pouting when a few more kisses were pressed into his hair, a giggle running through the man behind him. It was a nice laugh, Pix’s laugh, he wanted to hear it more. He didn’t have to wait long for that though, as another escaped Pix when Oli shifted into his lap like a cat would, practically begging for cuddles.

“You comfortable?” Pix asked, not trying to hide the fondness in his voice. Oh, he was very gone for this man.

“Very,” Oli muttered sleepily, burying his slightly blushing face into the blue fabric of Pixl’s shirt. Pix laughed again, and it was then that the bard registered that it had begun to rain at some point after they entered the tent. It seems that storm had come after all, just thankfully not as bad as the Oli’d been fearing. Well then, it’s a good thing he’d made this place waterproof, wasn’t it?

Pix’s arms tightened around the smaller person in his arms, listening to Oli’s breathing even out, and to the rain. He buried his own head against the other, nuzzling at the bard’s shoulder affectionately. The archaeologist didn’t do things like this very often, so he was treasuring every second of this, unsure when he’d experience anything close to it again. He wanted more, he wanted it to happen soon. And sitting there like this, against his better judgment, Pix began to hope for it. It was becoming a yearning, the longer he dwelled on it, so he didn’t dwell.

Instead the archaeologist let his breathing even out, falling asleep with a bard who was far too cute for his own good clutched lovingly in his arms. He wasn’t sure if they’d speak of this come morning, or if it’d be another thing he’d have to preserve in his memory for the rest of time. But that was a problem for morning Pix.

And morning Pix got what he was yearning for. More sleepy cuddles, more sleepy kisses (these ones were more sloppy though, kisses where you missed half the other person's mouth,) and a a quiet conformation that there would be even more in the future. For however long this world would last, as Oli had somewhat ominous phrased it.

For however long this world shall last, you are love.

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 4

Prev/Next

Everyone heard Grian’s scream.

It was loud, and not the normal, shrill loudness of a scream you were hearing from far away, but loud like it was in your head, or like it was coming from right behind you. Mumbo was talking to Impulse when they both heard it, and he instinctively reached to cover his ears as it pounded through his head. When Mumbo finally opened his eyes, Impulse was looking around, tense and alert.

“What was that?” Impulse breathed, the substance stolen from his voice.

“I don’t..” but before Mumbo could finish, there was another, far more recognizable yell. “Scar.”

Neither ghost said another word before running to the tavern, pushing themselves through the ceiling to get to Scar’s room. Scar hadn’t stopped screaming. Pearl was already inside, face somehow paler than he thought possible for an ethereal form. Mumbo probably looked similarly once he saw Scar’s body. There was blood everywhere , seemingly in impossible places like the walls and ceiling as well as all over the floor, and it looked like most of it was coming from his ears and eyes. Scar himself was seizing- or just shaking maybe- but it was horrifically violent, so much so, Mumbo couldn’t stand to keep looking

That’s when he saw the ouija board. “Oh shit. Where- where is Grian?”

Pearl and Impulse didn’t have time to answer before Oli burst in, let out quite the shriek of his own, and ran the opposite direction, calling for Sausage and Martyn. Clearly, Sausage had already been on his way, pushing past Oli before stopping almost immediately in his tracks once he saw Scar.

“Oh- oh no- Scar! Can you hear me buddy? It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay- Martyn! Help me carry him.”

“Got it.” Martyn said, stepping forward beside Sausage. Mumbo hadn’t even seen him come in. Scar’s body relaxed slightly at their touch. Sausage noticed, brightening up and continuing to console Scar as he and Martyn carried him away. Mumbo couldn’t stop staring. He nearly followed them, but a gentle hand on his shoulder kept him still.

“We have to find Grian first. Something bad happened here, obviously. We need to make sure he’s okay.” Impulse’s voice cut through his own turmoil, grounding him.

“He couldn’t have gone very far, let’s check downstairs,” Pearl said, backing out of Scar’s room, but after seeing the stairs crowded with Kestrels, dipped through the floor instead. Impulse waited with Mumbo for a moment before following her, giving him a look that said come whenever you’re ready. Mumbo returned it with a grateful nod, taking the chance to linger a bit longer. His eyes fell back on the ouija board. No, he should go.

