Ifrit: I'm Incredibly Fast At Math Dewdrop: Oh Really? Dewdrop: What's 30x17? Ifrit: 42 Aether: That's

write bad fanfic. write mediocre fanfic. write fanfic that a thousand people before you have already written. write niche fanfic. write fanfic that only a few people will read or understand. write fanfic just for you. write fanfic just for a friend. write ocs. write self-inserts. the fact that you’re taking the time and energy to put your ideas into the world is amazing and people who shame you for it need to find better ways to spend their time.

Such a cat 😺

PHANTOM OH MY GOD BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING

A rough day

(mean, insulting, Kevin hates the ghouls)

Kevin hates the ghouls.

Not because he's afraid of them, no, on the contrary, you can't have less respect for them than Kevin. He just thinks they're annoying little beasts, like particularly vicious chihuahuas from hell.

Dewdrop, Phantom and Rain especially get on his nerves. Phantom because he's always clinging to Kevin like a leech. Dewdrop because he's a nasty little gremlin who just causes chaos that Kevin then has to clean up. And Rain isn't actually that bad but he isn't good at speaking human language that Kevin usually doesn't understand what the water ghoul is stammering anyway. Not that he would care anyway.

Well, Kevin could speak ghoulish if he wanted to, but in the end these pests would annoy him even more.

The worst is when he has to fix something in the ghoul wing. For example, the other day, when he just wanted to clean the clogged drain in the kitchen sink, he was surrounded by ghouls within a few minutes. They reminded him of a bunch of starving cats, the way they stalked around him and cast curious glances over his shoulder. Phantom was immediately glued to him again, practically tugging at Kevin's hair and clothes.

Then Aether, who kept his distance but intermittently gave advice that Kevin hadn't asked for.

"You should unscrew the drain pipe first" and "are you sure you've mixed the cleaning concentrate sufficiently? Otherwise it could damage the pipes."

Kevin wanted to hit Aether in the face. But instead he contented himself with glaring at the sink while he worked.

At one point he accidentally hit Rain's forehead with his knee because Rain was squeezing himself on the floor between him and the bucket that Kevin had used to catch all the muck from the drainpipe. With an annoyed look, Kevin noticed that the water ghoul had started collecting small pieces that had landed in the drainpipe from the bucket.

"Stop that! You're just making everything dirty," he growled as Rain pulled his hands back and placed a marble, dripping with dirt, on the ground. Rain just babbled incomprehensible things as he began to dig in the muck again. "Why are u so rude to Rainy?" whispered Phantom and came so close to Kevin that he felt the ghoul's warm breath brushing over his ear.

Kevin sighed with the burden of a man who would rather tend a sack full of fleas than a handful of ghouls. Why couldn't the clergy have chosen other demons? There were many species that were less unruly than ghouls. Kevin even had the feeling that ghouls not only enjoyed the chaos, but that they actually drew their energy from it. He had once expressed this thought to sister Imperator, but she had just laughed at him and said that he just had to learn to assert himself. That could only come from someone who didn't have to deal with these plagues on a daily basis.

Annoyed, Kevin stuck the spiral into the drain to push out the last bit of dirt, while at the same time swatting away Rain's fingers that had appeared on the edge of the sink.

Since Copia had risen to the top of the ministry and had a bit more say, Kevin was no longer even allowed to sprinkle holy water on the ghouls to keep them away. After all, that would hurt the ghouls, the youngest Emeterius brother had explained his decision. Simply ridiculous. When Kevin had started working for the clergy, ghouls had just been treated like ghouls. But since Copia had shown up here, Kevin had to treat these creatures as if they had more feelings than lust, hunger and thirst.

Finally, the resistance in the drain was released and with a slap, a pile of mud landed in the bucket. "Is that...sand?" asked Aether, astonished. Kevin shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "How do I fucking know what kind of crap you always pour down the drain?!" He pulled the spiral back and knelt under the sink to screw the pipe back on. Phantom also knelt down next to him and grabbed one of Kevin's long strands of hair to chew on. "I'm clearly not being paid well enough for this," the brown haired growled, shooing back first Phantom and then Rain, whose hand had already disappeared back into the bucket. Under the curious gaze of the ghouls, Kevin screwed the pipe back on, sat up with his aching back and picked up the bucket. "Would be nice if you could just stop breaking or clogging anything for more than three days," Kevin grumbled, looking sternly at Aether. The quint had spent the last few minutes watching with his hands on his hips and a critical expression. "I'm doing my best, but you know what they're like." Kevin only snorted in response. He watched as Aether disappeared into the living room before he turned to leave. The ghoul was talking to Kevin as if they were eye to eye. Kevin shook his head. Ghouls.

