Going Through A Really Bad Bout Of Remembering Trauma, Thinking About Swiss So Overwhelmed With Stress

Love that little green bean

silhouette

When you have a AO3 notification from earlier today that you didn't read because, you know, work (boo) and now you can't read the next installment of one of your favorite fics on AO3.

I just realized that many many people have jobs

Rb with your job, wtf do you people do while offline???

a rose by any other name

this dewther story for mushy may is brought to you by these ritual gifs:

prompt: flowers (from @forlorn-crows) rating: teen pairing: aether/dew word count: ~1500

read on AO3 or below

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It happened occasionally, once every few rituals. After the band finished performing, when Copia and the ghouls were walking around the stage to interact with the audience, a fan would toss a bouquet of roses up towards them. Then, as everyone linked up their arms across the stage to take their bows, Copia would go down the line and hand each of the ghouls a flower.

The first time that it happened, it took Dew by surprise. Unsure how to react, he took the rose from Copia and put the stem in between his teeth, because—well, that’s just what his brain decided on in the moment. It made the flower snap in half, so after the ghouls made their way off stage and back to the dressing rooms, Dew tossed it into the trash can.

“You destroyed your rose immediately?” Aether slipped in between the other ghouls to stand next to Dew, shaking his head. “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he teased.

“It’s not a big deal,” Dew muttered, somehow feeling like he was disappointing Aether.

“Well, you need to have one,” Aether said as if it was obvious. He handed his own rose to Dew, and then quickly walked off before he could protest.

Dew brought the flower up to his face and sniffed it cautiously. He didn’t really know what to expect, since no one had ever given him one before. It smelled…nice. Tilting his head, he tucked the interaction with Aether in the back of his mind, so that he could revisit it later. For no particular reason.

The next time that Copia received a bouquet, there weren’t enough roses to go around. All of the other ghouls got one, but by the time he reached Dew on the far end of the line, he ran out. Instead, Dew received a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek from Copia—which was a pretty decent alternative, all things considered.

Once again, Aether noticed. “Here, take my rose,” he said after they got off stage, pushing it into Dew’s hands. “It’s even red this time!” he beamed, and looked at Dew expectantly.

Dew didn’t know why that was significant, but something about Aether’s excited expression told him not to ask about it. In his confusion, he didn’t remember to say thank you until Aether was walking away, so Dew ended up calling it out to his retreating back.

It kept happening after that. Even when Dew managed to hold on to his flowers after rituals, Aether gave his to Dew, without fail. He couldn’t figure it out—maybe Aether didn’t like them, so he wanted to get rid of them? At any rate, Dew began looking forward to receiving them. The attention was nice—especially when it came from Aether, a small part of Dew was willing to acknowledge.

Dew tried to save all of the roses, surreptitiously tossing them into his bag before leaving the venue. He didn’t know why kept trying, really, because the petals obviously ended up breaking off and getting crushed.

One afternoon, Dew was hiding at the back of the tour bus, cleaning up the mess of broken flowers. He jumped when he heard someone approaching, and shifted his body over to hide what he was doing.

It turned out to be Rain, and ever the perceptive ghoul, he saw anyway. “You want to preserve them?” he asked, looking at Dew curiously.

“No—well, yes,” Dew gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. “They look nice,” he added, in a halfhearted attempt to explain himself.

“If you press the flowers flat in between the pages of a book, it’ll work better,” Rain told him.

“Oh, okay. I might try that, I guess,” Dew said noncommittally. “Wait, how do you even know that?”

“Sometimes Swiss gives me flowers,” he explained, which made sense. He could be unexpectedly sweet like that, especially to Rain. “Anyways, come outside when you’re done. All of us are leaving soon to get food,” Rain said, and then turned to leave.

As soon as Dew was sure that Rain was gone, he rifled through his belongings until he found a tattered book that he had bought eons ago, under the misguided thought that he would get bored enough on tour to read it. (That wasn’t true, of course. Scrolling endlessly through social media was so much easier.)

Carefully, Dew picked out one of the still intact petals and slid it inside the book. When he checked back a couple of days later, it had worked, just as Rain said. So after that, Dew made sure to do the same to the other roses he got from Aether. From time to time, Dew cracked open the book to admire his collection. Which was a totally normal thing to do, he told himself.

