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ghoul-slime · 9 days

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Mushy May Day 3 & 4 - Massage & Wound Tending/First Aid (Aether/Dew)

Ended up combining days 3 and 4 into one fic. Based loosely on that time Dew (presumably) injured his arm during the Prequelle era. As always, thank you @forlorn-crows for organizing this and to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!

Day 3 & 4 - Massage & Wound Tending/First Aid (Aether/Dew), cw for Dew's shoulder injury. Hurt/comfort, fluff, 1518 words

Aether notices it right away. The way Dew seems to be favoring one arm. The way he furrows his brow and rolls his shoulder seemingly every five minutes. How he makes soft little grunts and sighs of discontent at night when he’s trying to settle into his bunk above Aether’s on the bus.

When he broaches the subject, Dew denies anything is wrong. His shoulder is just a little sore is all. Maybe he slept funny, he says, brushing off Aether’s concerns.

But Aether knows the truth, and is pretty sure the whole pack knows what’s up actually. It’s Dew’s new guitar. The Fantomen. For as beautiful as it looks and as powerful as it sounds, the son of a bitch is heavy. Even for Aether it can be unwieldy at times.

Of course Dew hasn’t let it affect his playing. He never would. He’s far too proud, and rightfully so. Dew’s the best player Aether has ever seen anywhere in his life. And his playing continues to be immaculate, so Aether doesn’t want to push. Instead he watches Dew power through their set each night for weeks.

Until Dew’s shoulder gives out completely in the middle of a ritual.

A missed note, glaringly obvious. Rare to be due to Dew’s mistake and not because of some equipment malfunction (or Aether’s own mistake throwing Dew off, something he can admit has happened more than once). Aether whips his head towards the fire ghoul, knowing immediately that something is seriously wrong. Copia and the other ghouls are watching him now too.

Dew curls in on himself for just a split second before catching himself and resuming his perfect playing. But Aether knows the damage has been done when Dew purposefully ignores the rest of his stage cues and instead shuffles unsteadily towards the back of the stage as he finishes out the song.

Thank Satan they’re at an intermission. Time for Copia to change out of his white suit and into the red cassock. Instead of taking his usual water break, Aether books it towards Dew, who he finds leaning against the wall just past the curtain.

Aether knows it's bad because Dew has his mask off. His face is pale and he’s sweating bullets, cradling his arm against his body as he struggles to even out his breathing. But before he can do anything there’s chaos. Copia and the crew are scrambling to do what they can to keep the show going. Aether is being ushered back to stage before he can get a word in.

In the end Dew insists he can finish out the show from backstage, perched on a stool where he can rest the weight of the Fantomen on his lap. He even comes back onstage for final bows, cradling his bad arm gingerly, and Aether finds himself trailing behind him protectively instead of his usual routine of throwing out guitar picks and interacting with the audience.

Finally, the curtain goes down and they’re free to go. Thankfully it’s a hotel night and then they’re off for two days before they travel to the next city. A small victory.

As soon as they’re in the room, Aether is looking Dew over while Copia watches on worriedly. Dew keeps grumbling that ghouls heal fast, so he’ll be fine, but Aether can see otherwise. The shoulder is swollen, angry red and inflamed. Dew’s definitely pulled something, maybe even a tear, and then he continued to irritate it night after night until it gave out. Aether feels guilty that he didn’t notice it was this bad before, that he wasn’t more insistent. He could have used some of his quintessence to keep it from going this far… He shakes the thought away for the time being.

“Alright,” Aether sighs and turns to Copia. “The bad news is, as of right now his shoulder’s fucked,” he says point blank. No point in sugar-coating any of this now. Copia pales and he hears Dew swallow nervously and shift from where he’s sitting on the bed behind him.

“Good news is, I can fix him up in the next two days.” He turns to Dew to see a wave of relief wash across his otherwise stoic face. “But he’s gonna have to take it easy for a while after that. And that much healing takes a lot of quintessence, a ton of energy. If we push it any farther than that, you’re gonna end up out two guitarists.”

Copia agrees and they make arrangements for Aether and Dew to stay in his suite while Copia takes one of the regular rooms. The cardinal bids them goodnight and lets them know he’ll get them anything they need to be comfortable for the next few days while Aether works on Dew’s arm.

As soon as he leaves, Aether turns to Dew. He wants more than anything to scoop the little ghoul up in his arms and shower him in kisses, but he knows better than to jostle his bad arm. At any rate, Dew hates to be fussed over.

“How do you feel?” Aether chances, popping the cap of his water bottle and handing it to Dew along with a couple painkillers.

Dew snorts, avoiding Aether’s eyes. “Like absolute dogshit,” he answers, blunt as always, before swallowing the pills and chugging half of Aether’s water.

“Alright then,” he motions to the compression shirt Dew still has on. “Let’s get this thing off of you so I can work on getting some of the swelling down.”

It isn’t easy, but they work together to hold Dew’s tender shoulder steady while Aether slowly peels the fabric from Dew’s body. Dew winces as he finally pulls his arm out of the sleeve, and Aether presses an apologetic little kiss to Dew’s temple.

The kiss seems to break some of the tension, and Dew’s body sags. He looks up at Aether with a sad little frown on his face. He looks guilty. “Sorry, Aeth…” he starts. “I know I should have said something before it got this bad…” he trails off.”

Aether shakes his head, tells Dew not to worry, that he’ll have him fixed up in no time. Jokes that thanks to his bum shoulder, they get to lounge around in Copia’s suite for two days in a king sized bed and in the jacuzzi tub. Says that if they play their cards right, Copia will probably even let them call for room service to their hearts’ content. The mention of room service seems to lighten Dew’s mood even further.

Meanwhile, Aether works Dew’s shoulder, pressing feather light touches to sensitive flesh while he focuses his energy on delivering enough quintessence to calm the inflammation. Once he’s satisfied with their progress, Aether pulls away to go draw a hot bath. Before he can go Dew reaches out, grabs his hand and pulls Aether back to him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Dew says softly, looking up at Aether. He holds Dew’s gaze, contemplating, before leaning in and kissing him on the lips, carding his fingers through Dew’s hair until they’re both humming contentedly against each other.

Later, Aether sits beside the tub while Dew soaks, periodically working another round of quintessence into Dew’s shoulder as the little ghoul dozes off, finally beginning to relax as the pain goes down thanks to Aether’s ministrations.

Aether helps Dew out of the tub and wraps him in a fluffy bathrobe from the closet. Between the quintessence, the painkillers, and the hot bath, Dew is ready to crash. Aether guides him on wobbly legs to the bed, helping him lay face down into the pillows. From his prone position, Dew wriggles his shoulder.

“Feels better now,” Dew slurs, eyelids fluttering closed. “Can move it now n’everything.” He moves his shoulder in another little circle to demonstrate.

Aether chuckles. He loves to see Dew like this, blissed out and sleepy, he just wishes it were under different circumstances. Aether feels exhaustion pulling on him as well, between the crash of adrenaline after Dew’s injury and the copious amounts of quintessence he pumped into the little fire ghoul, his body is feeling beat. He’ll need rest soon, too.

But first, he climbs onto the bed and straddles Dew’s hips, careful not to press down too hard or to knock into his arm.

“Backrub?” Dew asks, eyes still closed and face pressed into the pillows.

“Backrub,” Aether confirms, leaning in to run his palms up Dew’s back, letting another dose of quintessence bleed from his fingertips into the fire ghoul’s soft skin, paying special attention to his injured shoulder. He massages Dew’s back until the little ghoul is half asleep and purring into the sheets.

Two days later, and they’re back on the road, en route to the next venue, Dew feeling better and set to shred once again, under the caveat that he doesn’t overdo it just yet. Aether has appointed himself Dew’s own personal masseuse. Now, after every ritual, Dew gets a nice, long, quintessence-infused shoulder rub.

Dew is happy to let Aether fuss over him, just this once.

#mushy may 2024 #dewther #aether/dew #aether/dewdrop #aether x dew #aether x dewdrop #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghost band fanfic #ghoul-slime fic #ghoul-slime mushy may 2024 #ok but in that video where dew is injured and he comes back during bows #and aether immediately rushes over to him and puts his arm around him #my heartttt

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ghostisun · 1 month

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Gospels

cw: smut (m x m) - minors dni; poly!ghouls (but there is only one main pairing explored); size kink; D/s (includes hints of subspace); male anatomy; mentions of squirting (stares at u guys bug-eyed); unrealistic and gratuitous sex // 994 words (read at ao3)

an: uhh first official smut work. im so nervous putting this out :< but uhh yea! hope u guys like it ^v^

There are many things Dew told them not to talk about—his apparent size kink so happened to be one of them.

Don't mind the fact that they're all into it, Dewdrop still refuses to admit that he’s got it. He refuses to admit that he mewls at being manhandled, his body locking in pleasure when he is picked up and fucked against a wall. He denies the way he slips underneath the fog when they have him on his back, his knees pressed to his shoulders, exposing all that he is to his mates who bear down all of their weight onto him.

He cums just like that—eyes rolling to the back of his skull, jaw hanging open for a soundless moan.

It is the sexiest thing ever, so of course they decided to see what else of his size kink could they exploit.

Currently, and no shock there, it were Mountain and Aether who could make him squirt, his cock leaking and his walls spasming around theirs as he whimpers and whines because they fucked him stupid. Because they hit somewhere just a little deeper, snug against the muscles of his flesh, and turned his brain into a little mush.

It makes him choke, his words gurgled.

He is so, so beautiful like this—his spun gold hair is sticking to his sweaty, flushed skin, and his lips are so kiss-swollen and spit-slicked.

“Shh,” Aether croons.

He has Dewdrop for today, and the others are left to hear and scent the peaking pleasure of their little firefly.

He pulled Dewdrop to his lap, the smaller ghoul’s back pressed flush against Aether’s chest. Dew’s naked, shivering, stuffed, and Aether is still fully clothed—a power play, one that had Dew hissing at him only to end up like this.

His legs are thrown over Aether’s, the tips of his toes don’t even touch the floor—this was actually what silenced Dew’s angry burst. He balked at the simple way that Aether reminded him of their size difference, of how greatly he outmatched Dewdrop, and he went putty. Shivering. Brain turned off as he pawed at the side of Aether’s leg because he still refuses to beg.

That’s fine, Aether didn’t need him to. After all, there were many more ways to render Dewdrop into a sobbing mess, and all it took was to strip him off his clothes and fuck his cock into Dew’s already leaking hole.

