Mushy May Day 9: Warming Them Up

I was thinking about Ifrit earlier. He seems like the prideful type to never admit he's sick until he's on the verge of falling over.

What if he got that sick and middle Swiss was the one to find him, curled up in bed and miserable? He gets Ifrit comfortable and goes to get Omega to help.

Just an idea I've had floating around, you don't have to write anything, I just often get inspired by your work!

- 🌈

I know this took forever, hope it's ok! Just a small thing

Cw: sick Ifrit, body aches

Ifrit groans and adjusts his pillows again, punching them a few times for good measure before flopping bonelessly against the too warm pillows. He's miserable, he's never sick and now he is and he's miserable.

He can't breathe through his nose and his head feels stuffy and it hurts, his eyes are heavy but he can't sleep, and somehow every single part of his body has decided to hurt. Not to mention the rib rattling cough…

He could text Aether or Omega to come just help him sleep but if he's sick he's sure the Sisters and the siblings are all worse off so the infirmary will be busy. He hopes Dew's ok, hopes that this wave of sickness will decide to be merciful and skip over him.

Ifrit would take every bug that entered the Abbey if it meant Dew never got sick again.

He wallows and tries to think about anything else, literally anything but his head hurts so bad that thinking is hard. He reaches for his phone, tired of suffering for no reason but he knocks it off the side table.

“Really? You can't just cooperate with me?” He whines and he knows he's being ridiculous but he's not used to this! He's hanging off the bed when the door opens.

“Uh…Frit?”

He hears Swiss' small voice, the confusion and concern clear in his tone. Ifrit pulls himself back up slowly, trying not to focus on how much the room is spinning now.

“Hey Furtună…what's up?” (Storm)

“You ok? You don't look so good.”

He tries to force a smile. “I'm ok, just picked up a bug.”

Swiss cocks his head and moves into the room, stopping right next to the bed. He puts the back of his hand against his forehead and frowns.

“You're cold like Dew gets.”

“I don't feel cold.”

“Yeah I know, it's just how you fire ghouls are.” He shrugs. “Did you take medicine yet?”

Ifrit shakes his head, amused and impressed with how quick the little ghoul jumps into action. He watches him pull out his phone and type a message with his tongue poking out, focusing hard on his spelling.

“Aether's gonna be here soon. I'll be right back!”

“Swiss you don't-” But he's already gone, running down the hall. Ifrit laughs despite the pain in his head and throat, grateful for the little multi ghoul.

It takes Aether a bit to get there and Ifrits head and body hurt worse by the time he does. He's quick to soothe the pain, chasing it away and leaving a gentle sleepy haze in its place.

“Rest, I'll come back soon to check in.” He kisses Ifrits forehead and it says a lot about his current condition that he doesn't say something witty about it.

The fuzzy feeling slowly starts to fade as soon as Aether leaves but Ifrit’s sure it'll last a while, at least until he checks in again.

It's quiet and he thinks he might be able to sleep if he really tries…but the door opens again and Swiss backs in slowly. When he turns, Ifrit sees a tray in his hands stacked with snacks and drinks and tissues.

“I got you stuff to make you feel better, Mountain helped but then Dew sneezed so he panicked.” He rolls his gold eyes. “He's not even sick, he just stuck his face in the fuzzy yarn basket and it tickled his nose!”

Ifrit laughs a little at that mental image. “Thank you Swiss, you didn't have to do all this.”

He shrugs like it's nothing. “I wanted to, I like helping.”

Ifrit takes the tray from him when he's close, setting it on his lap and taking his hand.

“Thank you, Furtună, I really appreciate this.”

He ducks his head shyly and shrugs again. “S’ok. I'll go so you can rest!”

“You don't have to, I just don't want you getting sick.”

“It's ok, I'll go make sure Mountain didn't have a heart attack over a sneeze. But I'll come back to take out dirty dishes and I have my phone!”

He bounces out of the room and Ifrit laughs again, Swiss’ energy filling the room with an easy peace, something buzzing and happy. He looks around the tray, finding soup and crackers, one of the honey suckers they give the little ones for sore throats, a cup of tea and a glass of ginger ale. He also notes the handful of chocolate chips Swiss added.

It's thoughtful, touching and once again Ifrit is struck with just how grateful he is. He doesn't finish everything but the tea and the sucker help and before long his eyes are starting to shut.

He hears the door open quietly and Swiss tiptoeing across the room to grab the old dishes. He hears him set something down before he tugs the blankets up over Ifrits shoulder.