Finally, things came to a head one night when the ghouls were out at a bar, a few blocks away from the hotel where they were staying. Their (perhaps ill-advised) plan was to get drunk and burn off the pent-up energy they had before the next night’s ritual.

Dew was staked out at a small table in the corner, brooding over a bottle of cheap beer. He was usually more social, living up to his reputation of being loud and boisterous. But tonight, he was preoccupied with watching what Aether was doing.

Every so often, Dew flicked his eyes toward the end of the bar, where Aether was shoulder to shoulder with the stranger next to him, deep in conversation. Dew found himself annoyed. Why was Aether making friends with random people, when he could be doing something better? Like talking with Dew, for example.

“Hey,” Rain suddenly appeared and sat down next to Dew, who gave him a dejected wave. “Why aren’t you over with the group? You’re missing out—we’re all making fun of Swiss for doing something dumb.”

“I’m just not feeling it tonight,” Dew shrugged, but Rain wasn’t having any of it. He tracked Dew’s gaze over to the bar and heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Stop moping around and staring at Aether. Just go up to him, if you want him that bad,” Rain rolled his eyes.

“I’m that obvious, huh,” Dew muttered into his drink.

“If you proposition him, he’ll say yes,” Rain said encouragingly.

“Gross, don’t say it like that,” Dew said, even as he perked up. “How can you be so sure?”

“Hey, I just said it in a way that you’d actually understand. Since Aether’s hints keep flying over your head,” Rain said. “Do you really not get why he gives you flowers?”

“I don’t know, because he doesn’t want them?” Dew guessed.

“No,” Rain said patiently, as if explaining something to a small child. “It’s because he wants you to have them.”

Oh.

Oh.

“I have to go,” Dew said, standing up abruptly. Rain just laughed and pushed him toward the bar.

Once Dew was up there, he squeezed into the tight space between Aether’s seat and the wall. “Hey Aeth,” he announced his presence.

“Hi—oh, it’s you,” Aether said when he turned around. His face lit up with a wide smile, one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It was so obvious, now. How had Dew not seen it before?

Now that Aether was looking at him, Dew wasn’t actually sure what to do—he hadn’t planned this far ahead.

“You should come talk to me, instead of wasting your time with them,” he said bluntly, motioning at the person on the other side of Aether. Maybe he should have tried to be nicer, but Aether should know by now that wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

Aether cocked his head. “And why should I do that?” he asked in an amused tone.

“Because you give me flowers,” Dew said, hearing how out of context the words sounded as soon as they came out of his mouth.

But Aether understood. “So, you finally figured out what I’ve been trying to tell you?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yeah. Well, Rain did,” Dew said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in his general direction. “I didn’t realize it meant that you…like me, or something,” he trailed off at the end, afraid of voicing it out loud.

“Gifting flowers is a customary way of demonstrating affection,” Aether pointed out, teasing. “It’s called romance—maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Dew blushed slightly. Affection?

“Sure, but that’s not really my style," he tried to play it off. “Usually I just…see that someone is interested and jump them.”

Aether hummed. “So why didn’t you do that this time?”

“I was nervous,” Dew admitted reluctantly. “I thought you might not want that.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Aether said, and reached over to hold Dew’s hand tightly.

Dew grinned at that, and once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Want to go back to the hotel? Then you can show me how wrong I am,” he said.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Aether laughed. He quickly stood up and started tugging Dew across the bar to leave. 

On their way out, Rain caught Dew’s eye and winked at him. Dew shot him the finger, still smiling, and followed Aether out the door.

Mushy may prompt list by the wonderful @forlorn-crows

Divider by the lovely @ghuleh-recs

(also if you haven't checked out @autumnblooms art, you should! Their Phantom/Aeon/bug is always the way I picture him in my head 🖤🖤🖤)

Day 15: painting on each other. Swiss/Aeon

Swiss sits back, glancing down at the bare expanse of Aeon's back. He's settled across the back of his thighs, the Quint stripped down to nothing, the warm spring sun peeking through the curtains, wanting a chance to taste the nighttime sky for himself.

