Day Three Of @cirrus-ghoulette 's Whump Month: Homesick

Because the struggle is real

Why is the best feeling in the world taking your bra off when you get home after work?

Such a cat 😺

PHANTOM OH MY GOD BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING

The Ghildo is trending on X. Why do I find this so funny?

Mushy May Day 16

(bonus prompt 10) "shut up i'm taking care of you"

Cw's: mental health problems. isolation, self deprecation, issues eating, non-sexual nudity (showering together). but it is a mushy prompts list, so all ends well!

notes; this one was like a mind flayer and took control over my hands and suddenly there 1,2k words of hurt/comfort, my fave. thanks as always to @forlorn-crows for putting together the prompts!

Rain didn’t… know what happened. The day before, everything was fine. Normal even. They ate their dinner with the pack, played on their acoustic with Dew, and then went to bed. It was an easy, simple night. They laid in their bed, exhaustion heavy in their muscles, but their mind raced.

They knew they were okay. Logically they knew the pack cared so deeply about them. Logic, unfortunately, was not winning the battle tonight. They felt the first round of tears sting and scrubbed viciously at their eyes, their breathing shaky. Their mind screamed at them to hide away, isolate from their pack until they were nothing more than a nameless ghoul. No one would notice, they figured. 

But, logically, everyone would notice. They knew logically. 

It started with a quiet knock in the morning. A little later than when they usually woke up, but a sleepless night forced the exhaustion to seep further down into their bones. The knock wasn’t persistent, just someone coming to wake them up for breakfast. Judging from the footfall after they knocked, it was most likely either Aurora or Cirrus. Rain opted with Cirrus.

Twenty minutes went by before the next round of knocking started, followed by Aether’s soft voice. He mentioned that they left a plate for them in the oven, and that he was there for them if they wanted to talk. That they all were. They curled into themselves further, throwing the blanket over their eyes to hide even farther. Had they really done this so much that the pack knew their patterns? It hadn’t even been an hour and already they were being a nuisance to their pack. 

The day wasted away. They only got up to use the bathroom before crawling back to their bed. The bedding felt heavy against their skin, the pillow somehow greasy, but it was all they had in the moment. It felt like they were in fight or flight, and their body and mind couldn’t pick an option. 

A few others came by throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Most would knock, call out, and then leave when they got no response. They heard Phantom walk by at some point, and the young quint didn’t knock nor call out. Rain thought they had left quietly before they quietly sighed, just barely loud enough that Rain could hear, before finally walking away. They felt a fresh batch of tears well in their eyes at the disappointment obvious in the quint.

It was nearing the evening of the day. Rain stayed in their fetal position most of the day, their body aching in ways that were comforting but ultimately awful. They felt cold, a type that couldn’t be fixed with blankets. Their stomach groaned in need of food but they felt nauseous at the thought of eating or drinking anything. They had flitted in and out of sleep for most of the day, but the exhaustion made its way down through their bones and into their core. 

They were woken up from their nth nap of the day by the doorknob turning and the door opening. They smelt before they heard Mountain enter, the earthy smell of sage and rosemary flooding their room. They held their breath and kept their body stone still, scared of what he was here to do. They felt guilt immediately for assuming the worst in the gentle giant, but kept still. 

Instead of anything malicious, he sat down at the end of the bed and placed his hand against their calf. He messaged at the skin. It was so warm. Their eyes stared directly ahead of them to the blank wall, not daring to look at him.

“Rain,” he quietly called out. They didn’t respond. 

He sighed and took his hand away to stand. They violently flinched when he scooped his arms under them and picked them up bridal style. They shut their eyes tight.

“We’re going to wash up,” Mountain pulled the mounds of blankets off and away from them, the dull thud as they fell sharp against their ears, “and then try and get some food into you. Does that sound good, starfish?” 

Rain kept their eyes shut. Mountain took it as a yes and walked towards the bathroom. 

