Dewdrop: *standing outside of Aether's door, his hand creating a clear pattern on the wood* .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.--
Aether: What's that?
Dewdrop: Remorse code.
Aether: ....
Aether. I think I might be even angrier now.
Heyyyy....I'm about to fix your day! This is the fluffier version of that angst post I made. Stop threatening me now /j
Dewdrop moved through the water with a grace that felt ancestral. As a water ghoul. He was a creature of peace, his voice a soft, melodic murmur that mirrored the ripple of the current. His gills fluttered rhythmically, filtering the oxygen from the warm pond as he glided.
He was not alone. Around him, seven tiny, translucent forms darted and wobbled through the water. His clutch.
Seven healthy pups, each a miniature, shimmering reflection of their parents. They were in that fragile, beautiful stage of early development. Little tadpole-like creatures with oversized heads and waving, external gills that fluttered like tiny fans. They weren't quite fish and not quite ghouls yet, just soft, squishy bundles of instinct and curiosity.
Dewdrop let out a low, vibrating trill. It was a call of safety, a sonic blanket that told his young that he was here, that the world was warm, and that they were cherished. He was swimming in lazy, concentric circles around them, his webbed fingers gently guiding a stray pup back toward the centre of the group. He purred—a wet, clicking sound that bubbled up from his throat—as he nudged one of the smaller ones with his nose, urging it to stay close to its siblings.
A few feet away, sitting in the shallow water near the stone bank, Aether watched them with an expression of such profound tenderness it bordered on ache.
Aether’s lavender skin looked pale and luminous against the dark grey of the pond's edge. He was half-submerged, his large frame settled comfortably into the silt, his clubbed tail occasionally twitching beneath the surface to keep his balance. He wasn't a creature of the water, but for Dewdrop, he had become a fixture of this humid sanctuary.
He watched as Dewdrop drifted closer, the water ghoul's dark hair waving like seaweed around his face. Dewdrop’s glassy eyes were soft, filled with a maternal peace that Aether found intoxicating. As Dewdrop glided into his space, he didn't stop; he simply drifted in a slow, sweeping arc, his shoulder brushing against Aether’s chest.
Aether reached out, his hand breaking the surface to gently stroke the small of Dewdrop’s back. He felt the smooth, cool texture of his mate's skin.
"They're perfect, Dew," Aether whispered, his voice resonant and warm, echoing softly off the vaulted ceiling of the birthing chamber.
Dewdrop paused, tilting his head back to look up at Aether. He let out another soft trill, a contented sound that signalled absolute trust. He drifted closer, pressing his cheek against Aether’s wet chest, closing his eyes as he basked in the Quintessence ghoul's steady presence. For a long moment, they simply existed in the stillness—the only sound being the gentle lap of water and the tiny, frantic splashes of seven pups trying to swim in circles.
Aether smiled, a small, shaky thing.
To see them now—seven healthy, thriving little lives—felt like a miracle. Aether felt a swell of protective pride in his chest. He knew that as a father, he would spend the rest of his life ensuring these pups never knew a cold day or a hungry night.
Dewdrop pulled back slightly, his webbed hand reaching up to touch Aether’s jaw. He spoke in that soft, breathy lilt that always made Aether feel like he was the only person in the world.
"You gave me this," Dewdrop murmured, his voice like a slow stream over smooth pebbles. "You gave us this family."
Aether leaned down, pressing a lingering, salty kiss to Dewdrop’s forehead. "I just provided the spark, Dew. You did all the hard work."
Dewdrop chuckled, a bubbly sound, before spinning away to chase a particularly adventurous pup that had ventured too close to the stone edge. He dove beneath the surface, his blue form disappearing for a moment before he popped back up, a tiny pup clinging to his arm.
Aether leaned back against the rock, his violet eyes tracking every movement. Here, in this warm, hidden pond, there was only the soft trill of a father and the quiet love of a mate. It was a sanctuary within a sanctuary, and as Aether watched Dewdrop circle his children once more, he knew he would do anything to keep this peace eternal.
Took an edible last night to put me to sleep and it indeed did not do that and made me conjure up this rambling instead
Been thinking about a medieval au for a long time 💀 here is what my inebriated brain decided to produce while listening to Kate bush and thinking ab it
Dragon hybrid / knight / worker dew or sumnth
Siren rain. Knight / Prince Aether. All the other ghouls and ghoulettes and papas are in there somewhere probably
Credits: Picture done by Pexels, Divider done by @astra-coding, Characters and music | do not own
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter contains descriptions of but is not limited to nosebleeds, body horror, blood and gore, grief, depression. Please mind the tags.