“So warm ‘round me, petal,” Aether murmurs, before leaning back into the cushions, body sagging into it in comfort. It jostles the two of them, driving Aether further into Dew.

The new breach has Dew warbling out a whimper, his breath rasping out in wheezes as pleasure razes him. He clamps down on Aeth’s dick, his body lifting as he squirms, toes curled, and his head falling into the soft pudge of Aether’s chest.

He is crying, outright sobbing at the overwhelming euphoria filling him up. Sharp nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, tearing the skin open—more bruises; more proof of how good they’d made him feel.

Aether goes cross-eyed himself, his breath turning into a gritted hiss at the tight clench of Dew’s walls.

Satanas.

Dewdrop is a marvel. He is a freakish accident because Aether knew, even when the denial was strong from Imperator, that the ritual forced onto Dew was intended to burn him into nothing. There were precedents of this ritual of course, but all the ghouls forced into it had died. They were not banished to the pits, instead, they perished. Not even their remnants remained.

(Omega had warned him that the Church held no affection nor respect for their kind. It took Dewdrop’s elemental change for it to truly sink in.)

But their starfire survived. Amidst all odds, Dewdrop had gritted through the burning of his flesh and the emptying of his element, and forged himself into something extraordinary. He is a miracle.

And Aether could not fathom how blessed he is to have Dewdrop as his mate. That this little star is his.

“Fuck, Dew,” he moans, guttural, his hands tightening around the fire ghoul’s waist. He is so overwhelmed with his emotions, pleasure and affection and lovelovelove are all blending together. He staggers at the intensity of it all, the storm raging on in his chest.

His tiny mate is squirming, calling his name and yowling with pleasure, and Aether keens. He is so in love. So addicted.

Amidst the pleasure, he maps his hands—big and callused—along Dewdrop’s body. He traces the supple flesh, quintessence seeping into his touch as Aether loses his hold on his element, before his hands fall on top of Dew’s belly.

Aether stills, tamping down on the jitters that are racking his own body. He clears his mind, forces himself to focus because here, right here, is where he and Dewdrop are the closest.

“D’you feel me here, love?” Aether asks, his voice rumbling from his chest and reverberating into Dew’s back. He hooks his chin on the fire ghoul’s shoulder, his eyes flicking down to gaze at the flushed body of his mate. Pre- beads on the slit of Dew’s flushed cock, pearly and pretty, and Aether vows to get down to his knees and lap it all up later. Much later. Because for now—

“A-Aeth…” Dew mewls, too overtaken with his ecstasy to notice.

To feel what it is that has Aether’s heart hammering. So Aeth takes pity on him.

He puts pressure on his hold, his hand slowly digging into Dew’s stomach. Dew’s breath hitches, his eyes peeling open. Clarity seems to seep back into him, holding him suspended just for a moment as Aether pushes and pushes and—

“I’m all the way here, Dew.”

Dewdrop cums, just like that, with Aether’s name spilling from his mouth.

Aether pets him throughout, whispering promises of filth and care into Dew’s ear because they’re just not done yet.

The rest have yet to join them, after all.

#dewdrop ghoul #dewdrop ghost #aether ghoul #aether ghost #aether x dewdrop #aethdew #nameless ghouls #ghost ghouls #ghost band fanfic #sun chimes #my writing

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chapel-of-rizztual · 12 days

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A god I don’t believe in

Pairing: Dewdrop/Aether

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Dew woke up to the covers rusting and a body dipping under the sheets. He makes a confused sound and tries to scoot away from the mystery body, his brain too foggy with sleep to fully process what’s happening.

“Don’t worry angel, it’s just me.” The mystery voice whispers.

Dew feels himself wake up a little more then, a shot of adrenaline flowing through his body and waking him up almost instantly. He recognises that voice. He hasn’t heard that voice in almost a year but he’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“Aether?”

Or….

Aether comes back and is reunited with his beloved mate, Dewdrop. Kind of.

#the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #my writing #fanfic

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wrathofrats · 3 months

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Thinking about Aether and Phantom quintosis lesson. It's all going well and all, Aether's letting Phant explore his head on his own a little because he's actually really talented y'know! And then he hits a particular spot and Aether goes brainless, practically drooling on spot if yk what I'm onto...

Everyone always comes to Aeth to shut their thoughts up, but now he's on the receiving end for the first time in a whiiiile and he's just gone.

Just a big brainless quint :)

Shakes you violently because I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw it

(Warning that this is a little dubious but consent is implied and implied to have been discussed prior, just didn’t want it to come out of nowhere in case someone isn’t up for that 🫶

Also I made it weird bc confident phantom has been on my brain recently)

Aether talks him through it. Takes phantoms hands and places them on either side of his head, covering them with his own.

He trusts him under his own supervision, able to step in if something were to go wrong.

It’s easy, to aethers surprise. Phantom being able to pick at different memories, emotions, doesn’t take long for phantom to start trying to control his limbs.

“Am I doing that?” Phantoms eyes light up when aether hand moves slowly to the side.

“You are bug, good job”

Aether thinks it’s cute watching him get so excited over his powers.

Different tour memories flash in and out as phantom practically rummages through his brain like a storage bin. His face muscles twitch while phantom drags over certain nerves. Quintessence can be a dangerous game in the wrong hands, the power to as you please to someone only to be trusted in the right hands.

A particular wave of fuzz washes over aether as phantom gets a little more confident with the electricity he has wrapped around his mind. He feels cloudy, it’s not unfamiliar but he knows exactly what phantom is doing considering he’s done it to the other ghouls countless times before.

“Bug…..” aether warns taking a deep breath. He feels like there’s cotton behind his eyes, his breathing becoming deep and more manual.

Phantom prods again. A sharp buzz in the base of his skull and it’s hard for aether to get out the words to warn him again.

Phantom understands what he’s doing, especially considering this form of mind control has been done to him before. it’s the only reason aether hasn’t removed him yet but it’s a helpless and almost calming sort of feeling, looking up to see phantom smiling at him with his magic completely taking over his senses.

“Please let me take care of you?” Phantom tips aethers chin up to look at him, the other hand caressing his cheek. Aether can feel just a bit more quintessence slip in as he nods.

He’s completely brainless, barely a thought besides what’s directly in front of him and a small attempt to keep his breathing normal. It’s all he can do to keep his vision straight, mind full of static and he can’t help but smile at phantom, giggling slightly. A comfortable mindless state of pleasure.

“Never been able to have you all stupid for me have I aeth?” Phantom teases. It’s light hearted in nature but god it does something to aether. He could practically drool if he really wanted to, phantoms light teasing enough to have him salivating. Something so delicious about being able to have your thoughts shut up and being taken care of, aethers been craving it for a while.

A delicate hand pushes its way under aethers shirt. Phantom looks for any sign of protest before lifting it off of his body and discarding it on the floor beside them. Aethers immediately handsy, giggly and trying whatever he can to get phantom back on him. His limbs feel like they’re full of concrete as he tries to reach up to pull him closer. Time moves slow, almost too slow for him with the idea phantoms put into his head of him doing whatever he wants to him.

Phantom makes quick work of his own clothes while aether chews his lip, small moans escaping as phantom strips in his lap. He’s easy like this, hard and stupid and just desperate for anything from phantom he can get.

“You’re needy when you’re like this” phantom teases, reaching for the buttons on aethers pants. “Big and stupid like a whore should be”

Phantom grabs aethers hand, pulling it around his waist to finger himself with it, “your fingers are thicker than mine, gotta stretch myself out to take you baby” phantom gasps as he pushes aethers fingers into himself

It’s a tight stretch, phantom working himself with two of aethers fingers guided by his own, if he’s not careful he could probably just use aether like this and cum in his lap but oh, he wants to see how bad aeth can get when he sits on his cock.

Aethers streams out incoherent pleas and curses as phantom finally pulls him out, stroking him a couple times just to hear him whimper

“Fuck you’re much better like this, dumb and useful, just a dildo for me to use right?”

#I have so many asks yall im fucking busting these bitches OUT #I am so very in love with this concept though #STUPID AETHER MY BELOVED #he’s such a good boy #also let phantom dom he deserves it #dom phantom can be so fun there’s so many possibilities #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul

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ghuleh-recs · 6 months

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It's @iamthecomet's birthday!!! Comet is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and in honor of her birthday I threw together a list of some of my all-time favorites of hers. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have enjoyed every. single. thing. Comet has written. On top of being an incredible writer, she is a DELIGHTFUL human being. She is SO ridiculously kind and quick to offer advice or support to whichever anon might be dropping into her inbox that day. We are beyond lucky to have such a talented, beautiful soul in this fandom. So go forth, treat yourself to some Comet fics, and leave some comments and kudos as a lil' bday treat ♡

recs under the cut.

Born Under a Troubled Sign - Aether x Dewdrop - 40.7k

Dewdrop goes from water to fire. It goes about as well as can be expected. *THE DEWDROP ANGST FIC OF ALL TIME. I will never stop recommending this and I am not sorry.

Dance With Me - Aeon x Swiss - 1.1k

“Dance?” Swiss rolls his eyes and curls his hand around Aeon’s forearm. He’s so warm. That’s the one thing about Swiss that stays constant even with the glamor. The heat of him. Aeon moves closer like a moth drawn to a flame, and Swiss abandons his grip on Aeon’s arm in favor of one around his waist. “Yeah,” Swiss whispers, leaning in to drag his nose up the side of Aeon’s neck. Inhaling sharply as he noses against his hairline. “That’s what I said.” “There’s no music?”

Tear Me Down - Dewdrop x Rain - 7.7k

Dew can't handle a bad day productively. Rain makes him handle it his way. They make some noise. They're probably never going to be allowed at this hotel again. “Yeah, yeah,” Dew says dismissively. Stroking from root to tip, watching the way Rain is leaking already. Like always. Wet from start to finish. “Can’t believe you’re still mouthing off.” Dew shrugs, watching Rain fill out in his hand, twisting his fist around the head, pressing his fingers to the underside. Rain’s flushed and shiny already. Each stroke makes his stomach clench. “You haven’t really given me a reason to stop.”

Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 154) - Aeon x Dewdrop - 1k

Prompt: i will offer you my firstborn child for a new ghoul focused fic about him being praised about insecurities. i find comfort in my favs having the same issues as me, so the idea of him not really liking his body but being praised for it is just so good to me

Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 16) - Aether x Cumulus x Dewdrop x Sunshine x Swiss - 1k

Could I request something with similar appreciation for a larger body for Cumulus? Any partner or multiple partners are fine. I crave some fat body appreciation and love on a soul level, I adore her so much and she deserves every inch of her beautiful plush figure to be lavished with attention and devotion.

Dewdrop & Sunshine are Chaos Incarnate - Dewdrop & Sunshine - <;1k

Prompt: I neeeeeeed chaos twins Dew and Sunshine gettin in trouble with Mountain and Ifrit

Fill Your Lungs With Words - Aether x Dewdrop - 4.8k

He loves Dew when he’s two seconds away from self-immolation. Loves him when he’s badgering Mountain into letting him in the kitchen—which is always a bad decision. He loves him when he’s high and pliant, loves him when he falls asleep on Aether’s chest, a gentle purr rolling through his body. Aether’s fucking in love with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Let Me Decide What You Need - Mountain x Swiss x Rain - 8.6k

Rain and Swiss take Mountain down to studs. It's surprisingly easy.

Perfect Fit - Aeon x Cumulus - 1.2k

Cumulus tries on her old uniform. Aeon gets an eyeful. Can't really blame him for what happens next.

Comet's Mushy May Collection (Ch. 10) - Aether x Everyone (kinda) - 1k

Unspoken I love you / First I love you Love is an easy thing with them. The pack is full of it. Casual I love yous thrown over shoulders. The press of thumbs over knuckles, the slide of fingers together. They all fit together. Bonded by experience, by undeniable kinship. Aether feels it. Feels the swell of love, the burn of it in his chest. And he thinks about saying it back when Cumulus calls it to him. Thinks about whispering it in Dew’s ear when they’re curled up together. Thinks about letting those words fall off of his tongue again. It’s been…he could pretend he doesn’t know. He could just say it’s been a while. It’s been almost a year. He can pretend that he doesn’t know this down to the day—the minute almost. *this one hurts. you have been warned.

It's No Fun 'Til Someone Dies (series) - murder ghouls - 10k

Dew doesn’t understand how they haven’t figured it out yet. Humanity's persistence, its blindness will be its downfall. He’s in awe of the way they continue to insist to themselves that it’s normal for multiple people a month to just—vanish. To “go home” without taking any of their stuff. To flee in the middle of the night. Or fall from balconies, or down the stairs, or drown. That they haven’t figured out that the unlucky few are fodder for the machine that is the Ghost Project. Food, literally, for the hell-spawn that drives it forward. They spend their days looking at the Ghouls like they are something to be attained. A prize to win. Dew is happy to encourage it. To let them walk right into the trap. He runs his teeth over his fangs. He can still taste the blood.

* Okay I need to stop myself because I could keep going indefinitely.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

#hbd comet!!!!!!#and a very happy comet day to those who observe #my fic recs #the band ghost fic recs #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #aeon ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #phantom ghoul #nameless ghouls fic #fic rec!!#birthday mixtape

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happyk44 · 7 months

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My take has always been Nyx births them in Tartarus but sends them away to the upper world when they're old enough because she has seen the world below from the night sky and thinks it is beautiful and lovable, compared to the dark monstrous and screaming expanse of Tartarus, a chamber, a prison, a place of torture. She loves her children as much as the night sky, a boundless entity can. She would like them to experience the world the way she sees the mortals do, how other gods and spirits do. Running across cool grass as the sun dips and day fades into midnight blue and wine-dark purple. Laughing around a warm fire. Comfortable and safe from the monsters that lurk.

The eldest two are as boundless as she is, as boundless as their father. They take to mortal form more frequently than their parents but were not truly born of it. She remembers the strange sensation of creating a sunrise. Heat and daybreak rising over the murky ocean. The world was dark in the beginning. Then the sun came, Helios and his silly chariot, and so followed the bright of day to truly illuminate the world. The twins had been born hand in hand so entwined in one another she had not realized right away there were two of them. Even in their choice of differentiation, they were so similar - day and the bright upper sky. Hemera and Aether. Glowing light blue air and soft clouds with the sun shimmering nearby.

Then long after Charon came - the oldest of her personified children. Born with skin and bones and a quiet sullen demeanour. Like Hades who lives above. But Hades is reclusive and seems picky about who joins him. He is followed only by the dead. He is far too busy, nonetheless, to handle a child by his side - establishing his kingdom and building his home from the scraps left behind.

Yes, the Underworld is beautiful, cooler than Tartarus, more comforting to those with flesh, but less so than the upper world. That was created for those who breathe with lungs and have beating hearts, so when Charon is spry enough that he walks and runs and snaps at monsters that encroach upon his space, she guides him up and out into the wake of the night.

Shadows lick at his feet. His ever present father will keep watch when the sunrises and Nyx must set. Erebus agrees with her. Charon seems brighter, better up on top than far down below where only the most reviled of persons are chained and burned. The only screams he hears are from the birds chattering. He was born of night and darkness, so he says good night to his sister and his brother, and greets his mother with a cool good morning. He hunts sleeping animals with his father to guide his way. He prefers to fish from the nearby river, sit in the shallow, slower end of the rushing stream. He speaks aloud, knowing his family listens. He expects little response in return.

After him, Moros arrives. Dark and brooding. Where Charon is sullen and withdrawn, Moros is brash and engaging. He dips away from his older brother to bother nearby towns. He tips the scales, adjusts the poles. The way of the world swells and shifts around him. Knives miss the meat to be butchered and sever fingers. Bows slip free of knots and spill collected materials to the ground. The sickly sob. Children recoil in fear.

He is unbothered. He enjoys their detachment, their worries. As he grows, Charon finds him work with the elderly. It's important, he says, that you understand mortals. It is cruel to befit fear upon them all because you have no empathy. Nyx listens closely, Erebus at her side as their son speaks quiet. His monotone voice echoes across the open air. I have no empathy, but I have lived long enough to know that mortals desire compassion. And I have lived long enough to know that being feared becomes tiring in the end.

Moros adjusts. Still he brings doom, but the old are unworried. They know what is to come. The finality of breath. The stop of their hearts. The ceasing of their brains. They know that they will close their eyes and reawaken with Hades' hand outstretched for theirs. Without terror, they tell him stories of their lives. They spill their secrets as he cleans their laundry and cuts their food. He holds their arms as they take feeble steps around the home they wish to die in.

Sometimes he knows they will not and through him they know they will not, but he promises to carry them back and lay them to rest in the ground they own, the earth they cultivated. He is not capable of empathy. He barely understands sympathy. But compassion is there, in faintest amounts, and it is enough.

Thanatos and Hypnos bear witness to the night skies in the months that follow. It is almost amusing the difference between her boundless children and their fleshed out siblings. Daylight and bright skies versus the boy child who digs graves and the boy who bears doom, the boy who finds the dead as easily as he breathes and the boy who sleeps like a cat. the girl who watches battles with hunger and feasts upon the death the daughter who knows only misery and the boy who can only assign blame. She loves them all the same. She sees how mortals exile those who do not fit, who are dark but not cruel, and does not understand. Perhaps it is because she was not born into the world with a beating heart.

Only glittering stars and a spot for the bright moon.

It is quiet with the twins. Instead of bothering mortals, Hypnos spends most of his time attached to his twin's back, dozing off onto strong shoulders. Thanatos carries him like it is his job. Lifts him off from the ground without a word. He follows Charon into the woods each day. The dead come easy to him. More frequently that he had before, Charon carries bodies home to their new graves.

I can feel them, Thanatos says. When they're gone.

Do you hurt? Charon asks. Mangled bodies are not unfamiliar to them. Torn animals picked apart and rotting are commonplace. The state of their corpses indicate pain though. Charon worries.

But Thanatos simply lowers his sleeping brother to the soft grass below and says, No. It's strange. I don't notice them until they're gone. It’s like a call in my head. They could be near me and I would not notice until their end. He turns to his older brother digging another grave. Their souls. Their ghost. Do you see them?

Sometimes, Charon says. But not usually.

Thanatos is comforted by that. Sometimes is better than never. Hypnos never sees ghosts. But he sees other things in the moments he's awake. When they enter mortal towns, he'll gaze with half-lidded eyes upon the mortals that pass by and murmur into Thanatos' ear about their secrets. Their fears. Their days.

Their dreams.

Within the wisps of sleep, Hypnos descends. He coaxes the tired to rest, coaxes babies to calm, settle the elderly and sick down for their final night. Sometimes Oizys reaches out and so he settles inside the soft world of a mortal mind, slipping through their cloud-like subconscious and drawing out what they hold back.

Processing fears is important to living life, he realizes. In waking moments, he speaks with his brother about nightmares. In sleeping dreams, he slips them along. Most dreams are simple days. He likes to watch from the side, a hidden audience. Even the most mundane is entertaining.

Then Ker comes along soon after. She is sharp-toothed and mean. Violent death and bitter disease. There is nothing mundane with her. Only seeking the vicious and cruel. She feasts on the flesh of the dead, hovering near Thanatos as he counts down the seconds to the last beat of a heart.

But she does not join them at meals. Her bloodied mouth is hidden away. The bits of skin dug under her nails are scrubbed after every meal. She knows her nature is unlike the others. That she is worse. She crowds around battles with a hunger for the flesh that will be slain. She brings plague with a single touch.

Maybe she would feel better if she was not looking at her counterpart in all things dying. Thanatos is calm and unbothered. He does not itch for blood. He does not split at the seams and feast on the dead. He is calm and collected, almost a mimicry of Charon's sturdiness. She is only a girl hungering for anguish and devastation. She cannot end a life with her own hands. But she can encourage it, and so thoroughly she does.

Charon settles beside her. Water spills over their feet. Why do you split?

Feels better, she says. There is so much inside me. I need to be more to let it out. Her reflection in the river flickers in twain. Mortals think that there are more of her than there are. The Keres, they call her. But she is just Ker. She separates into many, sloughing off her other selves like old skin, and encircles the bloodied crowd. Is it bad?

No, Charon says. Just new.

I like myself, she says. But others don't. It's annoying. She grimaces. I wish I could be better.

You are what you are. With his nail, he scrapes away a fried bloodied mark across her cheek. Do not be disappointed that others cannot handle you. The ones who can are the ones who matter. We all like you. Why do you think we don’t?

