#wicky

[aazurelos]

in candescence

[gravitykuniverse]

“I’m a believer. I’m a man of faith and a man of truth. I believe we are all connected by Light, and we are all meant to take care of each other and trust each other and that good will prevail. I believe in the Light.”

Last but certainly not least of the Soldier’s table: Wicander Halovar. Ngl he was actually kind of hard to draw but I enjoyed the challenge! I think the seekers will but up next on the list of CR art 👀

[strangelyread]

Greg Davies as Paul 'Wicky' Wickstead in The Cleaner

[transfemmbeatrice]

Greg Davies singing and dancing to Santa Baby in The Cleaner s2

[vexversion]

[MA: Cross and Reactor Christmas]

Here's my final event art for the MyriadAnthology comic group

This is part one of a diptych christmas story alongside @\ASP_Ian, the creator of Reactor and Wicky! Cross and Wicky have set up a round-the-world present hunt, and it looks like Reactor is very fond of this gift!

[cricketnationrise]

HI! Love your writing! Ollie/Wicks, Saturday April 15, 2017 (Post the NCAA Championship win!), the Haus. Thanks for doing all you do!

Thank you so much! 💜💜💜 this prompt made me grin so much when I read it, and writing it was a joy. Hope you love it as much as I do!

_X_ _X_ _X_

The Haus, Apr. 15, 2017

Not even two hours after the final horn signaled Samwell’s win against Brown, the team was back at the Haus, kegster in full swing. Three different kegs are flowing, Shitty had showed up with premade tub juice to augment his and Wicky’s own brew, and Louis managed to fend off Ransom and Holster trying to take over DJ-ing by playing strategically timed line dances. Lardo already has a crowd around her, spectators and hopeful (naive) challengers alike. Ollie’s voice is already basically gone from the amount of shouting he’s done today.

He still can’t believe they actually won. Four years of hard work, of tears, of overworked muscles, and they finally did the damn thing. Bitty might have been shocked at getting voted captain, but there was no tougher fucker on their team. Bitty’s ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. (Maybe a three pound bag.) Ollie never doubted that he would get them to the final.

He and Wicky have been joined at the hip since the bus dropped them at Faber – unwilling to drop their hands as they quickly stowed gear and hustled over to the Haus. They’ve been in constant contact while dancing, drinking, during fruitless rounds of pong against Lardo for old times sake, and as they steal bites of Bitty’s post-win-drunk-as-a-skunk cookie dough on their way to get refills.

Wicky stole his hat hours ago, but Ollie doesn’t mind. He’s never minded, not when it's Pace. Seeing Wicks wear his clothes has always made his whole soul sing, warm with pleasure and pride. (Watching the increasingly drunk team try to figure out which of them they're talking to is an entertaining bonus tonight.)

They’re not so much dancing right now as hugging tightly and swaying drunkenly in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, not paying any attention to the beat as they move. Every now and then, one of them will just start giggling again – still high on their win and basking in the atmosphere. It’s like the team is at the end of a movie. They vanquished their foes and now, in the denouement, they get to be giddy and romantic and fucking happy as hell. It feels like any minute now, their world will fade to black and play a pop song, or freeze frame on a group shot of everyone grinning, orchestra swelling. 

Suddenly the thumping base cuts off, and Ollie pulls away from where he was fully octopused on Wicks to look over at Louis’ set up. 

Oh shit.

“HEY Y’ALL!”

Bitty has a megaphone. Luckily people are feeling indulgent tonight so they just cheer louder instead of booing their captain for interrupting the music.

“WE ARE THE FROZEN FOUR CHAMPIONS, Y’ALL!”

“Yo, Jack, do we need to start Bitty Patrol?”

“You hush your face, Mr. Nurse, I will not be disrespected in my own Haus,” Bitty chirps back. He takes a breath and then frowns, looks at Jack. “Where was I, sweet pea?”

Ollie joins in the team-wide yell of FIIINNNNEEEE without even thinking about it. He doesn’t even need to look at Wicky to bump his fist in their own private version of nice one, dude.

“RIGHT. As I was saying. WE WON THE FROZEN FOUR and y’all, it has been an honor, and a  privilege to captain this team this year. I love all y’all so much! We’ve been through it, and we fucking earned this! So go forth and celebrate y’all—”

Whatever else Bitty was going to say is drowned out by cheering. He beams out over the crowd and hops down off the chair he was standing on, making a beeline to Jack as We Are The Champions kicks on. Wicks tugs on his arm and jerks his head toward the backyard, and Ollie lets himself be led outside without complaint.

Without a word, Wicky nabs a water bottle from the cooler Ollie had hidden back here at the start of the night and hands it to Ollie.

“Thanks babe, I’m fuckin’ parched.”

“I could tell,” Pacer says with a soft smile as Ollie gulps down the water. He drains half of it and passes it back to his boyfriend to finish off. There’s some fireflies out tonight and Ollie finds himself drifting further into the yard to watch them, letting the peace of the moment wash over him. The sounds of tub juice-soaked Queen lyrics being shouted through the walls of the Haus are somehow perfect for this moment.

“Ollie?”

“Hmm?” he asks without turning around. 

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Fire away, babe.”

“Could, shit, okay, could you turn around, at least?” A little reluctantly, he turns around and his breath catches in his throat. 

Pacer is on one fucking knee.

HOLY SHIT.

Pace grins at him nervously before he takes a deep breath.

“Oliver Oscar O’Meara.” Ollie can’t help but interrupt, giggling slightly hysterically. “How the fuck do you know my middle name?”

“I called your mom, now shut up and let me get this out, okay?”

Ollie just nods, not trusting his voice anymore as he tears up.