When he joined Impulse and Pearl, they were both searching the lounge area, so Mumbo went to the bar to cover more ground. As he drifted past the bottles, he saw glimpses of his own reflection, distorted, but still him. God, he looked terrible.

“Grian? Are you here?” His call was greeted with a throaty meow, and Mumbo turned to see Jellie stretching at his legs. “Aw, did you really sleep through all that? You know, Scar probably needs you right now, he’s in quite the state.” Mumbo bent down to pet her, only to be face to face with something- someone - in the cubby below the bar. Mumbo yelped, falling back onto his butt against the cabinets on the other side. The figure across from him tried to scoot further into the cubby, but it was already as far back as it could go. Mumbo saw scratches in the wood from its claws. Mumbo looked back to its face to see its head (beak, maybe?) open in a fashion that seemed quite gruesome.

“ Are you ?” it parroted back, in a somewhat distorted version of Mumbo’s own voice. When it tried to continue, the only sound that came out was an awful scratching noise, not unlike nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh god- Grian? What happened? Are you okay?”

Impulse and Pearl looked up, both hurrying over.

“Trying to fight. Familiar. Dead,” it was Scar’s voice Grian used this time, the lines of his form starting to shift and distort.

“Grian, I don’t- calm down, I don’t know what’s happening but we can fix this- Scar isn’t here, it’s okay,” Mumbo reached out a hand to touch him, but Grian screeched, rearing back and lashing out with his clawed feet.

“ Calm down ,” Grian hissed, Mumbo’s own voice polluted with vehement poison. Pearl pushed between them, wrapping Grian in a tight hug before he could fight her, as if she might be able to hold his rippling form together. Mumbo found himself shrinking back, halfway through the cabinet wall.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hardly audible.

“We aren’t going to let anyone hurt you. I promise,” Pearl said, rubbing his back in small circles.

Grian let out a screeching wail, impossibly loud, but collapsed into her, sinking in like water. Pearl looked back to Mumbo and Impulse, deep concern in her eyes. Impulse squeezed into the cubby next to Grian without another word, taking his clawed hand into his own. Mumbo found himself frozen in place. At least it looked like Grian was starting to take a more solid form.

“I think I should go,” he whispered, fingers curling against the tile floor. Grian’s body shifted, and Mumbo couldn’t tell if he was just adjusting, or trying to look at him. He didn’t see any eyes.

“I’m sorry. I promise. Don’t be Scar. Promise,” his voice was a mangled combination of Mumbo’s and Pearl’s, but he continued using Scar's voice, “Play the game smarter. Know better.” Pearl and Impulse gave Mumbo a confused look. Mumbo tried his best to return it.

“Don’t worry about me, Grian. Focus on yourself, I’ll be back soon. I promise not to do anything.. extreme. I just need to know what happened.”

Grian responded with a low rumbling noise, which Mumbo assumed was discontent. Mumbo nodded to Pearl and Impulse, who looked unsure, and left before they could ask him to stay. There wasn’t any room anyway; only so many ghosts could fit in one cubby. That’s what he told himself at least.

Mumbo made his way through the streets of the Kestrel’s island, making a beeline to the infirmary. Scar ended up here quite often, so he and the others often visited to laugh at him. But even if he hadn’t known where to go, it would have been easy to follow the chorus of voices erupting from the tent.

“You guys are just overreacting, I feel greaaaat!” Scar said, words ever so slightly slurred.

“You feel good because of the drugs, Scar. You’re a complete mess, otherwise. What the hell did you do to piss off your ghosts, that bad ?” Martyn countered, but Scar didn’t seem all too concerned.

“Ghosts. You’re obsessed with ghosts, Martyn. You’re all obsessed with ghosts. There’s no ghosts. I just had a leetle seizure, that’s all. Happens to the best of us. Howabout I go back to my room now.”

“Scar, people definitely don’t just start bleeding out of every hole in their face randomly. Hey- come on- stop trying to get up.”