Their bodies do not sever in two, in fourths, in tens, in thousands. They do not drag corpses back home to devour because the food on the table is barely edible to them. They do not force disease on those trying to recover from painful wounds, encouraging them to fail, to suffer, to die. Mortals do not recoil with a terrified immediacy they do not understand when her siblings walk by. Even Moros has more to him than the doom he spreads.

She does not.

Maybe I don’t like myself, she considers. It’s hard being this way. There is no one else.

Charon’s arm is comfortable around her shoulders. Affection always feels so fleeting. Though she recognizes that she pulls away. It feels foreign to her as it is given. Out of step with who she is. But she does not pull away. Instead she leans into him and feels the water rush around her feet. It is cool and forgiving. She is hot and merciless.

It’s true. We will not understand you or the viciousness in your heart, Charon tells her. But we are not unsettled by you. You are why battles end. Without pain, without struggle, there would be no need to speak for peace. If all deaths were as calm as falling asleep, then people would keep fighting. But blood spilled, mortals hacked apart, watching your friends suffer beside you, delivering the dead in pieces back to their homes - that is what forces peace.

She tilts her head up and considers his words. I didn’t think of that.

Nobody does, he says. But it is true. Without death, fighting would never end. And without violence, peace would never be wrung. Whether by compromise or submission. He splashes her ankles with water. Eat with us, Ker. We miss you at the table.

The twins and Ker grow and venture far and wide. They sit beside battles and watch quietly. They walk through towns and villages. Hypnos murmurs sleepy words about dreams of freedom in the beaten and belittled. Ker manufactures suffering and bloody ends, horrible spouses and egregious people falling down stairs. Thanatos brings calm to the old and sick.

Charon disappears in the days they are gone. Months go by in search. Eventually, they find him, guided by their mother and father. He is beneath the earth, beneath their feet. They fly over raging waters and approach the god who has employed him.

He is working, Hades says. So, no, he cannot go free right now. But you are welcome to stay.

Oizys and Momus are born next. Erebus coddles them more than she does. But he is in every nook and cranny. He sees distress trapped in locked closets, follows bare feet as they run from screams and swords. The two fight with bitter words. When they come of age, Charon returns to the upper world. The family home welcomes him with a familiar coolness and wisping darkness.

He is a sharp-tongued mediator for the fighting twins and forces them apart with calloused hands and snarling eyes. They always silence themselves when he snaps. They become accommodating to their brother who drags fallen bodies out from the trees and buries them in plots around the home. When he appears, Momus holds back his bitter blaming screams and Oizys keeps tight her welling eyes and breaking heart.

It is under him that they learn to shift. It is not perfect. Momus is reviled by god and mortals alike for his sharp-tongue. He complains about poorly chosen words, critiques every appearance, laughs at sloppy form. It is helpful to some - those who wish to change. Who are unbothered by his mocking tone. But people are more emotional than he cares for. There are several lives lost to his cruel words. Like the two before him, he has no capacity for empathy. He is unable to learn sympathy and compassion is out of reach.

Who cares, is his most common phrase, spoken every time his sister asks him to become softer, gentler.

Oizys is still pain, she is still distress. Her heart still breaks easy and she cries more often than most. But she becomes kinder to herself for her limited emotional range. It is not her fault that this is how she must be. It is not her fault that this is what she has been chosen to represent in the world. Her tears do not make her weak.

Pain is necessary, she says as she wraps the broken bone of a sobbing child. It teaches us not to jump from trees, and where to draw the line with others.

She finds broken men with battles still screaming in their minds. Their bodies are automated. Every movement is meant to survive, to carry on, but their minds hold memories that keep them from being alive. She finds broken women, broken mothers, broken children. She finds those who hold back the tears and smile as though nothing is wrong. Those who need to let go and breathe. Those who need to cry. Who need to admit to the pain they are in, the anguish they have witnessed, the distress coming from the things they have experienced.

When the emotions release, when the pain flows, she crafts suggestions from the wisp of shadows. Run. Confront. Kill. Talk. Change.

Live.

I believe we are trapped in our natures, Charon had said in the bright of day as he dug a deep hole and she held a shattered girl's hand.

Her body was bloodied, slowly creeping towards utter cold. Her eyes had been glassy, unfocused. The world slowly slid from her view. Oizys held her hand to take the pain because certain things should never have been experienced. Not in anyone, but especially not in children this young.

But that doesn't mean we cannot change what our nature means, her wise older brother had said. I take the dead. I don't know why. I just always have. But I chose to do different than just steal them away from their homes. There are dead out there that will never be claimed. I will claim them. I do not need to claim that which dies at home or in a lover's arms. I will claim the left behind, the slaughtered hunter, the forgotten traveler, and I will give them a grave to rest.

Momus had scowled back rude words but Oizys held tighter the young girl's hand and listened hard.

You both can be better. You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to be nice. Moros certainly is not. Ker as well. But you can be and do more than you think of yourselves right now. He laid his shovel to rest on the ground and reached for the slackened girl. There was no life left in her. It had bled all over Oizys lap. There is more to the world than your base instincts, little ones. Yelling that others are at fault and crying from the distress of being screamed at isn't all you have to do. Look inwards. Think. He laid the girl to rest in the grave he dug. I believe in you.

Charon speaks these words to all his siblings. When Nemesis arrives in a flurry of wild black hair, she tracks across the plains of Tartarus, even in her pudgy youth, and declares pain of those she discovers in chains. She leaves the wasteland far later than any of her other siblings, both older and younger. She is endlessly embittered by the faults of mortals. Reluctance to leave their home cloaks her.

Find your order, Charon says. He has lived long, seen and met many. Dike could help. She loves justice, as much as you crave punishment.

Dike is a beauty on earth. Like her father, the crowned king of sky, she embodies order and justice. Humanity is as far as her range extends. But Nemesis can work with that. Social norms become her focus. Convention and custom are her loves. Remaining steady in tradition is gripped tight in her hand. She offers suggestions with a ruthlessness that Dike sighs through each time. Some are accepted easily. Many mortals need to be struck down by their own hubris. But others are argued about between the two.

Humanity and what it entails holds closer to Dike's heart than Nemesis'. She is capable of seeing what her father, her mother, and what Nemesis cannot. A mortal who kills to be free from pain defies convention, but does not deserve the ruthless retribution Nemesis would befit upon a mortal who kills for enjoyment.

Nemesis is always befuddled by her love's explanations. The logic is sound, she understands the point. But it never quite clicks the way it should. But she remembers Charon holding her hands and telling her that she is bound to what the world had decreed upon her, as are the others.

Hemera and Aether do not understand why their siblings prefer the dark. Moros cannot perceive how it is cruel to tell people of the vicious way they will one day die, nor does he understand why it is not appropriate to bury them in so much doom they drown themselves to escape. Ker does not comprehend that others do not feel overwhelming rage. How calm for mortals in the rest of death and sleep is unwanted by their siblings befuddles Thanatos and Hypnos. Why people repress their pain is something Oizys will never comprehend. And Momus will never understand why Olympus banished him from their golden floors for his various criticisms.

None of them ever understood why Charon chose to bury strangers either. They followed when he ventured out and helped him carry back bodies he found. Animals too rotten to eat, people no one came for. They watched as he dug holes. As he wrapped them in clean cloth and buried them. They did not understand why. But they understood that he had to, and so he did.

You punish because you must. People fear punishment because they fear our sister. If she can continue on despite the pain that being feared brings her, I know that you can. They will never understand why you choose the retribution you choose. And you will never understand why they beg for something smaller. But you do not have to. You just assess their point of view. He laughed quietly and squeezed her hands. Or ask Dike to explain it to you.

In the years that follow Nemesis's final departure from the family home, Apate and Dolos spring out from the shadows with mischievous grins. They spread lies and tall tales in their youth. They find villages and scam, decrying potions and balms in replace of medicine. Death abounds. So Charon settles them into the dirt and tells them they can do more than harm.

There is no demand to stop being cruel. After all, Nemesis still jumps to ruthless violence in her ideas for retribution. Momus does not know how to be kind with his words. By nature, Oizys is cruel to mortals. Moros still approaches strangers with a bitter grin and watches them cry in grief and terror from their ensuing fates. But cruel is not all they must be.

The twins sidle alongside Ares, who knows Charon well. Apate guides spies into enemy lines. Acting becomes a passion of hers. After all, what are elaborate performances if not deceit of the audience? Dolos sits on friendly territory and pushes whispered suggestions from the shadows. Make it seem like you are retreating, he sighs into a general's ears. Draw them out into the open with a subtle trap. Surround them. Destroy them.

It is more enjoyable to them than scamming the masses, than telling them silly lies with elaborate words that make them believe in things that don't exist. There is a sense of accomplishment when their side wins the battle, wins the war. There is a sense of pride when Ares pats their heads with his heavy warm hand. They do not follow him everywhere. They want more than war. So they dabble in politics, in petty family squabbles. They still sell scams and spread rumors. But often they draw back to Ares' side with mischievous grins and help his chosen heroes win wars.

Geras is born with wrinkles and frail bones. His skin sags off the muscles that never truly grow. Youth annoys him. Hebe is his sworn enemy long before they ever meet. But Charon holds him as he breathes hard and reminds him of the genius in age.

I was stupid when I was young. I'm older now. Wiser. More mature. He holds his little brother's wizened frame gently. Listen to the stories of the people. Sit with your brother when he visits his dying friends. There is no permanence or perfection in being young. You are a reminder of change, of inevitability, of maturity. I would not be able to tell you this without having lived and grown through so much before me.

Immortals don't age, Geras huffs bitterly. His voice is cracked and gruff, like an older blacksmith who has breathed in too much acrid smoke.

Everyone ages. We simply are not bound by it. Shapeless. Formless. If we want to look young, we can do so. If we want to look strong, we can do so. It is a blessing. He strokes Geras's thin hair. And much like curses, blessings can be taken away.

Geras sighs and sinks into his brother's stable hold. I don't know how to make myself look different.

Then don't, Charon says. You know how, little brother. We all do. But you do not want to look young. It is not who you are.

Then who am I? What am I? Geras cries. I want to be a child, not an ugly old man. I do nothing for the mortals like the others. I don't bring the day, I don't let them know that the end is near and they should prepare. I do not allow them to feel their hurt. I do not enact punishment and I do not win wars. I am just old and tired.