“Ollie. You’re my partner, my best friend, the person I want to wake up next to and fall asleep beside every day for the rest of my life. I love you so much, and I was going to wait till graduation and I don’t even have a ring yet, but after today I couldn’t wait one more second to ask you: Will you marry me?”

Ollie is outright crying now, but he’s also smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. He tackles Wicky to the ground, laughing in delight.

“Is that a yes?” Wicky asks between messy kisses.

“Yes! As if there was ever going to be a different answer, you fucker! Yes!” he yells before leaning in again. Now Wicky will be really surprised when Ollie proposes at graduation.

_X_ _X_ _X_

followers only have one week left to request their own ficlet - details here 💜

[elsewhereuniversity]

Though the Forbidden Major has no teacher, it has an unofficial teaching assistant. They have not given themselves this name, and if asked will not agree with the assigned title. But those brave enough to have the forbidden major will find solace in their presence, if they are lucky or determined enough to find it. And true to their word, they do not consider themselves a teacher in any regard of the Forbidden Major— but they tend to be helpful to a fault. And a bit long-winded more often than not, when they answer questions.

They are a witch, or started that way. A witch that was intrigued, perhaps too much, by familiars. They loved the familiars they were so good at summoning and securing contracts with— those of both demon and fey origin. But their curiosity was something untamable, and their relationship with their familiars much more easily maintained than that of other iron-worlders like themselves. And since familiars, though wonderful companions to such a largely good natured witch, are seldom the best places to go for answers to hard questions, the witch began to seek out the fair folk. They had little fear and a healthy amount of respect— they knew the rules and stories and were no stranger to the gentry. Perhaps their magick specialty in familiars had already begun to lean towards more than just a toe dipped in the magic of Elsewhere. And many of the fair folk on campus had grown used to their presence by then, anyhow. None were surprised when the witch came to ask them for more than their usual trade of information or stories (though a witch first and foremost, their minor is in English. It just made sense).

And the witch perhaps was too confident in their ability to interact with the gentry. Just by a hair. Their desperation to understand the other humans, their classmates and teachers, temporarily dwindled their usual meticulous care for their wording.

So if you see a flame flickering out of place— several feet in the air in the middle of the Library, or at the edge of the woods, or taking up a concerning amount of space on the other side of a window— you might follow that flame to see a body underneath it. You might see a wick leading from the bottom of the flame into a head of jet black hair. If you look closely, you will see the topmost section of hair gently melting like wax. And the body underneath may not always look the same (if you happen to see them more than once), but that is normal. That is why they are they, not him or her. The wax melts and rehardens on the surface, constantly. They have grown to like it that way. Even if it occasionally leaves them looking not-quite-human.

And they aren’t, anymore. For they are a living candle, still attending classes and frequently visiting the library because of their ever present curiosity. There is little need to worry, despite the flame they are of little risk to the things around them. Paper will not burn unless deliberately put into their flame (which is rude. Don’t toss balls of paper into their fire, they still have their countless familiars. All of which are intensely protective).

They will never admit it outright, but they are protective of those who follow the Forbidden Major. If you fit that description, you are much more likely to run into them. You might even learn the name they go by. Just keep in mind— they are never found at The Denny’s. Something about that place repels them like iron for the Gentry. Everywhere else, however, they are welcome and may be found at. Even the pool, though they never get too close to the water. They like speaking to the silver-haired women that are often found there.

As long as you are respectful and kind, they will answer any questions you have for them. Be careful, as those answers may take hours for them to complete, but you will never get one that is half-told. Although, they are still a witch. And sometimes, not even they can fight their urge to give extremely vague and ominous advice. The sort you seldom discover the full meaning to until after the time it would have been useful.

“Hmm? I’m getting there, please don’t interrupt me. My train of thought is constantly melting in different directions, but it always reaches the right endpoint eventually.”

They are most useful for help with English homework, or inspiration for your fanfiction. Creative pursuits. But also for any knowledge you might want on the fair folk, of which they have plenty of experience with. If you are in need of magic aid, they offer some of the best enchanted objects on campus— mostly of the protective, emotional aid, and focus-improving variety.

And if you see them sitting down in the Library reading, you might be able to ask them the ever-present question; why are you a candle?

“And well, the answer was already given. I got careless with my words, and asked a certain member of the Gentry— who I will not name, I no longer hold any anger towards the event. Anger with no purpose only burns you down faster, you know. But I asked him to help me understand other humans, understand their drive and why they live as they do. And he did, for sure. While also intertwining a cruel, tasteless joke— I’m sure I warned you already about how they love their jokes, yes? Good. Good. Well, I am a witch. And I am burning alive,” they roll their eyes. “That is the joke part. It doesn’t hurt, no, don’t worry. This also answered my plea. Because the fire will eventually burn me down completely and go out. But it also keeps me going, from completely solidifying and being unable to move, to live. It keeps my brain working and thinking. It is my life, now, and my eventual death. But such is how a human works, as well. I am not bitter, because all life will eventually burn down and fade. Though I am always a bit miffed when someone tries shooting spitballs into my flame— I rather not increase its heat if you don’t mind. I still care about self preservation. But now I can sit here, and interact with you— a normal human— as casually as you please. Because I understand that we all have our invisible wicks burning, and our own ways of using the time we have until our flames go out. I was too familiar with Magick and too focused on my familiars as my only easily understood company. I became disconnected from the human drive to just live and experience. To work towards experiences. The desire to make the most of life instead of letting time merely pass as it may. Now, I am a bit more… fired up, when it comes to experiencing and learning and making more of my time. Don’t groan, it was a good pun. Now then, you promised a few sticks of sealing wax and some cotton thread, didn’t you? I appreciate your trade. Beeswax, too? That will get you a second question.”

…

“Oh! You may call me CandleWick. Wicky for short.”

x

[hiddeninthescar]

the widow & THE CLEANER