“Feel better, Frit.” He leaves just as quietly as he arrived.

Ifrit cracks his eyes open to find another steaming mug of tea and a few more suckers. He smiles and makes a plan to come up with something special to do just for the caring little ghoul.

He shuts his eyes again, it's going to be great….but he needs to rest first.

Because the struggle is real

Mushy May Day 14 - Silly Baby Talk (Aether/Dew)

Thank you for giving us Mushy May again this year, @forlorn-crows and thank you @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!

Mushy May Day 14 - Silly baby talk, Aether/Dew, no warnings, 701 words. The return of Chicken Nugget!!

Aether closes the door to the bedroom with a weary sigh. He’d just finished a double shift in the infirmary, working through the night and was only just getting back at nearly noon the next day. He makes a beeline for the shower, stopping at the bed where he’s greeted by the sight of Chicken Nugget, their little orange rescue kitten, curled up in a pile of blankets and fast asleep. He leans down to plant a kiss on the kitten’s tiny head, receiving a sleepy little mew in response, before snuggling back down into the soft blanket.

Aether showers and dresses quickly, exhausted and very eager to join Chicken Nugget for afternoon naptime. He’s finishing toweling off his hair when he hears their bedroom door open and shut. Dew must be back from band practice.

As he makes his way to the bathroom door he hears what sounds like the fire ghoul’s voice. He can’t exactly make out what Dew’s saying, but he’s talking with a high-pitched voice in what Aether can only describe as baby talk. A tone he has most certainly never heard coming from the lips of his fiery little mate. He pushes the door open quietly, and hangs back, watching.

There he finds Dew kneeling on the floor and bent over at the edge of their bed, nuzzling his nose into the soft fur of Chicken Nugget’s belly while the little kitten watches him curiously with sleepy eyes.

“Ohhh my cute little nugget, I missed you so,” Dew coos, high-pitched and sweet. He stops his nuzzles in favor of delivering a string of loud smooches to the little kitten’s tummy. Dew coos again, telling Chicken Nugget just how cute he is in that same little baby talk voice. He scratches under the kitten’s chin with a finger before booping him on his little pink nose.

“I love you, sweet little nugget,” Dew says, and Aether could swear that “love” came out sounding a lot more like “wuv.”

Aether has never seen anything cuter in all his life.

But as much as he wants to keep watching this rare little display, he steps out into the room, clearing his throat to let Dew know he’s not alone.

Dew and Chicken Nugget both whip their heads towards Aether, wide-eyed and startled. Aether can’t help but laugh out loud at the similarity of their expressions. 

“If you make fun of me, I’ll kill you,” Dew says, completely deadpan.

Aether places a hand over his heart. “Are you kidding me? Dew, I think I might freaking cry. That was the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.” He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye.

Dew grumbles. “Sounds like you’re making fun of me…” He bends down to scoop up the little kitten into his arms, pressing their faces together. “What do you think, CN, is mean old Aether making fun of us?”

Chicken Nugget reaches out with a tiny orange paw to boop Dew on the nose in response.

Aether laughs, “Sorry Dew, looks like he’s taking my side on this one.” 

“Wow, are you two little shits ganging up on me now?” Dew asks in mock outrage.

Aether gasps, covering Chicken Nugget’s fuzzy ears with his hands. “Dew! Don’t cuss in front of our kit!” he jokingly scolds the little fire ghoul with a laugh. 

Dew waves him off, but Aether slings his arm around his shoulders, pulling him to his side. He reaches out to scratch Chicken Nugget behind the ears until he’s purring away happily in Dew’s hands. 

“He really is like our kit, isn’t he Aeth?” Dew contemplates later, snuggling into Aether’s side on top of the blankets. Beside his head, Chicken Nugget kneads at the pillow, very happily getting ready for naptime round two.

“Yeah,” Aether agrees, pressing a soft kiss to Dew’s forehead, then leaning over to give the same to Chicken Nugget. “Think he takes after you more than anything though.”

Dew hums in agreement, and Aether pulls him in close, already falling asleep to the sound of a purring kitten and the warmth of his mate, happily holding his perfect little family in his arms.

The unholy ass grab

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

-----------------------------

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.

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.

Definitely need more Cowbell

little bit of AlphaBell~

We are not doing this, okay?

Some of yall needed to hear this

Credits to @/mattxiv on Instagram

Prompt #1000

"Then why did you even come along?"

"Because someone has to save your ass if this inevitably goes wrong."