He sat them on the toilet and they slouched heavily until their head hit his stomach. He twisted to turn the water on before he focused his attention back towards them. With a bit of maneuvering, the two managed to get their clothes off, Rain being very little help. Mountain said nothing as he lowered Rain onto their shower seat, the spray of the water forcing a heavy sigh out of them. He shucked his shirt to the ground and stepped in himself, just to the side of them. They hesitated every movement as he helped get them clean; fingers twitching when he asked for them to lift their arm, head locked in place when he pointed the sprayer towards their hair. Everything built up higher and higher in their small body until it came crumbling down when he massaged the shampoo into their curls, his blunt fingers rubbing soothing circles into their scalp. Their face, deadpan and void of emotion before, broke into a deep frown as the tears that teased them all day finally fell down their face, an ugly sob coming deep from their chest. They held their head in their hands while Mountain continued to lather the soap through their hair. They leaned into his touch, suds spreading to his abdomen. He kicked up a purr that vibrated through their ears to their brain. They sobbed harder, loud whines and hiccups and guttural cries.

“I’m-” they sucked in a harsh breath, “I’m sor- sorry-”

“None of that,” Mountain spoke softly but firm, voice unwavering. 

“I was being- being so selfish.” They argued. 

He shook his head. “It happens, starfish.”

“And now I’m f-forcing you to deal with me-” they were interrupted by him leaning down, just enough for them to see him through tears, and his smile was so gentle, so caring. So genuine. It made them fall harder into him.

“None of that.” Mountain stood back up and leaned over to grab the spray. They let his firm hand tip their head back as he began washing the suds out of their hair. “I’m taking care of you.”

The rest of the shower consisted of Mountain rubbing conditioner through their hair as their sobbing died down into something quiet. He helped them dry off and put into clean clothing, boxers and a shirt that was definitely not theirs. He opened the bathroom door and their nose twitched. It led them to their nightstand, where a bowl of oatmeal sat. Mountain sat them on their bed, the covers and pillows no longer feeling heavy but warm and comfortable, and crawled in himself. He whispered kind words as they carefully ate, the bowl warm against their thighs. They set the bowl back down after a few bites, stomach still upset from their mental turmoil of the day. Mountain didn’t complain, though. He praised them as he tucked the two of them in.

Rain hid themselves away into his chest, arms cautiously wrapped around his waist. He purred loud enough for the next room over to hear. They rubbed their head against him in an attempt to scent him, his scent lulling them into a soft mindset and heavy eyes.

“Mount,” they slurred into his skin. He hummed in question.

“Thank you.” 

He shifted a hand to their still damp hair and began scratching at their horns. They began to purr as well. 

We are not doing this, okay?

Some of yall needed to hear this

Credits to @/mattxiv on Instagram

I woke up with this in my head. Aether leaves, Dew and Mountain struggle in their own ways.

Cw: angst, hurt/comfort

He waits until it's silent, until everyone is locked away in their rooms and nothing fills the air except for his heavy, uneven breathing. He tiptoes silently, skips the spots that creak, the ones that would scream out in the silence, letting everyone know he's broken and bleeding out every single night.

He tries not to look at Dew's door as he passes. He aches for his closeness, for his understanding but he can't make himself knock to ask for it. Not when Dew still smells like grief and heartbreak, like a cauterized wound still smoking. It's still too soon, ripped open and still bleeding and Mountain refuses to add his pain to the pilar Dew's currently buried under.

He keeps his eyes down and holds his breath, praying he won't hear him crying because he knows he can't fix him, not this time.

And it's a cold steel blade, a frozen lake in his lungs because it had been them, for so long it was them. They kept each other together when the others left, willingly or ripped away by force, they still stood and had each other.

But it wasn't enough and the goodbye was unexpected and more painful than the others. He had listened to Dew beg, sobbing on his knees to try to make him stay and Mountain couldn't do anything but stand and shake and remind himself to breathe. In and out. In…..and out.

He stops at the end of the hall, glares at the closed door and wants to demand it tell him that it was a lie, just a sick joke. But it stays closed and cold and empty. He slides down to sit beside it, not daring to look inside. He can't face the barren space, the echoing lack of life between those walls.

Traces of Aether are still on the air here and he breathes them in and holds them in his lungs and hopes it's enough to keep him there, at least the memory, the quickly fading sound of his voice, his laugh…

He sobs with his head in his hands, silently breaking in the gloom of the empty hallway. He tugs his hair, his ears, trying to remind himself that he's still here despite it all, he still feels but fuck he wishes he didn't…

He creeps back to his room after he's drained, after the tears run out and his throat hurts from keeping himself quiet, there are teeth marks in his fist and maybe another piece of himself missing, left there on the floor outside of Aether's room helplessly trying to crawl under the door to find him.

