Can’t Wait For The Ghost Tags To Be Filled With Hands

Light a Candle or Curse the Darkness

In the end, what would be your choice? The summer tour of 2005 does not go as planned.

Hey, it's the end of the as we know it and I feel fine.

Part Two

When does a dream become reality?

Or, when does reality become a dream?

Could you decide what would be that one defining moment in time?

I know I cannot.

There were just too many of them.

I still, to this day, cannot decide when this all became ‘real’. Was it when we first caught sight of the invaders? Those that had claimed to have been abducted had it all wrong for what had stepped out into the clearing on that warm summer night was nothing that one would think a space alien to be. Nowhere to be seen was the classic space creature, with its large eyes, short, gray-skinned bodies, and three-fingered hands. These creatures were something different altogether. Tall, human in appearance with eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea; their orangish-green skin shimmered faintly in the pale moonlight, casting an iridescent glow about them.

Beautiful.

Ethereal.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

Murderous.

Conquerors.

Destroyers.

I could continue like this forever, but they are just details that everyone should be familiar with by now. If not, lucky you.

Still, that was not the ‘real’ moment for me. Nor was the moment when our small group was sent arse over elbow trying to get out of the way of their idea of crowd control. There had been thirteen of us that had set off from that highway looking for help. Five Durans and Shelly, a young nursing student from the Midwest, were all that entered their ship. Watching the person next to you be vaporized, as in nothing left, not even the clothes they were wearing vaporized, is enough to make one think about how much they want to live. I know I still did at that point. Odd how time changes all things, is it not?

I won’t waste time telling of the journey to our new “home”. It was uneventful, and we spent the better part of it huddled in holding cells with several hundred other miserable souls. Voices in the dark whispered…wondering…questioning...praying.

“Airplanes falling out of the damn sky…”

“The Lord is my Shepard…”

“Have you seen Saul, my husband?”

“Where are they taking us?”

“…he leadeth me beside the still waters…”

“Did you hear what happened to the cities?”

“Who are they? Where did they come from?”

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

“…the Armies have been destroyed.”

“…no one left…”

“I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…”

“No food or water for two days. For two days!”

“I want my mommy!”

“…space aliens!”

“…I will dwell in the house of the…”

“Wiped clean off the damn map…”

“Fuck, I need a smoke.”

From time to time, I have wondered what had happened to Shelly. She was separated from us not long after our arrival to the place that we would acrimoniously learn to call home and hearth.

Where were we? By the best guess of persons far smarter than I, it was decided that we had been relocated somewhere along the Pacific coast, probably close to the Canadian border. There were thousands of people in this camp. The invaders must have cleared out every small town and city they came across. Lord only knows how many more of these camps there are, or rather were. I fear that what has been happening here is only a reflection of what is happening elsewhere. Even as I sit here, writing, I can hear the screams and heavy rifle fire echo throughout the camp. And the whispered pleas for a savior. Strange, is it not, how people put their beliefs in a higher power? Stranger still, is the fact that these people go to their deaths, believing their prayers do not fall upon deaf ears. God did not help us when they came and I sure in the Hell don’t think he’ll help us now. This is one path I refuse, even now, to go down. I lost whatever faith I had a long time ago.

I figure by either tomorrow or later this evening they will be at my part of the camp, and that will be that. So sorry if this is a little rushed but Death is riding on the wind, and I think he is coming for me. Before I stick my spoon in the wall and roll over, I must tell what happened to my brothers. Brothers of my heart, even if not by blood. They lived, they had a life, and they deserve to have their deaths told, however poorly I might recount it.

