#ephe writes

[purroowl]

thinking about bokuroo in their thirties, reminiscing all the good times they've had so far and the memories they've created over the years, which eventually leads to bokuto saying, "but i still want to make more memories with you, kuroo. i bet even when we're old and grey we'd be the most fun to be around!" with a large beaming grin.

kuroo raises an eyebrow at him, caught off guard yet quickly hiding his surprise, "careful, bo, it kinda sounds like you're saying you want to be with me forever." at this point they've only just gotten together after a long time of pining and their relationship is still very fresh — maybe even too fresh.

but bokuto shrugs easily and he frowns a little. "yeah, that's exactly what i'm saying?" he looks puzzled by kuroo's response, until his eyes alight with something like realisation, a tinge of doubt shining through. his voice softens considerably then, "... am i the only one who's thinking that?"

the straightforwardness of it is what gets to kuroo as he coughs and rubs at the back of his neck, feeling the warmth that's blooming inside him spread everywhere. he can't meet bokuto's gaze, and in his typical roundabout way, he says: "no, it just sounded a little like a proposal. you've gotta pick your words better, bo."

he peeks at bokuto from his peripherals and it seems like bokuto gets it, his entire expression lighting up once more as he laughs joyously. chest puffing out the way it does when bokuto's feeling particularly proud or exuberant. "don't worry, kuroo! you'll know for sure when it's actually meant to be a proposal. it'll be obvious."

he says it like that's obvious, as if a proposal is actually something that will happen in the future. like kuroo shouldn't doubt that it's in the cards. it's a little staggering if he lets himself think of how serious bokuto actually is about them, but kuroo does mirror the sentiment of wanting to grow old together. he just didn't think bokuto would be on the same page. at least, not so soon.

though, they are in their thirties. maybe they've both waited long enough.

kuroo grins, a mixture of sly, teasing and affectionate as he tugs bokuto closer in one quick manoeuvre. his heart beats against his chest as he mutters against bokuto's lips, sealing the deal like a promise, "not if i beat you to it first."

[serenedash]

Waiting, again,

An old snippet from my drafts about Ryou and Ephemera, enjoy!

Ryou trudged into his room, pulling off his accessories and dumping them unceremoniously onto his dresser. He tugged off his bow tie and vest, trying to kick off his shoes at the same time without falling over. He dropped his vest on the edge of his bed and fell face first into his pillow, one shoe still hanging on his foot but he shook it off and it landed with a dull thud.

He flipped over onto his back, letting out a loud sigh as he closed his eyes. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, making him feel too heavy to move. He had no idea what time it was; his pocket watch was still in his vest and he wasn’t going to get up to check. He knew it was pretty late though, probably nearing the late raid hour.

It was yet another day that seemed to blur into the next. He did his daily missions, checked on his party members, participated in the daytime raids, even bought some new medals, but nighttime was still the same as he waited hour after hour for Ephemera. Again. And he still didn’t show up. Again. And Chirithy had to force him to go home to sleep. Again.

And Ryou was so, so tired. Normally he welcomed such a feeling; it was the feeling of a full, accomplished day-- but not anymore. Now exhaustion followed long, painful days of monotony and loneliness. He was even finding it hard to be cheerful around his party members as the rumors of war continued to surge through town. Not that he cared for such rumors-- or at least that's what he told himself. He had bigger things to worry about like managing his party and waiting for that stupid guy at the fountain.

And now there was also that girl Skuld… he was going to look for Ephemera with her tomorrow.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to focus on sleep despite the swirling thoughts in his head. Maybe he would do his dailies in the morning before he met with Skuld. He could do them after but that might get in the way of waiting for Ephemera… and he didn’t want to risk missing the boy…

He forced his thoughts to stop, slapping his hands over his face and groaning in frustration. He’d be of no use to anyone, least of all Ephemera, if he was still this tired tomorrow.

Here's to another stupid day in the books.

[ms-redrose]

In case some PH peeps still live here and havent seen it yet, here's an update from Eph's Instagram story (12/06/2024); seems like both her and Soph are cooking (and I can't wait to enjoy the feast when it comes)!!! 🥰😍

Super surprising but also exciting to get such an update. *prays and wishes the best for both Eph and Soph*🙏❤️❤️❤️

[ro-sham-no]

@wincestwednesdays | july 24th: sunshine / rock and a hard place

ephelides, a poem by me.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

pre-Objects of Affection scene :)

[eunoiastarz]

i love u all

[asmo-cosmetics]

solostans am i just psychotic or did anyone else think solomon commanding barbatos to obey was extremely hot

[wearily-confused]

So apparently sloths are good swimmers, poop once a week- a third of their weight, can starve on a full stomach, have good defecation habits and can apparently cure cancer..?