Sleep doesn't come, it rarely does. He stares up into the blackness of his room until his eyes burn, trying to put a face to the shadows, trying to find little flickering lights of magic in the corners to tell himself Aether still cares, that he's still willing to offer the comfort he once had but there's nothing. Just black staring back at him.

Mountain slips outside just as the sun starts to rise, silently fleeing to the greenhouse because he's not ready to face any of them with puffy bloodshot eyes, not ready for them to know that he's broken. They need to be there for Dew, he can't take that focus away.

He works until he can't anymore, running from his thoughts until he's too tired and they catch him. He doesn't remember hitting his knees, doesn't remember dropping the watering can and soaking the earth around his knees, doesn't remember covering his face and screaming into his hands because why? Why do they always leave? Why can't he make them stay? Why?

It hurts more than there are words for, and his arms wrap around his middle like maybe he can hold himself together as he rocks back and forth, trying to remember to breathe but what's the point when each breath just tastes like loss, like lies.

He doesn't hear the door open and by the time he realizes he's not alone it's too late, he can't hide it now, too far gone to even attempt to compose himself.

“Mountain…”

Dew's voice is fractured, rough from lack of use and hardly even over a whisper but Mountain's heart jumps regardless. He doesn't turn his head, he can't, Dew will shatter if he sees just how much pain Mountain's in.

“Mountain.” And maybe it's the only word he remembers right now and maybe Mountain shouldn't feel some kind of comforted by hearing it, but he does. He still doesn't look but he can hear Dew moving to sit on the bench. “Come here.”

Dew doesn't rush him, just lets the words hang in the space between them until Mountain's able to make them make sense. He struggles with the choice, stay planted where he is, kneeling in the mud with tears still dripping down his cheeks…or turn and crawl towards something that feels like home, no matter how broken it may be.

He crawls toward home, feels each little stone in his palms as he goes and he doesn't look up, he can't and knows Dew has to understand. If anyone understands it has to be him.

Dew watches him all but drag himself across the floor and he wants to grab him, to pull and tug until he's close enough to hold but he won't, he'll wait and meet Mountain where he is. Tears well up when he's close enough to lay his head on Dew's lap, his long arms wrapped around his leg, shaking as he holds on as tight as he can.

Dew runs his fingers through his hair, blinking against the tears, hating himself for his selfishness, hating that he'd left Mountain all alone with nothing but his thoughts and fears.

“It's ok.” He hears himself say it, feels the shape of each word and wonders if he actually believes that.

Mountain doesn't. Not yet. “No it's not.”

And he doesn't argue because Mountain hurts and he's allowed to hurt, but he's still here and so is Dew. He rests his palm against Mountain's cheek, letting him feel the warmth, a reminder of a still beating heart, a reminder that he's not going anywhere, at least not without one hell of a fight.

“You're right, it's not ok.” He lifts Mountain's face gently to look at him, to lock eyes to seal his promise. “But it will be. We will be.”

It’s uncanny how similar Trump is acting like Hitler. People are now doing the Nazi salute. They’re drawing the symbol. The KKK was seen in Kentucky asking people to join them. ICE has been ripping families apart. Companies have pulled back Diversity Initiatives. We’re no longer part of WHO and there won’t be any communication from the CDC at least until February 1st. We’re being censored and the news can’t be trusted. Thousands of Americans didn’t know there were protests against Trump yesterday outside the U.S. Quotes from The Handmaid’s Tale and Anne Frank have been compared to what’s going on right now.

According to The Lemkin Institute for Genocide Studies and Prevention the U.S. has officially been given a red flag alert for Genocide.

I’m exhausted but I will never stop being angry.

Someone asked me a short while ago what happened to Dewdrop that caused him to miss two shows. Thanks to @miss-grim and some research, I can share what happened:

On December 5th, 2018 during the Pale Tour Named Death, Dewdrop suffered an injury at around the midway point of the show. He continued to play the rest of the show, but backstage.

You can watch the full concert here.

Copia talks about him being injured at this point.

There's a news article here claiming that it was likely a shoulder injury as he was not moving his left arm after the show. That would certainly make it pretty difficult and painful to play. :(

Edit:

Here's a link to the final performance and final bows. You can see Dewdrop coming back on stage. His left arm is obviously injured. Aether and Rain come over to check on him.

Thank you anon for sharing!