~~

Nick. Nick was the first of us to go and we lost him almost right from the beginning. Of all things, he died from an allergic reaction to whatever they used to ink the barcodes. The process itself was not that bad. You held your arm out, they ran a scanner over it, a slight tingling feeling, and before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’, you are the proud owner of a new tattoo. In less than 24 hours after receiving his, Nick was dead. It started with an irresistible urge to scratch. We nearly went crazy trying to prevent him from digging his arm off. Soon, two large red streaks had snaked up his arm and across his chest and neck. John spent all night by his side, mopping Nick’s feverish brow. When the seizures started, we knew that the end must be near. In the early pre-dawn hours, Nick drew his last ragged breath and without a word, was gone. He was not the only one. There were hundreds upon hundreds who died in this camp from the allergic reaction. I don’t think our captors really gave a flyin’ fuck about it either.

Out of all of us, Nick’s death hit John the hardest. Beautiful, fragile John. During the early years it was still easy to procure things of, let’s say, of a questionable nature. Almost six months to a day after Nick’s death we found John overdosed on whatever it was he took. I guess Rehab didn’t cover a hostile invasion by space aliens, did it Johnny? The bastard. He took the easy way out. I never have gotten around to forgiving him for that.

It was not too long after that, that Andy found a small girl wandering through our part of the camp; she couldn’t have been more than three, if not younger. All Andy was able to get out of her was her name and that she couldn’t find her parents. Andy searched and searched for the girl’s parents, but they were nowhere to be found and no one would step up to care for her. He took little Laura as his and decided that he would care for her. When pressed for an answer as to why, all he would say was, “I can only hope that someone would look to my children if the need be. You have children of your own. Wouldn’t you want someone to look after them?”

I never would answer that question. I only hope my children did not have to live through this.

Time passed, seasons changed and each year the winters were getting harder and harder to survive. Lack of food, proper clothing, and poor living conditions was getting to everyone. Each winter, little Laura would come down sick, and each year it became harder and harder for her to shake it. And she was not the only one.

Andy and several other parents formed a committee and took it upon themselves to visit the camp Commander to request aid for the children. Surprisingly enough, they were thanked for their trouble and told that the Commander would investigate it and were sent on their way. By noon the next day, there was not any child under the age of fourteen left in the camp. The younger children were killed outright, while the older ones were transported from the camp. I don’t know where they were taken. Some say they were sent to other camps and still, others think they were taken off the planet altogether. Laura was only seven when they killed her. Perhaps it was for the best.

The committee members lived long enough to see the havoc they wreaked. Their heads, along with Andy’s, adorned pikes, lined the road to the Commander’s office for a very long time. I think that day was the day that the fight to continue living fled this place. So many families were destroyed on that dark day. So many hopes for the future were crushed.

That was four years ago, scary how time flies when you are being repressed.

Simon? I don’t know where he has gone off to. Despite the dangers of the camp purge, he went for a walk yesterday and has yet to return. I fear he may have been caught in the cleansing. Or he may be holed up somewhere, safe for the time being. Who knows?

~~

There. That is their story. Not much, is it? But it is all I have for you.

Why do I write this? I don’t really know. I have a sinking feeling there will not be anyone left to read this after I am gone. Maybe I write these words to prove that I was. That I existed. That I was here. My only regret, well two regrets, is the fact that I could not see my children and family one last time. And Emma, my beautiful dark-eyed girl, that I had taken for my wife only a few months before it all went to Hell. I really should stop rambling. Damn. Old age must be sitting in early. I have things to do before my time is up.

One last thing before I go:

I had once read that you can either light a candle or curse the darkness.

My candle burned out a long time ago.

I am not going without a fight.

I have made my decision.

I will curse the darkness with my last breath.

I am meeting with others from this block, and we are going to fight.

I don’t know what good it will do… But I am willing to find out.

Notes:

I wrote this like 500 years ago.

Hyp. Your awesome. Your writing is awesome. Could be kinda awesome if you wrote some good ol' RainDrop in a bit of an enemies to lovers or a classic hate fuck situation? Only awesome if ur feeling it, obviously. If not that's cool. Just thought I'd ask to see if your awesome brain came up with anything 🤭

heheh thank you! i had some lore kinda thoughts and it turned into whatever this is. they're not fucking (yet) here, but the enemies to lover vibe is strong. I hope it's okay :3

(and look at my new divider by the amazing @ghuleh-recs!!!)