He was about to close the door behind him when Rain slithered through and tugged at his sleeve. His big blue eyes bored into his. "What?" Kevin asked slightly suprised.

Rain's mouth opened and closed a few times without any words coming out. Then, finally, when Kevin's already extremely thin thread of patience was about to snap, Rain managed to say a word. "Encore."

He had always thought that Rain simply didn't speak human language, but apparently the ghoul was just dumb. In a good-natured tone, as if he was talking to someone particularly retarded, Kevin replied. "I know you did a great job on the film. We're all very proud of you. But I," he pointed to himself, "have to go now," he pointed to the door. Rain tilted his head, confused.

He's probably doing this so that the few brain cells he has will slip into the same corner, Kevin thought spitefully.

The water ghoul tugged at his sleeve again, this time more frantically. "Encore! Encore! Encore! Dew!" Confused, Kevin turned around and froze. Dewdrop stood at the sink and calmly poured a thick liquid into it. Kevin now also noticed the penetrating smell of ammonia.

This fucking little shit poured wall paint into the sink.

Kevin just stared at him. The man was too stunned to even utter a word. He definitely needed a bottle of whiskey tonight. Better yet, two. And brandy. A lot of it.

Mushy May, Day 5 (Animals) - Menagerie of the Damned

Inspired by Mushy May prompts by the fab @forlorn-crows. I'm a day late with this one but I'm a good Satanist and never follow the rules anyway...Also on my Ao3!

If you've ever been told it's "just a pet", Papa Primo has your back!

***

He had been sitting forlornly on the hard, wooden bench since the meeting ended. He should move really. His ass had gone distinctly numb and such a public display of weakness wasn’t fitting for someone who was about to become the figurehead of the global Satanic Clergy. He knew he must look a sight, his face blotchy and as red as his scarlet cassock. And yet his grief kept him here, weighed down like a stone in the stream of busy people moving along the corridor.

“We must say goodbye and I do not think I know how to, little one,” Copiah sniffed, wiping away a stray tear with the end of his fascia and absently scratching between the ears of the nut-brown rat in his lap.

He knew Sister Imperator was right of course. The logistics of the tour would be complicated enough without having to factor in transporting Eliza with them; the hotels and tour buses they must use would see her as vermin, not as the beloved pet she was. And she was getting old, it wouldn’t really be fair on her.

The bench shifting next to him roused him from his musings, making him startle until he looked, bleary-eyed, into the kind face of his oldest brother, Primo.

“I never did care much for this hallway,” the retired Papa groaned as he stretched out his legs in front of him. “Too drafty. Which is probably not good for the little one, eh?” He held his hand out towards the rat, who cautiously climbed into his and regarded him with twitching whiskers.

“I don’t know that there is any place good for her anymore. I must find her a new home but…who will want her? She is not so young anymore…Who can I trust to take care of her?” Copia replied, attempting to disguise the way his voice cracked by clearing his throat. “Sorry, I…I am being silly.”

Primo nodded thoughtfully as he stroked the rat with a single finger. Eventually, he placed the creature on Copia’s shoulder and heaved himself to his feet with a huff. “I may have a solution. Come.”

The older man had started to head off down the corridor before Copia had a chance to ask a question or compose his tear-stained state. Sure, now he can be sprightly he grumbled to himself, struggling to catch him up down the corridor.

They walked through the endless, labyrinthine corridors until Primo led them out into the gardens, past the greenhouses where Copia assumed the man spent most of his retirement. He hadn’t seen this dark, tucked-away section of the grounds before though. When they reached a gate set into some tall hedges, he gave Eliza a fond pat to soothe himself as much as to reassure her, and finally interrupted his brother’s contented humming. It sounded suspiciously like All Things Bright and Beautiful. “Where are we going?”

Primo beamed as he opened the gate and waved for Copia to enter.