Swiss dips his finger into the gold paint beside him, shifting his hips to reach the base of Aeon's neck, the little starburst mark that trickles down into galaxies. Swiss knows them all, has traced every single inch of him, had tasted each one.

He watches Aeon smile when he touches him, when he paints down along his spine, leaving the knobby path to the side, to trail over a light patch, to add color, his color, to Aeon's body.

Swiss bites his lip when he thinks about it, how he likes to believe Lucifer left spots blank on Aeon simply so Swiss could fill the space, so he could blend into him, to mark him as his, a claim so beautiful it belonged in a museum.

He traces his lightning, the electric storm that surges through his veins, decorates the midnight sky of Aeons back, bolts of lightning to bring out the starlight freckles. He weaves delicate trails like his smoke, little wisps to curl around and connect the constellations.

Aeon glances back over his shoulder, a little smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm chilly."

He knows he's not, knows he's burning hot but he's hungry for touch and Swiss would never deny a request from Aeon's lips. He presses forward, plants his chest against Aeon's back, the still wet paint smearing between them, two canvases making one masterpiece.

"Better?" He kisses his shoulder, tastes gold paint and lightning and starlight and Aeon.

He wiggles until Swiss let's him turn over, until they are chest to chest, neither caring about the paint on the sheets. It doesn't matter when Aeon can feel Swiss' heart against his, when he can feel each breath add a little more color to his skin. He glances down, looks along the line of the bodies pressed together, the way the paint looks on him versus how it looks on Swiss.

Colors, their colors, blended and beautiful, swirling together like the knots that weave their souls.

He smiles and kisses him, watches color flood Swiss cheeks, watches the gold of his eyes fill with fire.

"I am now."

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We are not doing this, okay?

Some of yall needed to hear this

Credits to @/mattxiv on Instagram

Ghoulbangers Ball 02 - Glasgow

Void I am asking you about Special Ghoul

Shout out to @floating--goblin for suffering Special brainrot with me :))

Special is, well…A special case.

He was the first multi. Not the first attempt, but the first to survive the process. Dozens before him, none of them made the cut. Succumbing to the elements, expiring during the process, too many failures to count. It’s a nasty, violent affair of conflicting elements never meant to mix together but they’re forced to. Mingling in his vessel with all the stability of a nuclear reactor rapidly approaching a meltdown. Barely kept from complete failure by the grace of some watchful force that seemed to enjoy his prolonged suffering. Special was never given a choice, he was always meant to become this thing.

While he was the first to make it out, he was hardly what the clergy would consider a success. Body mangled and abused, he’s forced to draw on the very things tearing him apart to prove himself at the well polished heels of a woman hardly interested in the display in front of her. Special tries. He reaches into himself and claws desperately at the flickering presence caught within the depths of his being. Pulling and ripping at his very atoms to prove his worth with all he could muster.

Not all of it stuck. Some elements were lost in the process. The only things he could find within himself were water and a horrific untamable flicker of quintessence. Special came up short. He didn’t meet the mark and the woman stared at him with such cold indifference he might as well have died in the process. A stain on the pentagram before her. She turned and Special felt his chilled heart leap up behind his teeth. He crawled after her like a dog for the chance to grovel for approval - approval he never knew he needed until she turned her back on him.

And a dog he was. Sister’s dog. Constantly seeking favor he will never find.

Bending beyond backwards for her, Special keeps his hands dirty and hers immaculate. There’s blood beneath his nails and viscera in his teeth all at her command. Devotion turned violent. Lethal. Special lurks the halls. He is what goes bump in the night. The shadow fueling ghost stories passed from sibling to sibling, what keeps toes behind the line. He is the unspoken consequence you never hope to face.

Years pass. Faces come and go. Power is passed along. She grows older and he stays the same. He never strays though. Disobedience was torn from his body the day she ordered him to be remade. To be reborn in the image she desired, and while he didn’t fit the picture, he still forced himself into the mold. Crammed himself to fit what she had hoped him to be but her glances continued to brush over him. It only makes him yearn for her attention all the more.

He never hesitates when she speaks in his direction. Even when she puts the syringe in his hand. Special is loyal. A good soldier that follows orders.