“What on earth are you doing with that bass?”

Rain jumps at the harsh voice of the other ghoul. He thought he was alone in the practice room—and maybe he was, but obviously not anymore.

“Playing,” he replies, trying his best to sound sure of himself and confident, but it comes out more as a question.

“Making an even bigger idiot out of yourself than you already are is what you’re doing,” Dewdrop scoffs. Rain tries to ignore that pang of hurt in his chest at his words, but it’s hard when every single day for the last weeks all that the fire ghoul’s been doing is showering him in hate. He thinks he may just about have had enough.

Still, he lacks the courage to do anything about it, anyway. When it comes to flight or fight, Rain chooses the former over and over again.

“I’m just gonna go if you need the room,” he says quietly and turns to put his bass away.

“Sure, go abuse that thing somewhere else.” The water ghoul has no idea what Dewdrop is on about. Maybe he is doing something wrong, but how would he know? He doesn’t have a mentor to teach him like all the other ghouls that were summoned to their pack with him.

Rain sighs, packs the bass and turns to leave with his head hung low.

Before he can actually leave, though, Dewdrop stops him. He stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and he’s glaring up at Rain as if he has expected him to do something else.

“Who told you to pick like that?” he asks. Rain’s eyes are dragged to a wrinkle between his eyebrows. It seems permanent, always there with his frown, but the water ghoul thinks he could actually be really pretty if he just…got rid of that everlasting anger etched in his features.

“No one,” Rain tells him the truth. “I’ve been trying to figure stuff out on my own.”

“Why?” Dewdrop asks, seeming completely oblivious. Rain gets a little confused now, too. He knows the fire ghoul’s history, he knows it should be him teaching him his instrument. Did Dewdrop himself forget?

Suddenly Rain gets bolder.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a teacher,” he says louder, straightening up. “I’m doing my best, unlike someone.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Dewdrop growls and takes a step forward. He’s small—way smaller than Rain—but the pure fire in his eyes can intimidate. Still, the water ghoul doesn’t move.

“You know what! You can’t call me an idiot for not being great at something I have zero idea about just because the person who was supposed to teach me decided to…I don’t know, hate me for no reason!”

Dewdrop’s eyebrows shoot up.

He looks like Rain’s words…got to him and the water ghoul doesn’t know how to feel about it. Is it just a calm moment before the storm, is he about to be burned to the ground with Dewdrop’s anger? His anxious brain manages to come up with a multitude of doomsday scenarios in those short moments.

But what happens is so very different from all of those scenarios.

Dewdrop looks down and scoffs as if he’s regretting what he’s about to do, before he swiftly reaches out and grabs Rain’s arms to keep him close when he stands on his tiptoes and presses his burning lips against the water ghoul’s cold ones.

Rain huffs into the kiss in surprise, but quickly finds it…nice. He relaxes and kisses back and it’s getting more and more heated with every second.

A few moments later it’s Rain who begins to peel the other’s clothes off piece by piece. Neither of them knows what happens, it’s like they black out and in the next moment they’re tumbling on the floor naked.

“Fuck me, Rain,” Dewdrop pants and the water ghoul likes the way his own name falls from his lips. His voice is pretty. “Fuck the hate out of me.”

Well, Rain can’t exactly waste a solution to fixing his own problem?

Can he?

That feeling you get when you are clearing notifications on your phone and you accidentally clear Tumblr notifications. Like, what did I just miss?

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."