His eyes widened as he gazed at the scene before him. A huge circular space; a stunning meadow flower bed at the centre and outlined by ornate aviaries filled with plants and shrubs. The roof of each structure was the green hue of oxidised copper and reminded Copia of the gothic bandstands he’d seen in older parks. They even had the pre-requisite spooky ravens and crows scattered around their wrought gables. Some had open mesh walls while others were enclosed by glass or blacked out entirely.

“I do not know when this structure was first built. Probably back when collecting animals was fashionable. Humans have always sought animals – especially birds – a symbol of status. Of power,” Primo hummed as he started to walk a lazy circuit, stopping to peer in at the two barn owls perched in a distant corner of the first aviary. Copia placed a protective hand over Eliza, but the birds merely ruffled their feathers sleepily and resumed their daytime slumber. “I restored this place, but like our Abbey, I aimed to offer sanctuary to all who needed it. Especially those who’ve been harmed by our ridiculous superstitions.”  

“So, it’s like a menagerie of the damned?” Copia murmured, walking further along and taking in more owls, ravens and a raptor didn’t recognise. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he caught the amber gaze of a fox before it darted into the greenery.

His older brother chuckled. “You could say that I suppose. We leave the hatches open to allow the birds and bats to fly free. I think you’ll be more interested in what’s at the other end though,” he nodded for him to follow towards the enclosed area on the other side of the circle.

The balmy warmth hit them the moment the door opened. A Sister of Sin looked up and smiled, apparently in the middle of cleaning out a huge stack of cages where a dozen or so mice happily scampered about. “Sister Frances,” he nodded kindly.

After sitting subdued on his shoulder, Eliza suddenly perked up and began chittering loudly in Copia’s ear. He soon saw why. At the other side of the former aviary was a huge enclosure, filled with toys, scattered bedding and the curious faces of three other rats. “Oh!” he gasped, unable to resist moving towards them.

Sister Frances followed, opening the front and allowing the three of them to skitter up her arm, where they peered curiously at newcomers. “Cannoli, Cornetto and Confetti. Papa always did have a sweet tooth,” she grinned up at Primo before returning her attention to the rat on Copia’s shoulder. “And who is this?”

“A new resident, perhaps,” Primo said placing a hand on Copia’s other shoulder. “If you are happy for Eliza to come here, it would be our privilege to care for her. And you’re welcome to come and see her at any time.”

Copia’s momentary delight in the rats evaporated into the muggy heat of the small building and he felt his expression pinch again. His treacherous tears spilled down his cheeks before he could stop them. “Sorry,” he mumbled, averting his gaze away from Primo and the Sister. “You must think I’m a pathetic fool.”

“Of course not,” Sister Frances murmured kindly, holding out her arm for Eliza to climb up so she could sniff at the other rats. “It’s always hard to say goodbye.”

“Indeed, fratellino,” Primo sighed. “You think you are being silly but let me tell you…not so far away we have a space where we lay departed souls to rest and there are plenty of our animal friends there. Terzo’s cat, Morpheus for one. Even Secondo’s snake. He dug the grave himself. We are not Catholics; we do not deny our animal friends a soul. If you love another living being there is nothing trivial about that love, si?”

Copia nodded with a hiccup, watching as the Sister placed the rats in the enclosure. He managed a watery smile as the three of them showed Eliza around the toys and feeding stations, like little realtors bragging about a property’s granite countertops and fitted wardrobes. “She looks like she fits right in,” he mused.

“She does. She’s very welcome. And we will take excellent care of here, fratellino, I promise you.”

Mushy May Day 14: "Shut Up, I'm Taking Care Of You"

Mountain makes Cumulus tea when she's coming down with a bug.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and thank you to @ghuleh-recs for making dividers for us <3

Another bonus prompt today!

It's early, sky starting to shift from black to blue, the promise of a new day. Mountain pads into the kitchen, having already been up for a while, still. There's a basket of vegetables fresh harvested from the greenhouse tucked under his arm. He heads to the sink, washing them before setting them aside to dry.

Mountain whips to face the door when he hears a hacking, wet cough behind him. He thought he was the only ghoul awake, sun just barely beginning to peek out from over the horizon, but he was wrong. As he turns, he finds Cumulus, hair tied back and deep circles under her eyes.

"Hey, hummingbird," he says cautiously, shutting off the sink. "What're you doing up so early?"