Find Chapter 1 here
As dawn breaks you begin making your way back towards the abbey.
You had the hood of your cloak pulled up to conceal your tired eyes. You needed to bathe— to wash away the dirt and grime from the hunt.
If you thought your feet ached before— they were in agony now.
With each step your body feels heavier. What keeps you awake are the new fresh wounds you received— nothing life threatening yet the tears in flesh were becoming a real thorn in your side.
One in particular was a small gash on your upper left side, just a little under your left arm.
A quick trip to the abbey’s infirmary to get the cuts and scrapes cleaned would do the trick.
Your bruised and battered body crossed through the morning fog— the humid atmosphere felt like wearing a weighted blanket made of cool, damp air. After a night of exhaustion it was comforting almost. Fog could be frightening when one didn’t know what else lurked within the curtain of mist, nonetheless as the sun continued to rise it wasn’t uncertainty you felt, it was contentment.
The infirmary was cold and sterile. The smell of disinfectant wafted through the air.
The area itself didn’t hold the same mystical feeling as the rest of the abbey— it was simplistic. The dry stone walls were laid bare except for the occasional pictures of places within the monastery. There was one picture in particular that often caught your eyes— Papa Emeritus III’s portrait in his full uniform. In your opinion he looked in his dapper black priestly chasuble with a purple lining and a papal hat. Yet in his portrait he lacked his usual smile— a grim look was depicted on his face.
Beds lined the walls— though they rarely would ever get used as other than flu season not many came down to the infirmary. Except you of course.
Wordlessly the nurse on the early morning shift patched you up.
She was a middle aged woman by the name of Sarah. Her eyes were a soft baby blue— never once did they look down on you with scorn or judgement. Sarah’s hair was often placed in a long braid, streaks of gray peaked through dirty blonde hair. The corners of her thin lips oftentimes quirked up when she saw you enter.
After the band left for tour and you began your work here at the abbey you became familiar with Sarah. She was the only nurse on this shift and was frequently the one to patch you up.
Her voice was soft and quiet, her gloved handles gentle as they tended to you.
Without fail— every night she would inquire the same queries.
“How was your night?”
“Want me to fetch you something to eat after I’m done?”
“How do you feel?”
Other than these questions she usually worked in silence, nevertheless you knew she cared for you. As she cleaned the wound on your side, she did so with tenderness. You found yourself tempted to lean into her touch, although you decided against it. Sarah was one of the few you felt comfortable to be vulnerable around— if only a little bit.
Not many really understood the work you did for the monastery, they couldn’t understand what they couldn’t see.
Yet Sarah saw the fruits of your labor when you came in each morning— she may not understand completely however she sees how hard you work.
You bid her a quiet farewell as you leave the infirmary— now you lumber from the west wing to the east wing of the abbey. The long corridors are no longer so dim as the morning sun filters in through the stained glass windows— casting you in an array of colors. Your boots made a soft clicking noise as they made contact with the detailed, marbled floor.
The medieval-esque architecture of the abbey still astounded you every time you looked upon it.
You were nearing the dorms where the Sisters of Sin resided when you heard rapid footsteps rounding the corner a little ways up ahead the hall.
You snapped your head up to catch a glimpse of Kat— her dark locks of hair styled in loose curls and her Sister of Sin uniform neatly worn on her figure. In her hands was a serving tray holding a plate of bread, butter, and jam or better known around the abbey as “Pane, Burro e Marmellata.”
At her approach you slid your hood down— allowing yourself to face her openly. Kat winced slightly at your appearance—chalking things up to you just having another long night— she recovered quickly nonetheless.
“Glad I caught you before you turned in for the day.”, she whispered when she was close enough for you to hear. Always one to be courteous as she didn’t wish to wake the other sleeping Sisters of Sin.
Kat— the messenger of the monastery— was often starting her day when you were finishing up your own.
“Tom knew you would try to skip breakfast and go straight to sleep so he made you a little something as incentive to eat.”, Kat continued.
“You both spoil me.”, you expressed softly as you took the tray from her hands when she held it out to you.
“We do.”, she teased with a growing smirk tugging at her full lips.
“Before I take off I figured I should share the good news with you.” Kat grinned, “Papa Emeritus III and the ghouls are returning early from the tour and should be back within the next couple of days.”
“They were able to get to the next venue earlier than expected. When they come home from the tour the abbey tends to throw a ball to celebrate.” The curly haired woman explained.
You were unsure what to do with that information. On one hand, the band coming home meant you could go back to more domestic work within the abbey along other Sisters of Sin. Without your odd nightshift schedule you could spend more time with Kat and Tom.