Mushy May: Sex into making love

I'll be real this one got away from me but oh do I love these two...also Ifrit has a big fat praise kink and you cannot change my mind

Pairing: Zephrit

Word Count: 2250

They always fall into each other so easily. A wink from Ifrit at breakfast. A lingering touch from Zephyr when they share lunch. Uncontrollable hands and tails at dinner. They touch and they taste and they tease each other all day until one of them finally breaks. Tonight it was Zephyr who fell like a tree in a windstorm. They can’t be blamed. Not when Ifrit had been whispering absolute filth into their feathered ear while cuddled up in the common room for movie night. They lost it when he nuzzled into the feathers on their neck, hands squeezing their inner thighs. Zephyr excused both of them, feigning a migraine as reason for their exit. 

The moment the two were back in their shared room Zephyr took their long white hair out of the bun it had been in all day. They shook their head, running a talon through the strands to scratch at their scalp. Ifrit watched, leaning against the door with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. 

“Want me to braid it for you birdie? Since your head just hurts so much” Ifrit pushes off the door, closing the distance between them. 

“I want you on your knees” Zephyr doesn’t look up at him, eyes closed while they fiddle with a knotted strand. 

Ifrit chuckles as they move to sit on the edge of the bed. He raises an eyebrow when their legs spread, looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh come on birdie you know that’s not how this works” Ifrit looms over them. 

“Really now” they tilt their head in question “then why don’t you tell me how it works love.” 

He leans in, caging them with his arms “you lay there and take it. Until you’re begging.” 

Zephyr snorts a laugh “I’m sorry love it’s impossible to take you serious” they faux wipe a tear from their eye “now be a good boy and get on your knees for me.” 

“Or what?” 

The temperature of the room drastically lowers as the scent of citrus becomes overwhelming. Ifrit doesn’t have time to backpedal before he feels immense pressure all around him. He falls to the floor with a hard thud that’s sure to leave bruises in the morning. Zephyr looks down at him with disgust, yellow eyes glowing and hair flowing in an imperceptible breeze. 

“Wasn’t so hard” they pat his cheek before maneuvering around to quickly pull their clothes off. 

Ifrit’s eyes rake over their body, that suave persona leaving the moment he sees those soft down feathers between their legs. He wants to bury his face in them, dip a bit lower to taste. He tries to scoot forward when they sit back down, but the pressure is still heavy around him. Zephyr huffs a laugh when they see that look in his eyes. 

“Hells you’re so easy. It’s cute, really” they spread their legs further putting their half hard cock on display “come on. Make good use of that mouth.” 

The pressure lessens just enough for Ifrit to move in. He runs his nose down that happy trail of feathers, purring at the softness. He travels further down where feather turns to skin. He breathes in deeply, mouthing at the base of their cock. Zephyr shudders and tugs his horn. He gets the hint, dropping his mouth and letting his tongue loll out. 

They slowly feed it to him, inch by inch until their cock is all the way down his throat. It’s quiet except for the heavy breaths Ifrit exhales through his nose. Zephyr pets his cheek, cooing about how sweet he looks before fucking into his mouth. Ifrit gags and they give him a moment to breathe. Ifrit looks up at them through wet lashes and they fist his hair, groaning in response. Ifrit huffs a laugh. 

“And you say I’m easy.”

Zephyr doesn’t get the chance to respond. Ifrit suckles at the head of their cock before taking them right back down his throat. They have to fight to keep the noise that threatens to rise down in their chest. Their hips twitch forward with every pass of Ifrit’s tongue against the underside of their cock every time he bobs his head. Up and down. Up and down. The wet click of his throat each time the tip presses in is maddening. Zephyr can’t stand how much of an effect he has on them. They wrap a hand around his horn, pulling him off of their dick with an obscene pop. He stares up at them, half lidded eyes and drool running down his chin. They pull him into a sloppy kiss, tongue immediately slipping into his mouth. Ifrit moans into their mouth, tilting his head up to chase their taste. 

“I need you. Right now” Zephyr pants into the space between them. 

“How do you want me?” 

“Fuck on your back love. I need to ride you.” 