As I said, you are change. People become different over time. They learn and change, they age and grow. And you are inevitable, even to the gods. You are the reason Moros has friends. You are the reason Oizys creates mourning. You are stories told to grandchildren, you are the head of the household, you are the matriarch, you are history. You are a reminder of the end, and you are a goal for the sickly, for the soldiers in battle, for couples so deeply in love. Charon presses his lips dryly to his brother's wrinkled temple. And you are my brother. You have purpose in that alone.

Eris is hardened to the world when she leaves Tartarus. As always, Charon takes leave of the Underworld and guides her hand-in-hand through darkness and grass to the family home. She is a bitter thing. She finds fault in all things. Constant conflict is demanded of her. When he does not fall to her huffing ways, she grows louder and rougher. But Charon has been steady and stable since birth. Her need to sow problems over nothing does not rile him.

Calm down, he says when she slaps food off the table for being too cold, or shouts that he mended her clothes incorrectly. She cannot calm. It is beyond her. Still he holds her shaking hands and guides her down to a seat on the floor. Relax your breathing. Search for what settles you and utilize that.

Like many of the others, Charon brings her to Ares’ side. War does not settle her, not fully. Still, she finds solace in Ares and in Enyo, her preferred companion. Enyo enjoys the bitter sensation of discord, the craft of competition that awakens in Eris’ presence. Eris is no stranger to being cared for despite how she is, but it is odd to see it reflected in the face of someone who is not her family.

They bicker and argue over anything. Eris is always the instigator, but Enyo happily throws the first blow. Hands beat against faces. Blood bleeds into spit on the ground. Bruises bloom against skin. When the fight is done, they grin and breathe and move along. They are often joined by Ker, bringing horror to the soldiers who spot her flying above right before the final blow.

She spreads trouble outside of battle. Apate and Dolos pull her into their lies and trickery. Arguments follow her subtle instigating words. The twins pull strings behind yelling backs. Momus brings blame and she pushes hostility. The ensuing breakdowns are always so fun to watch. Harmony and peace, a sense of calm, does not befit her. But in carefully placed antagonism she finds a settlement, what Charon spoke of with gentle words, and it is enough.

The last to find life on the outside is young Philotes. Her siblings think she is strange. Even from birth, she is unlike any of them. In Tartarus, she befriends monsters, even the cruelest of punished souls. She hugs with abandon, and smiles wider than any of them thought was possible for their faces. She is not sharp-toothed, and she is not mean. She is not relaxed with sturdy sullenness. She is bright and joyful.

Charon does not bury forgotten bodies around her, nor does he hunt creatures as they sleep. Death upsets her. Violence is rejected. Ker and Thanatos find no fault in her eschew of their nature. She does not fault them for being as they are. It is harder with Eris, but only on her side. Trouble and conflict slides off Philotes’ shoulders like rain. It does not make her angry, or have her spit bitter words. Eris finds that vastly annoying. But despite their stark differences, Philotes loves her family without question.

Darkness does not suit her, though she walks through shadows as is her birthright, and does not shy away from the depths below as her companions in the clouds of Olympus do. Making friends is easy for her. She finds her way to the mountaintop from smile to smile, and hug to hug. The Graces adore her joyful nature. Pasithea finds amusement in their traded places - her born of Olympus to descend to the depths, and Philotes born of Tartarus to ascend to the golden skies. She does not join their numbers, but attends to their needs. It is a contented life filled with love, with friends, with good sex.

Charon waits for the call of his mother to let him know that another has joined their ranks but it does not come. He does miss, sometimes, the family home when it was filled with the life of another. He will settle there in his free time. The beds are clean, the pantry clear, cobwebs nonexistent. The passage of time does not encroach upon the home he built for his siblings. It does not rot the stone, nor the cloth. The house remains steady, stable, as he is.

Sometimes he walks down to the river. He will sit in the slow and shallow end under the night sky, feeling shadows wisp at his arms. There is no preference between his old and new homes. The Underworld suits him. Macaria who took him down to the depths and gave him his boat is there, his best friend. Styx rushes by as he floats. They speak casually amongst each other. The world is forever dark in the Underworld. It is cool. It is calm.

While only a few of his siblings live with him among the poplar trees and obsidian stone, the others do visit with annoyed huffs from Hades but nothing else in complaint. They join their mother and father in the heated wasteland of Tartarus. They visit the family home. They did not live there all at once, and they never will. He raised them to be independent, decisive. To be better and do more than they thought they could. Their home was a place to grow, and they have. It is no longer necessary for them. For him.

But it is always nice to walk through familiar doors and find his siblings talking amongst themselves. Lounging on cushions they used to sit on when they were much smaller, much younger. Eating at the table, sneaking bites of each other’s food. Playing the games still left behind on shelves and tables.

He never worried about what it meant to be the oldest made of flesh and bone. When he had followed Macaria down below, he did not mean to leave the three behind. They had ventured out, as Moros did. When days pattered by with no return, he thought they had found their own place in the world. Seeing them standing strong and hard-headed in front of Hades and demanding his return was more than amusing. Warmth cut through his heart.

Ferrying souls is his purpose. Watching the entrance when the Underworld is open is his purpose. It is what he has done from the beginning, carrying corpses home and laying them to rest, finding internal settlement in river water rushing beneath him. He is the ferryman and the gatekeeper. Carrying souls across the rushing river. Keeping eye on the doorway and forcing out those who try to push in without reason.

But as he always said, there is more to them than the base instinct of their nature. Like holding hands with little siblings as he walks them to their home, and guarding them from mortals and monsters and gods who do not understand what beauty exists in the dark.

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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Feisty (Nameless Ghoul x g/n reader)

Summary: A Nameless Ghoul gets on his knees and demands for you to choke him. Hard.

Tags: Any Ghoul you want, mild +18 content. Choking kink, dom/sub undertones. Short one-shot. Ghouls as weird creatures you find deep in the woods.

I accidentally deleted the ask, but this is for you anon! More Nameless Ghouls ♥

The leather of the belt feels so cold and hard between your fingers. Slowly, you pull on it. The muscles on your arm flexes slightly, barely a twitch under your skin.

The Ghoul follows the movement, nonetheless. His pupils are dark and blown, dilatated with excitement and lust. Behind the silver mask, his eyes are nothing but a deep pool of obscure promises and desire. He is not talkative, not very vocal still, but his eyes practically scream all the obscenities he wants to do with you.

Hell. If this is damnation, you’ll take it.

Inch by inch.

Without warning, you pull again. The belt tightens on his neck, forcing him to lean forwards. The Ghoul’s fingers curl around your ankle, nails digging on your flesh as a reminder of his true strength.

Yes. Maybe he’s the one on his knees in front of you. Maybe your foot is propped on his thigh, and you’re choking him with his own belt, but he’s no regular person. He’s a demon, a powerful one, an infernal creature capable of harming you and others without breaking a sweat.

An eternal being, so powerful and mighty, is kneeling in front of you. The weight of his stare makes your insides tremble, shake with anticipation. He’s evil, wicked and damned, and he has you by the guts.

“Is that the best you can do, human?”

The Ghoul’s voice is soft, merely a whisper over the deep silence of the room. It doesn't match the intent behind his tone or the ferocity of his gaze. You take a deep breath, pulling harder until his neck is stretched in your direction, head tilted to the side. His muscles move under his skin when he swallows, in a slow and controlled motion.

“I can barely feel it.”

The way his chest rises and falls under his black dress shirt says otherwise. His breathing is heavy and the air is hot when he pants, leaving behind a fleeting, misty cloud of condensation. If he’s struggling to stay still because the lack of air or because he’s growing tired of your teasing, there’s no way to tell.

There’s no need to verbally reply. This time, you yank the belt, forcing him to fall forwards until his face almost collides with your body. The Ghoul looks up in your direction, wide eyes open behind the mask. You can see your own flushed reflection on the shiny material, feel the heavy weight of his stare undressing you to the very core.

“Feisty.” He taunts. The words are coated with amusement, nothing but a deep growl inside his throat. Even if you can’t see his facial expression, you know he’s smiling a tight smile. “I like that.”

Nameless Ghouls are such weird creatures. They mostly look, sound and feel human, but they are far away from it. No matter how much they learn how to behave and interact with others, there’s always something off, something wrong. The way he rubs the cheek of his mask on your thighs should feel like a tender gesture, but it makes your skin crawl. In a way, it reminds you of a feline playing with their prey.

And, like a predator, he seizes you. His hand grips your wrist before you can even react. There’s nothing you can do to get away when he pulls, closer and closer, until your fingers brush over the warm skin of his neck.

“All yours,” he whispers, in a velvety tone.

Slowly, you let your hand curl around his neck. His palm stays over your hand, making it easy to feel every twitch of muscle when he swallows and breathes. As your own muscles tense your grip, he lets out a shuddering breath that turns into a low moan.

“Do your worst, human.”

Again, you obey. The feeling of his throat fighting for air sends a shiver up and down your spine, right between your legs. In front of you, the ghoul growls as his eyes roll back in his head, pupils clouded with pleasure. The ghost of his stare burns on you like hellfire.

Ps: I wrote this thinking about Dew BUT Rain is the one getting choked on stage so... 🤨

#nameless ghoul x reader #nameless ghouls #ghost band fanfic #ghost band #ghost bc #fire ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #sodo ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #my writing #my fics

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mxsinizter · 1 year

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Dash of Dew in Mountain's shirt making his big guys go a little feral <3

Mature; 562 words

"Hey, handsome." Dewdrop smirked at Aether's words as he snaked his arms around the larger ghoul who appeared before him, setting his hands on Dew's waist.

Dewdrop purred a soft greeting in return, pulling Aether in for a kiss. The ghoul gladly received it, adding a bonus squeeze to Dew's ass before gently pulling away. "I just cut some apples if you'd like some?"

Aether made his way towards the counter where a tray with apple slices sat, glaring at Mountain who popped two into his mouth. Mountain gave him a thumbs up and a smile, cheeks filled. Their attention was snatched back by Dew as the fire ghoul yawned loudly, rubbing at his eyelids.

Dewdrop stretched up onto his tippy toes as his arms reached as high up as they could with a small arch of his back, a purring sound of content leaving his chest as he did. Mountain, and likely the others as well, was fully prepared to enthusiastically say, "big stretch" but that was when he saw it. Instead, a loud, possessive growl made its way into his throat. Aether and Swiss looked between the two until they realized what Mountain's eyes were glued to, eyes beginning to glow just as brightly as the earth ghoul's.