[roxasthatisastick]

thinking about player kingdom hearts today.

you know, its probably because of player that the book of prophecies and MoM's plan didn't come to pass? if it weren't for player, the team couldn't have bought enough time for ventus to seal darkness.

after that, maybe things would have developed as he predicted. the unity broken, by grief if nothing else, the union leaders would have been easy targets for darkness.

but instead, skuld and ephemera went back to save a single life. and player saved them back.

[theinfinitedivides]

no fr patty, bash and taj all had something going on amongst them in Fighter

hrithik playing vague bisexuals, always here for it

worse part is they even shoved him partially back in the closet. he was more bi in War than he was here and yet i bend down to lick up the crumbs and savor what could have been OT4 fix-it fic when

[gltownsend]

Mine turned out super long because I cut it off where it felt natural and made sense for context D: I wasn't sure whether I should put it under a cut but eventually I figured anyone who's botheredd by long posts had the long post setting on anyway.

(Also, I couldn't reblog every snip on this post because it would overwhelm my blog massively but there are so many super cool ones in the reblogs and in the sipofsnips tag that I love! If you haven't seen them go look, some of these are absolutely amazing (feeling a little embarrassed about my stupid little conversations now). I've just followed probably 10 new people hahaha)

- (Tijil perspective)

Nikora was—almost predictably at that point—mostly undressed on the floor of their room. His nose was bleeding again.

He was conscious and upright—though—and he did not look unwell or in pain, so Tijil found it safe to say– "Nikora. Would it be within your abilities to not bleed on our floor in your underwear?"

Nikora looked down as if he had not noticed. This closer alignment to gravity—of course—accelerated the flow and increased the volume of blood on the floor, which was the opposite of what Tijil had wanted. He sighed and went to his drawers for his last remaining face cloth.

"Probably not, at this point," Nikora said.

Tijil went to the bathroom and wet the cloth. He wrung it out into the sink and watched the cool water drip back—too loudly—into the dark metal. He stood there for a brief amount of time longer than he needed to.

He brought the cloth back to their room and gave it to Nikora.

"It would be preferable if you were to refrain from any further bleeding," he said, "as that is my last face cloth."

"I don't own any face cloths," Nikora said, muffled into it. His blood seeped pink around the edges of the damp fabric. This nosebleed was not as bad, or perhaps it had not been going for as long a time.

Tijil did not believe Nikora had heard him correctly– and he was not certain why owning face cloths was something that earned such disparaging a tone. He ignored it. "Which is why it would be preferable for this to end now. I would rather not start using shirts."

Nikora laughed and then gurgled– his head was too far back in the way that sends blood down the throat. Tijil's jaw tensed involuntarily—unhelpfully—and he put his hand on the back of Nikora's head and tilted it forward abruptly—much more helpfully.

Nikora tried to snap his head back but Tijil held it still. There was some muttered sound of complaint that Tijil could not parse.

"Please stop trying to choke yourself," Tijil said flatly.

This noise was more resigned.

Daily Sip 1/7

You can reblog this post.

You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[purroowl]

"hey, are those my sweats?"

the pixels of bokuto's face fizzle clearly to life on screen, his eyes squinted and inquisitive. kuroo pulls his phone closer from where he'd had it propped up against his water bottle, letting bokuto in to a close-up view of his slight smirk.

"you clothes thief!" the accusation comes after barely a second, and kuroo chortles.

"why, don't like seeing me in your clothes?" he says, smirk growing wider at the feeling of triumph in his chest. he's been quick with his retorts today, managing to stun even tsukki into silence when he popped by the joint karasuno-nekoma training camp earlier. victory tastes especially sweet when it's against tsukishima, but bokuto is a close second contender.

it's quiet for a moment, a moment that stretches a little long and prompts kuroo to focus back on the call. he's puzzled by the strangeness he sees in bokuto's gaze, visible even through the video feed.

"bo?"

"... if you're gonna steal, put your whole back into it, kuroo. wear one of my hoodies too next time."

oh.

huh?

"uh... kuroo?" bokuto's voice trickles in again, "hey... your video just cut off?"

"oh. oh, yeah, i think my connection's not too good over here, haha—"

"wait a minute! are you... are you flustered? did i fluster you?"

"no! also why do you sound so pleased?"

kuroo pointedly ignores the way his ears burn, the same way he ignores toggling his video back on.

———————————————————————————

two days later, kuroo schedules another visit to the training camp, and gets promptly obliterated by tsukishima asking "why do you smell like bokuto-san all over?"

kuroo curses bokuto in his mind even as his face heats up, remembering the way he'd pulled on another pair of bokuto's slacks and one of bokuto's many hoodies. the memory of bokuto wrapping his strong arms around him and nosing at his neck, muttering things like "you smell good" and "you look good in my stuff" into his ear.

kuroo catches kenma's withering, judgmental stare and ends up almost disintegrating on the spot.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things 📍 Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

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, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

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@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[laukisimp]

I forgot to post about it here, but earlier this week Eph posted on her instagram story and said she is writing for PH again, and that she and Soph are planning for the new season! I AM SO HAPPY. Soph might not be able to draw yet and is still recovering, but Eph's announcement is such great news. There's finally a light at the end of this long tunnel guys

[copperbadge]

The Adventures Of Joe Superfly

I haven't been able to work on Chicken Salad War much recently -- it's less writer's block and more a confluence of issues that mean when I have the time I'm too tired for something novel-sized. It's temporary, but when I don't get to write I do start to get restless.