Ifrit presses back in, capturing them in a quick equally messy kiss before pulling back. Ifrit stands slowly and Zephyr snaps their fingers, releasing all of the pressure around him. Ifrit nearly falls over with the sudden change, but Zephyr darts a hand out to catch him. He just laughs, shakes his head, and crawls into the bed. He lays against the pillows, stretching himself out and wrapping a hand around his cock. He lazily strokes himself from root to tip, watching Zephyr settle between his legs. 

They slide up to straddle his hips, letting the head of his cock catch against their ass. Ifrit’s eyes flutter at the feeling. 

“Eyes open now. You know better than that” Zephyr coos. 

He does know better, but fuck it’s so hard to look at them when they sink onto his cock. It’s too much for him to watch the mask slip, watch the way their face softens in pleasure all because of him. He’s cum like that before, practically untouched and so sensitive, all because of that look in their eyes. Even so, he’ll always give his birdie what they want. 

He forces his eyes open and Zephyr grins. They hoist themselves up on shaking legs, reaching back to wrap a hand around his cock. They squeeze, a warning for Ifrit to keep himself under control, before slowly settling themselves so that the tip of his dick brushes against their hole. They steady themselves with a hand to his chest, taking a deep breath before they start to sink down. Ifrit’s chest heaves, a shuddering groan filling the air when he slips inside. 

Zephyr takes a moment to breathe when they’re fully seat, willing themselves to focus more on the full feeling of Ifrit instead of the ache in their knees. Ifrit’s legs come up on instinct, muscular thighs supporting their back as they slowly sit up and sink back down. He fights to not fuck up into them. It’s so hard for him to focus on anything with that tight hole clenching around his cock with every downward stroke. 

Zephyr can see that fight in his eyes and they make it so much worse. Their hands roam and squeeze at his chest. Sharp talons circle a pierced nipple and Zephyr’s stomach swoops at the pleading look at Ifrit’s face, silently begging them to not do it. They watch his face intently when they pinch his nipple between thumb and forefinger. Ifrit loses the fight, hips arching off the bed to drill his cock deeper into them. 

“Fuck Frit just like that keep doing that” they fall forward, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and burying their face in his neck. 

He digs his claws into the mattress, arms encircling them to hold them close. He ruts up into them with the same force. 

“Feels so good birdie shit” he presses a kiss between their horns before his head falls back against the pillows with a moan. 

Zephyr pants heavily against his neck, taking in the spicy sweet scent of him. Their eyes are screwed shut, focusing on the feeling of that dick piercing dragging deliciously against their prostate. 

It doesn’t last long though. Maybe their legs had been bunched up for too long. Maybe it was the awkward angle they were laying in. Maybe it was something else entirely, something they didn’t even realize was wrong. Whatever it was, something in their body popped and a flare of pain zapped through them. They yelp, hissing through their teeth. Ifrit stops immediately. 

“Zeph what’s wrong?” 

For a moment Zephyr curses him for always being so perceptive, knowing what each of their little noises mean. But then those warm hands are rubbing their back and asking them what’s wrong again in a softer tone. They couldn’t be more grateful for him. 

“Something popped.” 

“Is it like that time your back popped and you—“

“No” they shout, interrupting him before they have to relive that particular memory “no this hurts.” 

He cranes his neck to be able to look at them, gently rubbing the back of their neck until they lift their head to meet his gaze. They could be sick from those sweet orange eyes. 

“Do you need to stop?” He asked softly. 

“No. No, I want to keep going.”

“If you’re positive.” 

“Yeah just…lay me down. I think it's somewhere in my legs.” 

Ifrit gives them a chaste kiss before pulling them off of him as gently as he can. Zephyr shudders at the loss. Ifrit lays them down, reaching behind them to grab one of their many pillows. He carefully lifts their hips which earns him a hiss from Zephyr before placing the pillow down. Once they’re completely settled against all of the soft bedding, Ifirt slots himself between their legs. He lets his fire bleed to his hands, gently rubbing them across their hips and down their thighs. 