The little ghoul was wearing one of Mountain's old shirts and apparently, nothing beneath. The shirt rising with the stretch revealed the head of his little soft cock just barely peeking out from behind the hem. Pink head glistening with the slightest hint of arousal where it hung heavy against his balls. Dew dropped his arms as he looked worriedly at the three towering ghouls.

For a moment, the world stopped as Dewdrop looked between them, feeling the sudden wave of primal desire crash against his small frame. His cock throbbed with need, twitching against his balls. Even with his arms down, the shirt stayed scrunched up, the hem clinging to his wetness. "Wha-?"

His question dissipated into the thick air as Mountain lurched away from the counter, going straight for the small ghoul, Swiss and Aether following. The fire ghoul flinched as Mountain growled, a long arm pushing Aether away and snapping his teeth dangerously close to Swiss' neck who tried to sneak past him.

Dewdrop felt like a little lamb praying for his own downfall as three predators fought to do him the honors.

In a flash, Dewdrop's view of Swiss and Aether was blocked by Mountain whose arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling Dew flush against his chest. Dewdrop melted into his grip as violent sounds from the three ghouls continued to fill his ears. The rumble of Mountain's chest against him was wonderful.

"Mount'n, please." Dewdrop's voice was already slurred as he spoke against the earth ghoul's collarbone, cock hardening against the other's thigh. Aether and Swiss quieted, reluctantly accepting the claim. With an unexpected gentleness, Mountain lifted him, wrapping Dew's legs around his waist.

Feeling the soft cloth of Mountain's newer shirt against his cockhead, Dewdrop couldn't help humping against the earth ghoul's tummy, staining it with pre. He giggled as he heard Swiss' whiny chirps to let him join and Aether's frustrated mumbles about his apple slices.

Mountain ignored them as he rushed to his room, quickly locking the door behind him. Any scent of the other two on Dewdrop would be disappearing in no time.

#couldn't get that image out of my mind so i had to do something about it >:)#dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #ghost band fanfic #minors dni #zephyinks

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taintedtort · 1 year

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hey hey hey~y guess who again?you made it perfectly clear with how happy you are and it makes me even happier that you reacted that way!ehe~e.

i promise i will wait for every one of your works, but i suddenly got an idea while reading one of your works!one about sleeping headcanons.and the idea is, maybe you will be interested to write how reader and characters do each others hairs?like, reader making a character some sort of hairstyle/adding accesory to them and character does so in return.hope my description makes any sense.and as for characters, with Aether, Albedo, Ayaka and Shenhe???

and if its hard to write this request for you, then dont worry!but can you imagine how nice it would be to braid Aether's hairs???and Ayaka being separeted from worlds simplest pleasures certainly deserves little "girl time".no???also i wish you goodest of lucks!

- 🦊 anon

prompt ✧ doing their hair

characters ✧ aether, shenhe, ayaka, xiao, kazuha, wanderer

warnings ✧ gn!reader, none!

a/n ✧ hello again! i added a few more characters if that’s alr? (i also saw your sweet words in my inbox, thank you) ALSO ALSO i’m writing a part 2 for them doing your hair so if you wanna look for that it’ll be up a few days after this

AETHER

✧ he loves letting you do his hair. honestly his arms get tired after a while because it’s so long, but when you do it he just gets to sit back and relax. he wont ask you to do it first, but if you insist you want to he‘ll let you. doesn’t mind going out of his usual hairstyle either, he just lets you play around with it. do whatever you want: high ponytail, claw clip, flowers, colorful clips, etc.

"you want to do my hair? sure, why not."

SHENHE

✧ her hair is very long and sometimes she doesn’t feel like managing it, so that’s where you come in. you gladly offer to brush out and rebraid her hair. she wouldn’t stray far from her original hairstyle, but she may let you do something different with it— no guarantee she‘ll wear it out though. not a fan of clips, her hair is too thick for them anyway. she does very much enjoy your fingers running across her scalp though.

"you’ll brush my hair for me? if you insist."

AYAKA

✧ she thought she wouldn’t like it at first because ayato used to do her hair when they were younger, but she soon figured out that was because he wasn’t gentle. your fingers carefully swept through her hair while pulling it up in her usual ponytail. she ended up closing her eyes without even realizing. when you finished you could tell she was disappointed, so you just continued to play with it. she sat there feeling like she was in heaven. you end up having to do her hair at least once a week.

"would you mind playing with my hair again? please."

XIAO

✧ was reluctant at first. his hair is short so he doesn’t bother doing anything with it and he doesn’t understand why you would want to play with it. you’d have to explain that you think his hair is super soft and that’d it’d be relaxing for him before he agrees. once he feels your nails run across his scalp he’s down. instantly melts against you and might doze off. that gives you the chance to put cute clips in his hair that he’d normally never let you do.

"you think it’s soft? really?"

KAZUHA

✧ he was happy you asked! he had no problem with you putting his hair in braids or adding colorful accessories, he was just glad you were having fun. he wouldn’t get embarrassed when you’d finish one hairstyle before pulling back and snickering a little before starting another. he liked that he was able to make you laugh, even if it was because he looked silly. he’d sit and talk to you, or listen to you talk, and it would overall just be a cute activity.

"having fun?"

WANDERER

✧ you’d have to time your approach right in order for him to let you anywhere near his hair. honestly it was better to not even ask, just run your fingers through his hair after he gets home and flops next to you with a huge, tired sigh. because he’s so tired, the sensation feels heavenly and he’d let himself indulge. if you started tugging at it like you were putting it in a ponytail, he’d pull your hand off, so you have to resist your urges. but i think if you beg enough while he’s in a good mood, he‘ll let you do something with it.

"fine! do as you please. archons, you’re so needy."

#reader insert #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #x reader #fanfic #gender netural #gn reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #shenhe x reader #ayaka x reader #aether x reader #genshin headcanons #my 🦊 anon #taintedtort #tortrequests

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forlorn-crows · 11 days

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𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 3: 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆

pairing(s): aether/mountain words: 1318 EDIT: now with art from @cryptid-stuff !!

✿

“You’ve got to release all this, starlight,” the earth ghoul insists, prodding at the tension in his neck, his upper back. Some of it’s normal muscle tightness from playing, but Mountain knows there’s other, nastier things lingering between those tendons. Supernatural stress and magick that’s built up over weeks of healing and loving and caring for others.

The hurt he takes away has to go somewhere—and Aether’s learned the hard way that the things he takes on eventually have to be expelled.

It’s a painful process, one that can’t be done without some help. In today’s (stubborn) case, the tough love variety.

Mountain makes a questioning noise, looking over Aether’s shoulder at his face. “You’ll let me help?”

The quint ghoul sighs, tired and sore down to the bone. He really doesn’t want to do this right now. Not with his upcoming duties.

“Darling, if you don’t let me do it now, you’re going to fizzle out on us,” Mountain reminds him, kindly yet sternly. He places a kiss on his temple and whispers: “I have the time and the energy. Let me do this for you now.”

Aether sighs heavily. Wishing the tension would flow out with it. “Okay,” he says after a beat.

Mountain kisses him again, pats his shoulders. “Shirt off. Preference for incense this time?”

“The one that always smells fresh, with the . . . the, uh . . .”

“Verbena?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“‘Course.” Mountain gets up to gather supplies, leaving Aether to remove his shirt and settle into the floor cushion.

Thankfully, it’s peaceful today. Quiet. He listens to the earth ghoul rummage around in the curio cabinet. The air in the greenhouse is warm, tinged with the smell of fresh-blooming petunias and magnolias from just outside the rain-dirtied windows. Aether closes his eyes and breathes it in. Rolling his neck and tuning into his body and the pain that hangs on his frame like an ill-fitting garment.

Behind him, the scratch of a match being lit. Touched to charcoal and snuffed out on the worn bench top.

“Have to let it burn a bit. Here, for your lap.” Mountain hands him a black stone that spans the width of his palms, cool to the touch and polished smooth. Obsidian, if he remembers correctly. Or tourmaline, maybe? He isn’t so good with the names, but he knows to place it in the middle of his loosely crossed legs, at the bottom of an imaginary line drawn down from the tip of his nose. Helps channel the energy, Mountain had said once.

“Do you need anything else?” the earth ghoul asks in a soft voice.

“No, ‘m alright.”

“Okay.” Mountain smooths his hands over his bare shoulders, raising goosebumps with each tender pass. When he runs his palms along his spine, he tuts. Hovers over a spot right under his ribcage. “That’ll be a tough spot,” he sighs.

Aether nods in agreement. “Yeah, don’t know why it decided to settle there this time.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can, starlight.” It’s a promise he doesn’t have to vocalize, of course. Aether knows he will be, despite the strenuous task ahead of them both. “But we’ve got to get it done.”

The lack of crackling behind them signals that the charcoal is ready for the incense to be added. Mountain gets up to do so, and Aether sinks back into the calmness of the greenhouse atmosphere. A tiny square of light falls on his knuckles as he shifts on the cushion; he can feel the slight difference in heat move across his skin as he dips his hand in and out of the fractal. Zeroing into the moment, the calm before the storm.

Before long, fragrant curls of smoke fill the space; tendrils of orange peel and lemongrass, jasmine and the tiniest hint of vanilla. And of course, the verbena tying them all together. All scents to help set the intention for cleansing and re-centering.

“Ready?” Mountain asks, returning to sit behind him.

“Now or never, I guess,” Aether laughs tiredly.

The earth ghoul sets the bottle of oil next to them; a slightly amber liquid with sprigs of eucalyptus and buds of juniper berry suspended within it. His own blend, of course. He fills the well of his palm with the oil, rubbing in steady, counterclockwise circles as he warms it. Aether doesn’t have to see his face to know it’s firm with concentration, eyes closed and lips moving with unspoken words. Setting intentions before even touching the oil to his skin.

Eventually, his hands make their way to his head, and the massage begins. Mountain rubs the oil into his scalp, starting at the very top between his horns, working his fingertips down to the crown, the occipital bone, and the nape of his neck. The way he works the oil is like following the pattern of rain down the stem of a flower, manipulating the tension—and the negative energy that goes along with it—towards the ground.

It would be easy to lose himself in the sensation, if it weren’t for the emotional and physical force it takes to drain this pent-up byproduct of quintessence use. It sits deep down in the muscle, harboring pain. The longer it sits, the more effort will be required to siphon it back out again. Extraction rituals are usually painful, and in rare cases, near incapacitating.