Mumbo turned the corner to see Sausage struggle to keep Scar in his cot while Martyn stepped forward to help him. Scar’s eyes were covered with bandages, slightly bloodied.

“I’ll stop getting up when you stop talking about ghosts!” Scar put a hand on Martyn’s face, earning a muffled yelp.

“You know what, fine, he’s being impossible right now, so let’s just let him go back. I don’t want to deal with it,” Martyn scowled, prying Scar’s hand off his face.

“He can’t see and he can barely walk, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him alone. Do you think the guy Oli called to clean is done yet?”

“Probably not. It’s fine. I’m not squeamish, I’ll just put him to bed and mop the floor real fast. In the morning, Oli’s guy can do the rest.”

Sausage made a face, giving Scar a concerned look, “I guess I won’t stop you. You wouldn’t catch me getting my hands dirty like that, no thank you. You and Scar still have that attitude about you I suppose.”

“I’ll clean it myself, don't worryaboutit,” Scar threw his arms in the air, and Martyn rolled his eyes, going to pick him up. Scar giggled as he was lifted into the air, cheering Martyn’s name.

“You owe me,” Martyn grunted, carrying him away. Scar made train noises as they went. There he was, still smiling. Still grinning, despite what must have been a horrific experience that had happened less than thirty minutes before. And sure, Scar was high as a kite, but Mumbo was sure nothing would have changed without the drugs. It was so like Scar to refuse help. To smile, and make everything harder for everyone else.

“What the hell are you afraid of?”

No one heard Mumbo speak. Of course they didn’t. But saying it outloud cemented something inside him; a deep anger, maybe even an insecurity. It didn’t matter. He had to know. Scar couldn’t die before he found out.

So he followed them. He watched Martyn argue with Oli about a mop, (“What kind of establishment doesn’t own a mop?!” “Why do you care about it getting dirty?? That’s what it’s for !”) he watched Sausage tuck Scar so tightly into bed, he couldn’t move, and he watched Scar talk endlessly for at least a half hour, saying nothing at all. And then, finally, the lights went out. Finally, Scar dropped his smile.

“I’m just gonna say one thing, Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar slurred, making Mumbo jump. “Augh. You probably just made such a silly face and I missed it. I hope you’re there. My back hurts so I’m assuming you’re there. Lemme get this stupid things off.” Scar struggled with his sheets, wriggling until he freed his arms. Mumbo stared. He wasn’t really sure what else to do. Scar pulled at the bandages at his eyes, and Mumbo cringed away when he saw them. Even Scar’s good eye looked awful; red and irritated, but the other half of his face looked gunky and horrid.

“You should put that back on,” Mumbo said, not that Scar could hear him. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if Scar could ever see him.

“Got you.” Scar pointed, a goofy smile falling across his face. Genuine. Mumbo didn’t like the way that felt. “Wow you’re blurry. Are you talking? We can talk. Wanna talk? I wanna talk. Oh! I remember. The thing I had to tell you.”

Mumbo made wide circles with his hand, hoping Scar would get the message to spit it out already.

“Are you ready? It’s important, you better be listening.”

“Go on.”

“…Grian started it.”

Mumbo groaned, turning around to leave. This wasn’t going to go anywhere.

“Hey! No no! Don’t go! Don’t you want to hear about it? I GHOST PUNCHED him. It was INCREDIBLE. I was like, yeah, I shouldn’t do this, but it would be really funny if I ghost punched Grian. And then I did and it was SO COOL. Grian did not think it was that cool. I may have provoked him a little bit, but trust me, he deserved it. Where are you going!”

[hel-phoenyx]

Domhildr is @soupedepates's character

"So local man is finally out of denial."

Litteraly the first thing she tells me when we see each other, for our weekly bar tour. And also the first time we all meet up since I heard about Kaizarz's second engagement.

Stupidly perceptive little shit.

She looks so smug, flying right next to my face. She wants to pull a reaction out of me, I know. I just sigh.

"Apparently, I have joined the club of the hopeless pining. How's presidency, by the way ?"

"Not cool, Tyr."

"Not like you were especially subtle."