Zephyr groans just from the relief, earning an affectionate chuckle from Ifrit. He pulls his knees together, pulling them slightly onto his lap. He rubs soothing little circles into their hips as he pushes back into them. He starts slow, testing the waters by pulling all the way out and sinking right back down. He keeps the languid pace until Zephyr pulls him in by the back of his neck. 

“Faster” they demand “harder.” 

“Whatever you want birdie” he pants. 

He thrusts into them with a snap of his hips. It’s nowhere close to the pace he had before, but it’s steady enough to have soft sighs and grunts spilling from Zephyr’s mouth. They keep their arms wrapped around his shoulders. Ifrit thinks they’re beautiful like this. When that pinch of pain between their brows is gone and they look so relaxed. He watches their face screw up in pleasure every time he buries his cock into them. 

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” 

Ifrit groans when they clench down hard on him in response. He pulls back just enough to get a good look at them and his stomach swoops. They’re looking up at him with those piercing yellow eyes, half lidded and clearly studying him. Their white hair is fanned out around them like wisps of cloud on a bright blue day. When Ifrit bumps against that delicious spot inside of them the feathers on their neck ruffle. Fuck they’re so beautiful. He can’t fucking stand it. He bends back down to capture them in a kiss, hips grinding against their ass. 

“Fuck I fucking love you” he groans into their mouth. 

Zephyr’s grip tightens, making sure he stays close “I love you too. My wildfire. My light. My Ifrit.” 

They nip his bottom lip and he loses it. He thrusts into them one more time before spilling deep inside of them. He grinds his hips, fucking his cum as deep as it’ll go. 

“You’re so good to me” Zephyr coos, petting through sweaty red hair. 

Ifrit only takes a moment to catch his breath before snaking his hand in between their bodies to wrap around Zephyr’s cock. He feels it kick in his hand at the contact and he knows how close they are. He strokes them, squeezing around the head with each pass of his fist. He kisses along their jaw, a litany of adoration following each press of lips to skin. It doesn’t take much more until they’re cumming hard, dripping down Ifrit’s fingers as he pulls every last drop from them. 

He lets go of their cock and he feels the shuddering stop. He brings his hand up, waiting until Zephyr opens their eyes again so they can watch as he sucks their cum off of each finger. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” 

Ifrit chuckles and noses against their temple “and I’ll be right behind you all the way back to Hell.”

“Oh how sweet my murderer is going to stalk me in the afterlife” they roll their eyes, but the smile never leaves their lips “will I ever be rid of you?” 

“Never” he rolls over, pulling them in to lay against his chest. 

Zephyr buries their face against his sweaty skin to hide the deep blue blush on their face “Good.” 

They lay like that together until they fall asleep. Ifrit keeps his temperature up for them even as he lies unconscious. Even deep within his dreams, Ifrit will take care of Zephyr. He’d never let them go a day in pain if he could help it. He would always fall into Zephyr, all they had to do was say the word. 

If you're comfortable doing so, maybe something that delves into Phantom/Aeons time in the pit and how his bad experiences there impact him now that he's topside

hey? hey anon? how did you know I've been wanting to talk about Aeon's parents for six months?

Contains child abuse and discussion of child abandonment, eye injury, and nightmares. Aeon uses they/them for themself, but their parents don't know that and use he/him for them.

(this does expand on lore I wrote for Eternal Heatstroke, but you don't need to read that to read this)

divider by @wrathofrats

"The kit's not getting any bigger, Oasis."

Aeon's left ear twitches at the sound of Caldera's voice, rough and crackling like her fire. They come to awareness, but don't dare open their eyes. They don't want their guardians to know they're awake yet, the sinking feeling in their gut telling them that they are not supposed to be witnessing this conversation. The ground is rough underneath their side, and the campfire crackles in flashes of orange even through their eyelids. The three of them have been settled here for a little over a week, about time to pack up and move through the older ghouls' territory, finding somewhere else to bed down.