Swiss and Mountain, and on occasion, Omega, see to it that it never reaches that point.

“Breathe,” the earth ghoul whispers, shifting up onto his knees. The pressure comes on his exhale, bearable but targeted. Mountain digs into the tightness at the base of his neck, twin points on either side of his spine that hold until the muscle begins to release. Aether hisses through his teeth.

“Bit more . . .'' Mountain sighs along with him when he feels things shift, however slight. His hands move further away from his spine, and he digs into another spot, working his way down the slope of his traps. Push and breathe, constrict and release. Mountain continues until he’s reached the curve of his shoulders, pausing to drip more oil into his palms.

Doing alright? The lilt of Infernal on his tongue is warm, comforting.

Yes, Aether replies softly. He’s beginning to ache, but it’ll only get harsher from here.

Mountain hums. Think loose, he whispers, aiming for levity.

Aether chuckles and shakes out his shoulders. Wish that was all I had to do.

Then you wouldn’t get my hands all over your oily body.

You are making it sound far more pleasurable than it actually is, love.

“Touché.”

Aether snorts at the purposeful break from their native tongue. Come on, start jabbing me with your knobby drummer’s hands. The sigh Mountain gives is equivalent to a verbal eyeroll, and he places his hands, renewed with warm oil, back on the quintessence ghouls’ shoulders.

I promise you a warm bath and a full night of cuddles for the impending torture.

It’s silent as they focus on the task at hand—well, apart from the pained groans from Aether and the occasional grunt from Mountain. It’s hard work, plain and simple. A never ending cycle of heal, absorb, expel; a cycle that inherently relies on others. Quintessence is a funny thing, though, in that it will build up from disuse, too. It will beg with its weight sitting on the bones of one’s vessel to be used, to flow. The holder of the magick will have to eventually release the excess, essentially wasting it, dumping it out of an overflowing bucket.

In that sense, Aether would much rather endure the pain of sharing, if it means connection over isolation. It’s a principle he clutches as tight as possible when Mountain’s hands start feeling like knives along his shoulders and down his back, when all he wants to do is sob and scream fuck your strong hands straight back to Hell.

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

#mushy may 2024 #the band ghost fanfic #ficlet #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain/aether #aether/mountain #the band ghost #mountain x aether #aether x mountain #mushy may #earth ghoul rituals my beloved #dont you love how sometimes you write 300 words and then the next day its 1.3k

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ghoul-slime · 12 days

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Mushy May Day 1 - Cuteness Aggression (Aether/Dew)

Trying my hand at Mushy May this year! Not sure how many prompts I'll get through, but I decided I'd try to write Dewther for all of the prompts this time around. Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows and anyone else involved in making this happen!

Day 1: Cuteness Aggression (Aether/Dew)

He’s still a new summon, not even topside for two weeks now, but he’s finally getting used to the routine. Now, as Dew stands in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room on the day of their very first ritual and fiddles with the sash cinched tight around his waist, he hears a low growl from over his shoulder.

It’s Aether, another new summon, a burly quintessence ghoul with strong arms and a shaggy mohawk. He’s sitting on the couch behind Dew, already dressed in his own uniform. Tonight will be his first ritual too.

“Problem, big guy?” Dew quirks his eyebrow and shoots a look into the mirror back at the growling ghoul on the couch.

Aether, who up until now had been entirely warm and friendly towards him, answers with a grunt, brows furrowed in concentration as he sizes Dew up in the mirror.

Dew has never been one to back down, so he goes back to preening himself unbothered. If the new ghoul has suddenly decided he’s got a problem with him then well, he can let him know or not. Dew couldn’t care less.

But when Dew gathers his long platinum hair into his hands and reaches back to tie it up into a tight little bun on top of his head with an elastic band, the growling kicks up again, louder this time. He looks back, ready to shoot a glare at the new ghoul, mood souring at the fact that he seems to have fallen out of favor with his new packmate at record-breaking speed.

But before he can open his mouth to say anything, Aether is hauling himself up off the couch and in another breath he’s pressing himself against Dew’s back, big strong hands coming up to rest heavy on Dew’s bony little hips.

Aether growls directly into Dew’s ear, setting the hairs on his arms on end. “Why’re you so small for?” Aether slurs, normally cheery voice coming out raspy and deep. Dew hears him swallow thickly.

“Fuckin’ cute. Wanna bite you. Right here,” he says, snuffing into the crook of Dew’s neck, grazing sharp fangs across Dew’s pulse.

Dew stares at Aether’s reflection in the mirror, he looks almost intoxicated. Red-faced and sweat beginning to bead at his hairline. He feels his fingers flex their grip on his waist.

“Thought you were pretty cute before but… this uniform?” Aether grunts into his ear again. Dew feels a blush spread across his cheeks.

“Makes you look so small. Tiny little waist….” Aether trails off, like he’s been talking to himself this whole time and not to Dew at all. Eyes fixed on their reflection in the mirror, the way Dew’s slender form is almost dwarfed by Aether’s muscular body. Strong, but soft in all the right places. Standing much more than a whole head taller than Dew.

Dew takes it all in and lets out a soft little growl of his own.

“Wanna wrap my arms around you and squeeze.”

Dew glances up at the dressing room clock, counting down steadily until they’re due out on stage. There’s just four and a half minutes left. Too late to do anything about this now.

Dew twists himself around in Aether’s grip, and the quintessence ghoul looks him in the eye for the first time since he started growling. He slides his hands up Aether’s chest until he’s wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him down.

Dew whispers into his ear. A promise for later.

Dew once again finds himself standing in front of a dressing room mirror, this time surrounded by new packmates. New instruments. Hell, even a whole new element.

He fiddles with the black elastic suspenders on his brand new uniform, still not exactly used to the things. He could never quite get them to lay right during the uniform fittings and he finds himself struggling still, growing more irritated by the minute.

He’s snapped out of his frustration by a low, rumbling growl from off to his side. His eyes snap up to the mirror and sure enough, it’s exactly who he thinks it is.

“Hey Aeth.” Dew turns to the quintessence ghoul standing behind him. The growling continues.

“Aeth?” Dew snaps his fingers, breaking Aether’s trance. His eyes dart up to Dew’s face, a blush already beginning to spread across his handsome features.

The growl cuts off abruptly.

“Huh?” Aether answers sheepishly, knowing he’s been caught.

“Aeth, you’re doing that thing again,” Dew laughs, waving his hands and beckoning the bigger ghoul over to his side in front of the mirror.

“Sorry, Dew,” Aether chuckles apologetically, hands immediately finding their way to Dew’s hips and squeezing just a little too tight. Dew can feel the sharp point of his claws just barely poking their way through the tight fabric of his uniform pants.

“It’s just that you look…,” he trails off, “Wow.” He reaches up, smooths out the kink in the suspenders that Dew had been wrestling with. “I like these a lot.”

“So cute…” Aether’s thought trails off again.

Dew laughs, breathy and red faced. He glances at the clock. Just three minutes to go.

He pulls himself out of Aether’s grip and grabs his new coat off the hanger. When Aether goes for his own, Dew swats him on the ass.

Payback.

Dozens of shows give way to hundreds, and Dew once again finds himself at the top of a new era. Everything is bigger and better. Their uniforms and masks are more detailed. All fine fabrics and supple leathers. Dew even managed to talk Papa into letting him use the Strat on stage.

And of course bigger venues meant bigger dressing rooms, full floor to ceiling mirrors taking up the length of an entire wall. Now they were even traveling with costume staff dedicated to helping them into their uniforms.

Dew takes in his own reflection, smoothing his hands over the velvet soft fabric of his vest, admiring the glint of the brass buckles, and feeling the light swoosh of the silky blue and black cape strapped across his slender chest and over one shoulder.

Aether strides up to his side. He’s already got his helmet on. “There’s my cute little ghoul princess,” he coos.

Dew snorts, chokes down a laugh. “Nah, that’s Rain’s job.”

Aether holds his gaze in the mirror. “Not to me it isn’t,” he answers with such sincerity in his voice Dew can’t help choking up a little. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to Aether.

Aether pushes up against him, leans down to bonk the top of Dew’s head with his helmet playfully. Dew watches him in the mirror. Aether has always looked good, but these new uniforms are doing wonders for him. The shiny leather boots make him look powerful and the epaulets of the jacket accentuate his broad shoulders.

He’s never looked more handsome.

Dew’s reverie is broken as Aether leans down to growl into his ear.

“Just thought you should know it's taking every ounce of control in me not to take my claws and shred that lovely new uniform of yours into ribbons and take you right here on the floor of the dressing room. Pretty little thing.”

Dew looks up at him and knows he’s telling the truth.

One minute to go.

Weeks and months and years go by. A lot of big changes happen. Aether steps down from the band. A new quintessence ghoul joins the pack. Dew takes it pretty well, all things considered.

They tour. Dew’s heart aches.

They come home. More time passes.

Now, Dew finds himself in the middle of the bustling abbey, just days away from the commencement of yet another tour. This time, there are more than a few new ghouls. And now a new Papa.

But Dew won’t be going out with them this time, a decision he’d made that he finds himself still wrestling with. Even so, he has his hands full. He’d been training his new protege for the better part of the year, showing him everything from mastering technique on the lead guitar to the best way to pack a bag for a long trip away from home. Even now he’d been roped into helping with last minute uniform adjustments for the new ghouls.

He kneels down, shakes a stray hair out of his eyes, golden strands fallen out of the messy bun on his head, and mumbles around the safety pins he’s holding in his mouth as he adjusts the bottom cuff of the new fire ghoul’s pants.

“These still need hemming,” he says sternly, mostly to himself. He pins them up and stands, folding his arms in front of his chest as he considers all the details of the new uniform and how they might affect the stage performance if they don’t get things just right. He furrows his brow in concentration.

“Alright, go tell the sisters you’re ready for them,” Dew instructs, and as he turns to watch the ghoul go, he’s surprised to find Aether standing there, leaning against the door frame. He’s watching them with a huge smile plastered across his handsome face. He gives the new ghoul a high five as he scoots out the door and down the hall.

As soon as they’re alone, Aether kicks the door closed behind him, stalks up to Dew and scoops him up by the waist. Hugs him so tight Dew feels like all the air is being squeezed out of him. Aether buries his face into the crook of Dew’s neck and kisses him there, quick little closed-mouth pecks giving way to something more insistent. Dew feels the sharp edge of a fang.