On the other hand, it felt odd to do work that did not consist of you being a hunter. It was not to be said that you felt above such work, but instead you perhaps felt guilty? You knew at Sanctum Nocturnis hunters were always on the job, for you to get a break from the hunt felt like slacking off.
“That is great news.”, you vacillated, a small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. Your thumbs rhythmically dug into the handles of the tray— a way to self-soothe as your mind drifted to possible outcomes.
Kat quirked her brow at your response.
“Uh huh. Penny for your thoughts Hunter?” Kat coaxed in a teasing tone as she shifted some of her weight onto her right leg— her hand now rested on her right hip.
“Hunter”, a nickname given to you originally by Sister Imperator when she wasn’t calling you by your last name. Kat had overheard the exchange once and now it seemed that both her and Tom frequently opted to use said nickname for you too.
“Don’t mind me, I’m just tired from last night.”, you assured softly. You shifted back and forth where you stood— your feet crying for you to sit down at least.
Kat gave you a knowing look but even she knew she couldn’t stay to interrogate you as she had a whole day’s worth of paper work waiting for her. The curly haired woman patted your shoulder after you both had said your goodbyes before she sauntered off like a woman on a mission.
Your room— your place of solace— held a slight chill to it as you entered.
The space was small, cozy. Surrounding you were four cream colored walls, beneath your feet is a polished, dark oak floor.
To your left sat an old wooden wardrobe— holding the two pairs of black robes and habits along with a night gown. There were some articles of clothing that had been donated to you by Kat herself. While you and your tall companion had different body types, any extra clothes were appreciated, even if they didn’t fit quite right. Kat began to jump at any chance to dote on you the day you made the mistake of letting her into your room. She saw what little possessions you had and nagged you for leaving the walls of your room so bare. Kat always begged you to come into town with her but with how your schedule was now you rarely had a moment during the day where you weren’t ready to collapse onto your bed.
To your right was a medium sized bookshelf, the books now collected dust. You hoped with the upcoming schedule shift you would have more time to read. Next to the dusty furniture was a desk— a stool was pushed in underneath. Sometimes you would get letters from the Sanctum Nocturnis from your fellow hunters and you would write them back at that same desk. About a yard away from the small cluster of fixtures was the door leading into the bathroom.
In the center of the room was a rather large rug that matched the color of the walls, a black geometric pattern painted its surface. Sitting atop the rug was an extra large twin sized mattress. The comforter as well as the pillows was a silky white. Above your bed was a large window—morning sun peeking through your blinds filled the room with natural light. On the right side of your bed was a simple nightstand with one of those fancy little lamps that had a lampshade with tassels. Next to the novelty item was a small picture frame, the rims were a golden shade.
Within the frame stood a girl. She was just about average height. Her athletic build was decorated with a rather plain, pink dress. Wavy strawberry-blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were rosy and dotted with a humble amount of freckles. Her grin reached her olive colored eyes— teeth bared but holding nothing but what seemed to be joy. She looked to be at the cusp of adolescence.
Eliana.
“Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees
I'll wait for you
And should I fall behind
Wait for me”
That was the epitaph Sister Agatha had chosen for Eliana’s head stone— you believe it was written by Bruce Springsteen. You like to think she is waiting for you wherever life takes you after death— too stubborn to move on until you were once again by her side.
It made your heart ache to think about her, yet you forced yourself to look at that picture when you awoke and before you rested your weary eyes each day.
You loved Eliana like a sister, she was your partner after all. You depended on her just as much as she depended on you.
The night she was ripped from you was the night you first noticed a piece of yourself missing in her absence. Without her you grew to be familiar with a life without the sun.
This life was unfair, nevertheless time waited for no one. Death was a normal part of life, especially at Sanctum Nocturnis— you knew that. Yet even two years later Eliana’s death still weighed on you, but a part of you didn’t mind. As long as you still grieved, maybe a part of her still lingered with you, that maybe she wasn’t fully gone— not yet.
You push those thoughts away for now— you need to get out of these clothes and rest for the day.
You shut your door— softly so as to not disturb the sisters that slept in the surrounding rooms.
You slip off your boots— sock-covered feet making contact with the cool hardwood floor. With your right foot you nudge your pair of boots to sit neatly by the door like it was second nature.
You padded over to your desk— setting the tray of food Kat had graciously given to you.
Your hands then rose to the neck line of your cloak. With practiced ease you untie the aiguillette, the cords coming loose within seconds.