She shrugs with one shoulder, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. "Couldn't sleep." Her voice is stuffy, and she sounds miserable.

Mountain hums, taking the kettle off of its element and filling it with water. "You don't sound so good, Cue. I know you don't like tea that much, but it might make you feel better."

She mumbles something under her breath, coughing again, before sitting at the kitchen table, covering her face with her hands.

"What was that?" Mountain asks, not turning to face her as he sets the kettle to boil, digging through one of the cabinets for a specific jar of loose leaf tea, one of his own blends.

"Said you don't need to stop what you're doing to make tea, Mount. You know I prefer-" She freezes as Mountain peers over his shoulder, an emerald green eye meeting hers, eyebrow raised

"Maybe I wanted tea," he teases, grabbing mugs and the diffusers he likes to use. "No, but seriously, hummingbird, I love you. You sound like shit. Let me make you a cup."

"Mount-"

"Cumulus, shut up, I'm taking care of you," Mountain interjects, firmly but kindly. "Let me make you tea, it sounds like your throat hurts something awful."

"It does," Cumulus sighs, slumping exhausted into the kitchen chair. "I think it's why I couldn't sleep." She coughs with a wince. Mountain nods, reaching for one of the honey jars.

"I'd imagine," Mountain says, humming low in his throat in sympathy as he spoons the tea leaves and herbs into one of the diffusers. The kettle whistles, and Cumulus jolts in her chair, laughing weakly at herself for startling. Mountain takes it off of the element, pouring the boiling water into Cumulus's favorite mug and leaving it to steep.

"Now, I'm no Aether," he says, bringing the mug over to the kitchen table, setting it in front of her. "But I think breathing in the steam while it steeps might help some."

"Thank you, Mounty." Cumulus carefully takes the mug, the long sleeves of her sleep shirt pulled up over her hands as a makeshift potholder. She takes as deep a breath through her nose that her sinuses will allow, eyes flickering shut as she smells the ginger and peppermint of this particular blend.

He pours water into his own mug, his preferred green tea in his. He lets it steep, watching Cumulus fondly as she sticks her face closer to the steam. "Of course, hummingbird. Once that steeps, I'll put some honey in it. Know you like it sweet." He hipchecks her chair gently, boyishly grinning ear to ear.

"Mount," she whines, still stuffy but she's laughing, and that's all Mountain could ask for.

"Is the steam helping?" Mountain says, eyes glancing at the clock on the stove, keeping track of how long their teas have been steeping. He rummages through one of the drawers for a spoon, opening the jar of honey.

"Think so," Cumulus says. "Though it's fogging up my glasses something awful."

"Yeah, makes you look real dorky," he says, carefully taking the mug from her and pulling out the diffuser. He stirs in a large spoonful of honey and passes her the mug back.

"Mount." She laughs, blowing softly at the mug, and Mountain can feel the tingle in the base of his skull that means she's using her magick to cool it. Cumulus takes a long sip, shutting her eyes. "Thank you."

Mountain smiles a little wider as he takes a sip from his own mug. "Any time, hummingbird."

How in the actual fuck did that happen? Why?

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.

Ok but what if ghouls didn't just automatically know English when they are first summoned and then usually their summoner and fellow ghouls teach them language.

Now imagine that because Phantom was summoned at such a complicated time for the pack (with Aether and Sunshine's eminent departure looming over them) that he never really gets taught how to speak.

Aurora pretty quickly bonds with the ghoulettes but because the ghouls (either accidentally or purposely) outcast Phantom he just only learns little bits that he catches in passing during band practice.

And they only notice when tour time comes around and they realise they've completely neglected this new ghoul and he can't understand a single thing anyone says to him.

I really wanted to do something involving all the papas and on a whim decided it was scenery painting time featuring their respective color themes! This was really fun to work on but a LOT of work, I hope you guys all enjoy them! :)

ID in ALT text; Photo ref credits under the cut!

Photos Referenced:

"The Devil's Eclipse right above a church" by Peter Wienerroither

"Iceland Church" by Remo Daut

"Val Gardena Dolomites, Italy" via anonymous uploader to Peakpx (unfortunately, the uploader seems to have sold rights to a domain and I could not find their name)

"Villa Monastero, Italy" by sae_snaps on instagram

They have been groomed. They are unserious.

They would rather be told how to feel than taught how to learn.