“Aeth, you’re biting me,” he informs the quintessence ghoul who has decided to latch onto sensitive skin.

“Can’t help myself,” Aether murmurs into the spot on his neck. “That serious look on your face. You looked so cute I just had to take a bite”

Dew glances back at the clock ticking away in the corner of the room.

They have all the time in the world.

#mushy may 2024 #aether/dew #dewther #aether/dewdrop #aether x dewdrop #ghost band fanfic #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #ghoul-slime fic #so excited to try this out!#dewther is pretty much my favorite pair and i realized that i've barely written anything with just the two of them #also first time not writing smut for this fandom!#ready to ham it up with all the sappy dewther this month #ghoul-slime mushy may 2024

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opuswrites · 9 months

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i bet phantom ghoul was so amused by the bats the last ritual.

backstage everyone was just getting on with their things to get ready to perform but mountain could barely move bc bats were all over him since he's like nature and all i guess

and ant is just watching him with big eyes, VIBRATING with excitement.

he sticks to mountain for the rest of the day, even when they're out of there and on the bus and should be sleeping in the hotel they're staying at.

of course, he's too shy to ask the most important question, but mountain knows it already so he just asks phantom instead.

"do you wanna tame some when we get back home?"

phantom beams at him. he's in a good mood for the rest of the tour.

when they get home, mountain helps phantom tame some bats and now, ant walks the ministry's halls with one or two or all five of his bats clinging to him or flying after/around him.

he looks like a proud dog owner. babies them so much.

omega and aether (maybe dracopia..) teach him a very hard and special transformation spell and phantom learns how to turn into a bat for a short period of time. and flies around with his bats and hunts with them sometimes.

#ghost band #ghost bc #ghost headcanons #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #aether ghost #omega ghost #omega ghoul #BAT PHANTOM!!#BAT MANIAC PHANTOM!!!#my baby #popia copia #copia fanfiction #ghost copia #papa emeritus iv #dracopia

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chapel-of-rizztual · 4 months

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The only exception

Rating: Explicit

pairing: Dew/Aether

summary:

Aether smiles sweetly at him, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. “You feel better after that, Honeydrop?” Dew nods, not trusting his voice. His eyes drop down to Aethers lips for a spit second before looking back into his eyes. Aether chuckles lightly. “You want a kiss, darling?” Dew nods again and Aether surges forward to capture Dews lips in his. He gives Dew a few little pecks before pulling back. Dew whines and follows his lips. “More.” He whispered. Aether cradles his cheek and pull him in for another kiss, a proper kiss thins time, not just little pecks. Dew let’s Aether lead the the kiss, letting himself melt completely into it with a contented sigh. Or… After a stressful day Dewdrop finds himself seeking comfort from the one ghoul he trusts the most.

#the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #Aether ghoul #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #nameless ghouls #Fanfiction #my writing #me

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wrathofrats · 3 months

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Angst promt 15 with Dew being mean to Phantom/Aeon in the beginning :)) either pure angst or hurt/comfort you choose -🌧️

Part 10293839 of dew doesn’t know how to cope with his trauma.

Warnings for: dew being overly cruel, like he’s really mean to phantom to justify his own trauma. Aether is said to be dead here, Detailed descriptions of dealing with grief, morally wrong thoughts, it’s angst.

No I don’t think dew is bad, this is all based in real grief. He’s not right but he’s not a bad ghoul. I want to make that clear. Dew tries to make it right in the end, this is a lot of him working through his own feelings. I didn’t leave it sad forever.

Sometimes dew feels like the perfect tragedy.

A fairy tale of love and loss that you tell your kids at night to not make them greedy. To teach them to enjoy what they have, to stop complaining.

A fucked up fable of a being forced into a shell that’s not his by a lover he no longer has and truly his own skin feels like his mates mausoleum.

His self hatred falls upon phantom most of the time. A better target than his own flesh and bones in his head. It’s a silent agreement between the ghouls to never mention it, to make sure phantom and dew don’t stay alone together too long but the only verbal concerns come from late night whispers in low lit rooms of the house.

Dew feels unjustified in his hatred, knows it in fact. Can’t rip away the feeling of phantoms existence being wrong. It punches him in the chest everytime he sees him, when he sees his guitar, when he sees him practice his magic. It’s wrong and gross and dew feels disgusted with him, like a cheap puppet of someone he loves.

He wonders if he could make phantom into a bad dog. If he will lash out when scared. Something tangible to justify his hatred. A bite wound to justify his fear. It’s part of the reason he’s so cold to him. His own civil war of wanting to leave the kid alone, knowing he’s done nothing wrong, and wanting to hurt him so phantom can hurt him back. He wants tangible evidence of phantom being cruel to him back so much he could almost taste it. He’s sick, he’s disgusted with himself but dews never been anything but stubborn. A malicious brain worm that will only feed on seeing his own manipulated proof that the kid can be fucking cruel too.

Dew gets worse with his gross brain parasite. Dropping his obsession with aether to instead obsess over being correct and justified in his feelings. Hes lost this much, he can’t stand being wrong on top of it. He has to bite his tongue every time he sees phantom to not immediately try and cause an issue. The common smiling face makes him want to smack it off of him, the sound of Swiss giggling at phantom antics makes him want to scream in rage that he’s not all that special, aether didn’t deserve what happened to get that thing to replace him

The ghouls notice a clear change in him that never leaves. Dew turning from an inconsolable grieving mess into a vengeful creature who they barely can even talk to anymore. All of his words ooze venom, the looks he gives anyone who even go near phantom have them cringing in their own discomfort.

Phantom gets the worst of strange feelings. Summoned into a pack of those receiving the news of the loss of their friend. He feels immediately outcast, though they’ve all worked to remedy the feelings, it still eats at him more than they’ve told him it should. It probably lingers from dews stares but he can’t help but feel as if he was born with the original sin he can scrub his skin of. Maybe if dew accepted him he wouldn’t feel sick everytime he was in a group setting, or maybe it’s truly always going to be like this, phantom doesn’t know.

It’s not his fault he’s curious, the hint of his name having him tune into different conversations using his quintessence to help. He should’ve known better than to use it on dew though.

Mountain approaches dew first about the problem. Phantom watches him finally chase after him to his room after dew came down to grab water, immediately retreating upon seeing phantom sitting on the couch.

Dew what on earth is your problem?

Mountain speaks quietly, barely enough to hear even with his magic

Are we really doing this? You know my fucking problem mountain!

Dew is a bit louder, doesn’t care if anyone hears, it’s a painful thought.

You’re acting like a child. I know what you’re going through but-

You have no idea what I’m going through

He sounds on the verge of tears

You have to learn to accept it. You can’t keep doing this, you’re tearing the pack apart with your shitty attitude

Fuck you, he’s the one tearing us apart, I didn’t do anything

It’s one thing to assume what’s wrong, but for phantom to hear it? The words hurt physically, but he’s unable to stop himself from ignoring the conversation.

Phantom didn’t do anything and you know that

He’s the reason aethers dead. Aethers gone and we got a shitty fucking child to replace him and you expect me to be ok with that?

I’m done. Fix your attitude. Get help. You know you’re wrong.

The tears flow down phantoms face. Bile burns at his throat and he can’t help but look around for someone, anything to comfort him. Maybe he is some shitty child.

Mountain rests his hands on phantoms shoulder to warn him of his presence before sliding next to him and pulling him into his arms.

“Did you hear any of that?” Mountain asks, worried but knowing the answer.

Phantom nods his head

“He’s wrong. Dew will get over himself, don’t listen to him. He’s going through a lot but you’ve done nothing wrong bug”

Phantom tries not to directly sob into mountains shirt, hiccuping and biting his cheek

“If he didn’t mean it, why would he say something like that?” His voice cracks through his tears

“Grief makes people do stupid things. He’s looking for someone to blame so he can take it off of himself. I promise it wasn’t your fault though”

They hold each other, mountain squeezing phantom tight enough to release some of his own feelings.

Dew is a direct contrast to the warm embrace happening downstairs. Sitting alone in his room, barely a thought besides his own internal rage and these days it’s all he really does. Sit and stew in his own self pity, praying that maybe if he hopes hard enough everything will go back to normal, though he knows it won’t. A vicious never ending cycle.

His bed is cold, has been for months. He yearns for someone to save him though is utterly convinced he must deserve this. It must be some kind of punishment for something he’s done. It’s fitting for a monster of his kind, to want something so much but to know you’ll never deserve it.

Phantom was gifted with a different kind of quintessence than aether and omega were, less medical and more thoughtful. He was naturally empathetic, to a fault at times. His magic made him feel things others felt deeply, able to control their emotions with just his finger tips.

He decides to confront dew, a peace offering, an apology, he doesn’t know but he can’t stand the situation. He can’t stand having someone he should care about be practically fading away because of his own hurt he’s never been shown how to deal with properly.

“Can we talk?” Phantom knocks on the cracked door, opening it far enough to see dew sitting on his bed, still staring at the wall.

“Nothing to talk about” dew says nonchalantly

“I’m sorry if I did anything to you” phantom starts

“You’re fine”

“I’m sorry that I annoy you”

“It’s ok” dews tone gets more annoyed everytime he speaks

“I’m sorry about what happened”

“What?” Dew finally turns his head to look at him

“You didn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry no one’s ever tried to help you” phantom practically whispers

“They did try”

“They stopped. You’re still hurting and they stopped. They gave up. And I’m sorry”

“Why do you care? I’ve always been mean to you” dew looks like he may cry himself

“I can’t blame you, it’s not fair what you’ve been through. You’re allowed to grieve in your own way since no one ever showed you how” phantom steps into the room. It smells odd, like dew hasn’t showered in a couple days. Old plates of food and bottles of water stack his bedside table, the other looking pristine and untouched with a book sitting on it. Phantom looks at the book for a couple seconds too long before dew speaks again

“It was his. It’s the last thing he read.” Dew almost smiles, “his nightstand still smells like him”

Phantom doesn’t speak, just nodding along. He doesn’t know what to say, but dew takes the silence as a chance to keep going.

“Sometimes I can smell him on you. Quintessence has a scent to it, it’s smoky and sharp, Swiss gets it too when he’s been using magic.” He chuckles “I know he’s been training you. I wish aether could’ve”

“Really?”

“He would’ve loved you bug”

#oof #one day I need to make a post about what happened to aether #but have this for now #I hurt my own feelings as usual #cw angst #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #dewdrop ghoul #phantom ghoul #angst

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