After shedding the tattered cloak like a second skin you trudge over towards the old wooden wardrobe— you open it and store your cloak inside while retrieving a nightgown in exchange.
The fabric is soft in your hands as you carry it towards the bathroom.
The bathroom felt a little more spacious than your room due to the lack of furniture. The walls in this room were light gray and looked dreadfully barren when you had turned the overhead light on. You really needed to decorate.
Connected to the wall was a tub with a shower head connected— a white, plastic shower curtain was half closed around it. Tucked in a corner next to the sink and mirror was the toilet. Sitting solemnly by the door you crossed through was a straw laundry basket.
You were thankful that this room held no windows as usually when you bathed you were too tired to remember to close the blinds half the time in your bedroom, let alone a bathroom.
Once you turned the water on you knew you had about five minutes or so till the water reached a hot enough temperature— the pipes in the abbey got very cold in Autumn.
While the water heated up you began to undress. You shimmied off your sable breeches along with the wide leather belt that often dug into your skin if you weren’t careful about how tight you made it. Then you made your way out of your dark purple tunic.
You often avoided looking into the mirror when in the bathroom— you already knew how tired you looked. You knew that there were dark circles that danced just below your eyes. Your hair— oftentimes starting tied back in some form of bun, ponytail, or braid at the beginning of the night— was often wild and matted by the morning.
You definitely didn’t want to look at any wounds you sustained the night prior. You prided yourself for being more careful than most of your hunter peers who tended to treat their bodies more like a punching bag— but even you slipped up at times.
The smaller nicks and scars that marred your flesh didn’t bother you much as most went away with time. One scar in particular ate away at you more than the others.
Running from the right side your mid abdomen down to your hip were four jagged lines— claw marks. The skin there was tight and raised. Every time you looked at the sight— it was a reminder of that faithful night.
Goosebumps began to fade away from your skin as fog from hot water began to fill the room. This shower would be pleasant.
.
.
.
Three days had passed. The veil was thinning more and more each day. The clay sigils you had placed around the abbey in an attempt to lessen the destruction of the veil had been breaking one by one. You were met with more work with each passing night— more ghastly creatures from the pit to dispose of.
Kat had said that Papa Emeritus III and his ghouls should be back today. You just had to make it to the crack of dawn and tonight would be your last hunt— if only for a little while.
You sucked in a ragged breath— your muscles drawn so tight that you shook slightly. A metallic taste spread over your tongue. Your face was wet under your hood— a mixture of blood and sweet made your skin slick. Nevertheless the air around you was cool— you could see the smoke emanating from you from each breath.
You faced three beasts— two of them similar to the one you faced three nights prior— humanoid-like. This type was food driven— opting to eat their meals alive or dead, but they weren’t very intellectually inclined. The claws on these creatures were hooked shaped— if it got a swipe at you it would be taking some of you with it.
The third beast was something you’ve had to face before on rare occasions. It was large— resembling a deer to an extent. It stood on its hind legs— its hooves dug into the dirt of the abbey’s courtyard. Its hickory fur shown in the moonlight— scars adorned its body— this wasn’t its first fight. Its long arms hung near what you assumed to be its knees. Its claws were lengthy and sharp to the touch. You never wanted to be within reach of it for too long. If it got a hold of you, it would be over.
Its face was hidden behind a deer skull, its eyes pitch black pits. Its antlers were long and boney— bells were tied to tines. The bells were small and would ring softly when the creature moved at an alarming pace— your only warning to move.
This creature, the mimic, was cunning— mimicking human voices— voices you knew. It had obviously been lingering near the abbey for a little while now if it knew some of the voices of the Sisters of Sin. You grit your teeth at the thought— how could you have let that slip pass you?
Has living at this monastery made you soft?
Were you losing your touch?
You shook your head— ridding you of these thoughts. You had a job to finish.
You couldn’t stay still for very long— you had to keep moving. Speed and agility would be the key to winning this fight.
Your tattered cloak flowed behind you as you kept pace with these monsters. With your curved sickles you were able to land calculated hits on the two humanoid creatures if you were quick enough. Although it was hard to fight the other two when the mimic would take advantage of your distraction— you could barely hear the bells over your shallow breaths.
You were dodging their blows more than you were landing any of your own— they were wearing you down.
In a last-ditch effort to win some ground within this fight you charged between the two humanoid creatures— if you were fast enough your hope was that one of them would accidentally attack the other in an attempt to get you. It was a risk but you were running out of options.
You pushed your battered body to its limits as you darted between them— and your efforts paid off.
