۶𝜚࣪ quince

⫘⫘⫘⫘ MASTERLIST . . .

last updated 2.24.26

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GHOST

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Mountain

“The Butcher” — Horror (murderer mount)

~~

Raintom

“Thunderbug” — Fluff

Dewfrit

It never bothered him that his pack didn’t like to regular partake in his— “hobby.”

Dont get mountain wrong—sometimes the ghouls would pop in (heavy emphasis on dew), but not often. It was a treat he liked to enjoy alone the most, though.

The way they would gurgle and squirm, fight and bite. None yet knew they were doomed from the start, fighting against the very element of the woods surrounding them itself.

They would beg and scream and cry, call him horrendous things. But he would never hurt the innocent. The babes or mothers. The pure hearted.

The vile things he would hunt for sport weren’t good, they were the previous preyers being preyed upon—it made things so much sweeter for him. But not always did he cater to his mortal “morals.”

Mountain would really make them struggle. Sometimes he would hand them a little extra leeway to give them some hope; he’d tease them by leaving a key out or door unlocked. But truly, when they escaped: that’s when the fun REALLY began.

He liked using a butcher knife to harvest the meat. He had his own meat cooler he built near his cabin where he kept venison and other meats in their “off” season. Classical music was his favorite to play while he skinned them, though.

The ghouls thought it was pretty attractive too, they never tattled. When papa asked why the siblings spoke of mountain’s

And if they so happened to stop by and notice a distinctly human-fleshed torso on his hook, they couldn’t help but be distracted by the way he blinked his eyes dreamily and offered them a bowl of hid tantalizing freshly procured stew.

Frater couldn’t help but cater to his whims either, as he kept the ministry particularly safe aside from the few stragglers. But even though he loved his ghoul, it didn’t help that he had to explain to his colleagues and mother why they all came into the office to a human finger with a rat-gemed ring on it on the pope’s desk.

But even after all of this, even after it being one of the most well kept secrets among the pack, none could deny how sultry a good hunt made the earth ghoul.

Dewdrop couldn't handle conflict well.

One tone shift, a voice raise, and he always fell into the same habit, the same rhythm. One the bassist knew all too well.

The water ghoul stalked down the hallways his body swaying. The argument ringed in his mind. The small argument that snowballed.

It was one plant. One little significant bitterroot to be exact. To be clear—he’d never try to hurt his pack-mates. Ever.

“DEWDROP.”

He was just trying to look. He was simply startled. He wouldn’t purposely deface Mountain’s own element ever-

A force almost yanked him up out of his own clothes by his scruff. Mountain was looming over him at this point.

“What are you doing here?? You..” and then it went quiet.

The earth ghoul dropped him, staring quietly and sunkenly at the weakened stem. His eyes traced the crumpled blooms.

Dewdrop’s attention zeroed on the crooked sign, barring maybe a few feet tall. “Zephyr.”

Dew had been promptly been kicked out, few words leaving the tall, mysterious ghoul’s mouth.

So here he had found himself, at the foot of his very fellow band mate’s door; he stood outside of Ifrit’s door.

The fire ghoul had opened it slightly, giving the brackish ghoul a quick survey up and down. Dew nudged past him silently, not giving him a word.

“That bad, huh?” Ifrit prodded, but still, no reply. He understood, of course. The smaller didn’t need a reminder of whatever was bothering him, obviously.

Dew looked around the familiar room, the feel of it. He looked at the guitar that remained across Ifrit’s chest at shows. The acoustic next to it.

The orange-stained-glass lightbulb casting a comforting hue over the room.

His eyes went to the bed. Then his feet. Before his brain could register, he was laying face first in Ifrit’s scent.

The fire ghoul far from minded, making a note in the writing he was working on before setting his glasses on its holder and shutting off the desk lamp.

Dew adored the room with nothing but the side lamp, and he appreciated the way the fire element somehow always knew what he needed.

When he needed to be a weighted blanket, too.

They sat like that for a while, Ifrit crushing his elemental opposite while dew played with the baby hairs on his neck. It worked. For a while.

“He hates me.” Ifrit sat up. “Who?”

“Mountain.”

“Mountain doesn’t hate you, he adores you mudsprite.”

“I crushed his plant.” Ifrit’s breath stuttered, a small and sharp inhale signaling his thoughts. After a beat, Dew uttered out a smaller, harsher few words.

“It was Zephyr’s. I didn’t mean to.”

Ifrit paused, his eyes searching the smaller’s. He chirped silently in understanding before shifting his gaze to the ceiling; Dewdrop’s eyes searching finally drifted up, studying Ifrit’s features.

“He lost his companion, darling. He doesn’t hate you, we all loved Zephyr but it was different. He and Zephyr have been two of the few ghouls present in the ministry for a long time behind the scenes..”

Dewdrop’s gaze wavered as he became unsteady. He knew this, he didnt need to be reminded of his failures, he knows he fucked up! His head started to cloud as his counterpart contemplated for a moment more.

Nothing seemed to be sticking through the stormy estuary in his mind brewing. The guilt. The shame.

The feeling of Aether pushing him away when he misunderstood. The feeling of watching Mist be replaced. Of watching Zephyr be banished.

“But.”

That voice cut through it, through those feelings. Dewdrop looked up. At him.

“Mountain doesn’t hate. Wouldn’t hate you, ever. He can be hurt, he can be confused or need time; so give him time.”

Dew gave a small, tired smile. Ifrit reached out, laying a warmed hand on the smaller’s cheek.

“Promise you wont leave?”

“I promise.” Ifrit responded immediately.

Rain made a small grumble as he ascended the hill alongside the small trail that lead to the ministry.

The sea creature had been in the lake. He had probably been away for most of the day at this point.

His pack trickled in here and there through the day, his mate even showing up around his break to take a (skinny)dip with his beloved.

Sunrise had always called to the ghoul, and he couldn’t resist the call of Her as she welcomed him into the soothing depths.

Rain had had to make the difficult decision to leave though, as the dark clouds started to rumble and shake his very bones.

By the time he had gotten to where he is now he was soaked head to toe, the droplets falling from the sky kissing his vaguely nude form—he had barely bothered to make sure his previously nude form had replaced the boxers and shorts he once wore.

As Rain entered the corridor, his eyes immediately locked onto his mate’s. Ah, that beautifully tinted skin.

He grinned and took calculated steps until he slid right up next to him. The quintessence ghoul smiled dopily and leaned in slightly to the intrusion of personal space.

The bug never was too keen on “personal” space. Rain knew this. He loved it, in fact.

“Mr. Phantom,” Rain greeted formally as he took the guitarist’s hand. They were warm, he always rain quite warm.

“Rain..” Phantom replied warily. Rain loomed over him, making the bigger feel somewhat smaller.

He ached for it. Those smooth, beautifully webbed hands holding him, caressing him.

He wanted the beast to tear him apart, expose every last nerve

Rain let out a snort first, breaking the act almost immediately and bringing his spare hand to his lover’s waist.

Phantom leaned up unpromptedly, the water spirit grinning into the kiss full of need

“My room?”