She pouts. I smile.

"Let's just go drink away our sorrows, we earned that."

"And you seem to have a shitload of sorrows to drink away, Tyr."

"Heh. When do I not ?"

She shrugs and starts to fly towards the city. Oli said they will meet us later, and we're getting Meili out of his training when we got there, so for now it's just the two of us. I usually don't mind, just letting her talk and listen to whatever interesting thing she found, but today she's unusually silent. It's starting to bug me.

So before we go outside the castle I poke one of her wings.

"You okay, Domi ?"

Startled, she flies right behind me.

"Hey, don't touch my wings without warning ! Yea, I am. Just thinking about what I'm gonna do once I'm drunk."

"Let me guess. Finding a man for the evening ?"

"You're one to talk, mister heartbreaker."

She... Has a good point. I am half-sure after her, I had the most... er, can't find a good term. Sexual partners feels too intimate, conquests feels too objectifying.

I just shrug, and she sits on my shoulder, the one with the good hand. So she can see another poking coming, no doubt. Clever woman.

But still, she keeps silent. And after a few minutes, she lets out a smile, a little painful.

"He's amazing isn't he ?"

"Well, judging you just called me out for pining, I guess you have the answer to your question."

"Yeah, good point. He's so... Effortlessly lovable."

There is something in her voice, something like "and I have to earn my value, the love people give me." She never said that out loud, but I've known her since I was eight. I saw her cutting a braid as a challenge just because Kaizarz pulled on it once while we were playing.

I've been away far too long, but that doesn't mean I forget people that extended me a hand at any point in time.

No words are necessary. I just lift my hand and ruffles softly her hair, earning myself an outraged shriek followed by a head bumping against my palm like a little kitten.

I've always loved kittens.

You are loved, Domi.

You are loved.

[fantasykiri5]

I think e2!fWhip plays accordion actually, and he goes over to tumble town just to stand over the ridge and shriek goblin bar songs as horribly as possible. Sometimes he gets Oli to join in, which just makes it louder. Oli does not know the words, nor the melody. He still manages to play along perfectly.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

AAAA i also went to see AOTV today!!! What did u think of it ? (Love your vibe btw 💕💕)

i LOVED IT!!! where to begin??? it exceeded my expectations (and typical to me i didn't have insane specific ones anyway but).

i cried within the first ten minutes, so hit in the chest by the last 1d performance bts footage... the boys looking at him like shit louis is having a hard time fuck error what do we do. hélène being his tour mom, just the exact same way they interact still to this day was just so !!! and ofc the family history, the way it was put into perspective by them. the way they talk about dealing with it all, moving on... but the grandpa....... and we know how louis struggled to find his voice after 1d but this just showed it in such detail and with nuance, and how the blow after blow was literally every fucking year. and he doesn't feel sorry for himself as much as is warranted, as always, and it again shows how strong he is and how his family and friends recognize that. bc he is and always has been this person who makes other ppl's lives better, whether it's helping his mom/being her best friend, protecting his sisters, taking his friends and band mates along for the full ride of tour life..... so i'm just always so fucking happy to see he is surrounded by ppl who return the favor and make him happy. the band and oli and everyone. they're just great. and how he describes his role in 1d as well. "if i can't sing, then what can i do for this band?" and obvs the doc didn't mention this, but thanks to his writing credits he completely changed the course of the band. but before that, even, he formed the entire dynamic 1d had. which he now shows with his solo career. he's down to earth, accessible (as far as a celeb musician can be), and he has a firm hand in what his image and the music he puts out are. and that's how he attracted the part of the 1d fanbase that came for the personality and good times.

i am always impressed by louis, and none of this is a huge shock or surprise or brand new information, but i still managed to be fucking impressed yk?! the power

and the experience of being there in the cinema with two of my closest mutuals i love to fuck around with @bluewinnerangel @swimmingleo like reacting with lil shrieks trying not to bother the others and nudging each other every time something remotely moldy or even simply funny happened. quietly sobbing in unison. melting off our chairs by the end. yeah 10/10 would do again in a heartbeat when is the next doc coming out