"How many times have I told you that quint kits are called pups, Cal," Oasis sighs. There's the sound of a hand running over a face. Both of them have been doing that a lot more recently, and Aeon can't tell who it is without opening their eyes. The air is thick with sulfur and smoke, and it stings at their nose.

"Frankly, I don't fucking care what they're called," she says. "We've been raising him for Lucifer knows how long because we thought he'd be strong enough to help us defend our territory. And he's at the point he should have grown. He's still so small."

There's disdain in her voice, one of her paws tapping at the ground in irritation. Aeon's brow furrows. They're not small. They might be skinny, but they're a full head taller than Caldera is, just above eye level with Oasis. They do know that Cal's small for a fire ghoulette, has encountered other fire ghouls who've tried to claim what their guardians have staked as their own.

"Cal, you've gotta have patience-" Oasis tries to reason, but he's never been able to stop her. When Caldera sets her mind to something, Aeon knows she stops at nothing to get her way.

"How long have we been going hungry to keep him around?" she growls, and Aeon can almost hear the sparks from her tongue. "Years and years of our lives, I'm so fucking tired of waiting. The kit can hardly even use his magick and he's practically an adult."

"What do we even know about quintessence ghouls, Cal?" Oasis keeps trying to reason. "We can't teach him magick we don't even understand."

"I don't fucking care," Caldera snarls at her mate. "I'm done. Keeping him was your idea in the first place. You want to keep the kit around? That'll be on you then. But then I'm out."

There's a commotion, someone getting to their feet rapidly. "That's just fucking like you, Cal. You'd really give up on how long we've been mated over our son?"

Caldera laughs, loud enough that Aeon thinks they have a solid excuse to wake up. They keep feigning sleep though. "Our son? Oasis, are you insane? You were the one who thought a quintessence ghoul be a good investment for the pack."

Aeon's heart falls through their stomach, trying desperately to process what they're hearing. Investment. Oasis had always told them that he'd found them, small and abandoned, so young that their eyes hadn't even opened yet. That the two of them wanted a kit to take care of. They feel like the rug's been yanked out from under them.

They don't have much time to process it though, because Oasis sighs, tossing something back and forth between his hands. Aeon doesn't need to open their eyes to know it's a pebble, something that had caught his eye at some point. "Fine, Cal. But you tell him."

Aeon tenses as rapid footsteps approach their sleeping form, trying hard to not curl up into a ball preemptively. A hot hand grabs their shoulder, the threatening bite of sharp claws even through their threadbare shirt.

"Wake up," Caldera says, low and dangerous as she shakes their shoulder. Even though they had some warning, they still yelp, tail tucked between their legs. Their eyes go wide at the fury in Caldera's expression, her growl as she hauls them to their feet.

"Cal-" Aeon stammers, trying not to struggle against her grip. Knows it's easier to let her put them where she wants than to fight it.

"None of that, runt," she snaps, and both of their violet eyes go wide. She's never- They've never- "You're grown, now. It's time for you to find your own place."

"Right now?" Aeon says, tipping their head back and baring their throat, trying to appease her. All the while, Oasis stands by the fire, watching distantly. "Oasis, please tell her I can't."

"He's not going to help you, runt. We're both ready for you to go," Cal says. There's a fire in her yellow eyes, red and orange flickering in her irises.

They stammer, glancing back and forth between their guardians. "That's not true, I heard you talking-" Aeon freezes and cuts themself off as Caldera's expression morphs, grip curling tighter into the collar of Aeon's shirt, claws punching through the threadbare fabric. They can feel the keratin against their skin, and they swallow hard.

"Oh? So you were eavesdropping?"

"No- I couldn't help it!"

She growls, pulling hard and shoving them towards the campfire. They stumble, paw catching on the brimstone, and they fall hard, twisting onto their back to look up at her. "I'm not going to say it again," she snarls, looming above them. The firelight makes her features sharper, fangs shining. "Get the fuck out."