The creature on the left had swung low with its hook-like claws— seeking your flesh but instead dug into its companions. A warped, shrill cry echoed through the night air, the very sound chilled you to the bone.
As the other creature tried to pull away from its source of pain you turned on your heel and began to sprint back over— your arm outstretched with your sickle in hand. Once close enough— you used the momentum you had gained and leaped into the air. Mid-air you turned your body towards the creature as your blade made contact with its throat— a clean cut.
As its humanoid head fell to the ground and its body went slack— following suit with its head. You wasted no time flinging yourself towards its companion who couldn’t seem to dig its hook-like claws from its partner’s flesh— the sounds of bells could be heard not far behind.
As you drove your curved sickle from the top of its abdomen and drug it down— black ichor stained your weapon. You made it halfway til the creature knocked you back with its free claw tipped hand— forcing you to lose grip of your one sickle.
Your body toppled across the grass part of the courtyard and finally stilled as you skidded onto the concrete pathway. A hiss escaped from your gritted teeth.
There was no time to waste as you began to scramble to pick yourself up despite your body protesting your every action. A coat of crimson stained the pavement where your skin had made contact through your torn-up clothes.
You spare a quick glance towards the creature that you had stabbed. It was desperately trying to grab the handle of your weapon to yank it free from its flesh. Yet every time it made contact the runes on the blade illuminated— burning the palm of the creature’s hand. Its screeching filled the air.
A small smile tugged at your lips at the sight.
You shifted your gaze to your surroundings— where had the mimic gone?
A searing pain bloomed as long talons dug into your back— forcing your form back onto the ground from whence you came.
There and then you let out a pained cry of your own. The masked creature leaned its face down near yours, in your peripheral vision you could only see its skull maw.
“Hello Hunter.”, it mused in an all too familiar voice— Kat’s.
A chill went up your spine— your body went rigid underneath its clawed hand. Your eyes widened.
“No..”, you whispered at the horrific realization. This creature had been watching you— watching your friends. Your mind couldn’t even begin to fathom how it could’ve happened. How did this creature fly under your radar for so long?
“I enjoyed our little game— pity it is over now.” it continued to use her voice as it applied more pressure— it’s claws digging deeper into your skin.
The first thing you felt was heat, you could see the light before you could even see the flames.
The creature tore itself from you as it let out a bellow of inhuman agony. You lifted your gaze to see it flail its long limps as fire licked at its body— the bells chimed at its rapid movements. Not all creatures from the pit were fire proof.
You didn’t notice him before but as the creature flailed about you could see a figure clinging to the creature’s back— his claws allowing him purchase. The silver plated mask shone in the moonlight.
Dewdrop seemed to be the source of the fire as he bathed in the flames— allowing them to spread from his form to the creature’s. His tail whipped through the air as he seemed to dig his claws deeper into the hide of the mimic.
You tilted your head to the side as much as your body would allow you to see who you assumed to be the ghoulettes; Cirrius and Cumulus— based on their more feminine masks— tearing into the humanoid creature. The gory sight was blurred as your vision became bleary. Their laughter carried in the air as a brisk wind blew by— drowning out the creature's screams.
You struggled against the pavement— trying to move your limp limbs. You needed to get up— to move, to do something, anything but lay here like dead weight.
“Easy now, we gotcha.”, a soft, smooth voice cooed as a pair of cool, clawed tipped hands began to pick you up from the concrete. You grunted in protest— you felt disoriented as the world you knew began to swirl around you. The last thing you wanted to do was to be touched by a ghoul.
As the individual tenderly turned you onto your back before snaking lean, yet strong arms under your form. You were lifted up with ease— ghoul strength you supposed— in a bridal-style carry. You forced yourself to focus on his stage uniform— searching for a symbol to identify the ghoul you rested against. An upside down triangle greeted you— Rain.
His mask tilted down at you— only his eyes were visible. They reminded you of gemstones— specifically sapphires. They say that eyes were gateways into the soul, yet you couldn’t read what he was thinking. Maybe he looked at you with worry, or perhaps even pity?
You couldn’t be sure.
As he began to carry you away from the scene your head lulled back to see another two figures joining the gory scene, you are unsure of which ghouls they were.
Your vision is getting spotty as your eyelids begin to feel heavy. You only noticed another figure walking on Rain’s other side when you leaned up with what little strength you had left. Your ears are ringing— if they're talking you can’t hear a word of what they're saying.
The figure is tall, though not tall enough to be Mountain— it could be Aether but you're unsure.
You don’t have the energy to think too hard about it. Your head lulls back— your vision swimming into darkness. You dip into unconsciousness.