So the other night as I was doing dishes I circled around to a small issue that keeps nipping at me, which is Ephraim. He's got the most normal name of any of the Ramblers, which is uncharacteristic of Ceece and Tully. Well, I thought, maybe they let Eddie name him, but why would they let Eddie, the oldest, name the youngest, and not the THREE OTHERS inbetween? And why would Eddie pick Ephraim?

I decided to do up a little story about Eph, how he came by his name and what his life experiences have been. Much of it's a spoiler that needs a content warning but I figured I'd share a brief fun scene. Also it's good practice for writing Eph's somewhat elliptical style of speech; he is a man who gives no unnecessary context, and sometimes no necessary context. (All the context you all need to know is that Ephraim's parents wanted to name him Cherry Windward and instead Eddie named him Ephraim Prunus.)

Noah was on dishes duty with Joan, Ed's newly adopted eldest daughter, the evening that Ephraim found Ed on the porch of the royal fishing lodge. He sat next to him companionably, rocking on the porch swing and looking out at the lake.

"How many different names do you think you'll have in your life?" he asked without preamble. Ed laughed.

"I don't know. I think once you become a king the name locks in place," he said. "I've been Theophile and Ted and Ed and Eddie, and now back around to Theophile, at least in public. And then there's 'Dad' too. Why do you ask?"

Ephraim shrugged. "Monday was telling Jes about you naming me. Got to thinking about it."

"Well, you did return the favor eventually," Ed said. "Ed has suited me. Thinking of changing your name?"

"I was thinking of going by Prunus," Ephraim said, with such a deadpan expression that Ed hesitated, then burst out laughing when Eph smiled.

"Punk," he said, shoving Ephraim gently. "I only gave you that one to make mom and dad feel better about you having a normal-ass name. Man, you could see Dad's gears turning. We can always call him Pru."

Ephraim cackled. "Pru! Funny. I guess just…thanks."

"For what, big guy?" Ed asked.

"I didn't think I'd ever see Europe. Didn't think anyone outside Santa Luna would understand," Ephraim said. "But you went all over the world and found somewhere just like home. And I get to be here too. Which means maybe…I can be other places as well."

"There will always be a place for you, anywhere I am," Ed said seriously.

"Yes but also. They get it." Ephraim put on a lilting Shivadh accent. "That's Ephraim, he's King Theophile's brother, he doesn't say much but he's a good lad. No, you let Mr. Rambler alone, he's just shy. Hello young Ephraim, point out what you want to order when you're ready." He looked back out at the lake. "They're kind. I could thrive here."

"But not just yet, huh?" Ed asked. "Not with Noah leaving soon. He's going to Aotearoa and then coming to California, where you'll be."

"Yes."

"And after he graduates?" Ed asked delicately. "Maybe both of you back here?"

Ephraim turned to him. "I don't have a five year plan," he said witheringly, and this time Ed knew he was teasing.

"You son of a -- how dare you accuse me of asking you for a five year plan! Like I'm some kind of responsible adult? Roasted by my own blood!"

"You need it, Your Majesty," Ephraim said, then sobered. "I don't know yet. We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will."

"If you were going to name me again, what would you pick?"

Ed tousled his hair. "Buddy, you are now and forever Ephraim to me unless someday you tell me otherwise. I can't name you again. I don't think you need it, you're only just growing into that one. But if you did want a new name, I think you'd have to come up with it yourself -- or ask Noah."

Ephraim nodded thoughtfully. "I'm okay. Just curious."

"I think if you do you should move even more towards the extremes, though. From Cherry Windward to Ephraim Prunus to, I dunno, Joe Superfly."

"Joe Superfly!" Ephraim crowed. "Joe Superfly Rambler!"

"The twins should be glad we named them Edward and Miranda," Ed mused.

"Edward Superfly," Ephraim gasped.

"It's a great movie!"

"Miranda Shaft!" Ephraim blurted, and both brothers laughed until they cried.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

speaking of Charis actually, [3rd fic in the Overmorrow series that doesn’t have a name yet] has like an entire page, probably more, dedicated to Ephemer being disgustingly in love with her. And that’s just in his own thoughts, not even taking the rest of the fic (10k words or so, we’ll see) into account. I’m truly standing in the depths of my own gooberization now.…

so yeah that’s how that’s going ☺️