They slowly push themself up to standing. Aeon finds the courage in their gut to growl back at her, ears pinned back against their head, tail lashing behind them as they bare their fangs and get in her face. "I'm not fucking going anywhere, this is my pack too!"

Aeon knows it's a mistake the moment the words leave their mouth.

Caldera screams in frustration and rage. The last thing Aeon sees out of their left eye is her claws glinting dark in the firelight.

There's a shriek. Aeon wonders why their throat hurts until they realize it's them shrieking. The world spins, blinding hot pain radiating from their face and scalp, and they can feel their heartbeat in the marrow of their left horn. They can't see.

They can't see.

There's something hot and sticky running down their face, and they cup their hand over their eye, cringing at the wetness.

Caldera doesn't even flinch as Aeon's blood drips in rivulets from her claws. "You fucking heard me, you ungrateful brat. We've fed and taken care of you your entire life. You can pay us back by fucking leaving."

She lunges, and Aeon's feet act on instinct, scrambling away from her. They clutch their face, hearing the blood spatter, their shirt sticking to their chest, heavy and wet. Aeon's head spins, and Caldera's behind them, chasing, and Aeon's seen her hunt.

There's no chance of outrunning her, even as their legs scramble underneath them. They run, lungs aching and head spinning, and there's two pounding sets of footfalls behind them.

Aeon sobs, chest heaving with exertion. Their ankle twists in the brimstone, and they stumble into the ground. Blood and tears stream down their cheeks in equal measure. It's over. They're de-

There's a hand on their shoulder.

Aeon jolts awake with a yelp, scrambling backwards into the corner of the couch out from under a big piece of white fabric that was covering them. It takes a moment to recognize their surroundings, fluorescent lights, a big desk in the opposite corner, an empty office chair, slightly rotating like someone stood up in a hurry. A large shape backlit looms over them, making a strange, familiar sound.

Aeon snarls before the sound registers, their entire body slumping as Aether chuffs at them. "Hey, you're alright, pup, you're safe," he breathes, his big hand hovering over their shoulder, his silver bracelet glinting in the light. "You were dreaming."

They nod, reaching up to touch at the scars running through though their left eye and biting back a sob. Aether nods back, cautiously sitting next to the younger quintessence ghoul and pulling them close, chuffing all the while.

"My shift just ended," Aether whispers, shifting them until Aeon's practically in his lap. "Do you want to go back to the den?"

Aeon nods quietly. Aether gently wipes away a tear from the silvery track across their cheek with a big thumb. They've been shadowing him to learn about infirmary work, a few months away from actually working on their own. "You want a hug, pup?"

"Please," they whisper, shoving Aether's white coat off of their legs. They'd been using it as a blanket while they napped on the couch in his office. The bigger ghoul draws them in, chuffing and nosing at their hair.

Aeon settles, eventually, and they stand hand in hand. "Can we go home?" Aeon asks, and Aether smiles, flashing a gold capped fang at them.

"Of course, pup, let's go home to our pack."

I'm fat and I will always be chunky as I do come from a long line of short, fat women. Lately I've been working on myself and have lost around 56 pounds so far. Today I walked a mile and didn't die.

Let's add some more tat photos.

Hey, in case you're unaware trumps fascist regime is trying to suppress voters rights. It already has traction (and potential already passed) in the GOP run House. It's now on its way to the senate. Under HR 22 anyone who's name doesn't match their birth certificate will no longer be allowed to vote. This targets trans people and women specifically. It would also be a devastating loss for those escaping abusive relationships. Call your senators today and tell them this is unconstitutional and an infringement on rights of Americans.

Center for American Progress

The SAVE Act Would Disenfranchise Millions of Citizens

The SAVE Act would require all Americans to prove their citizenship with documentation unavailable to millions and upend the way every Ameri