#paper ephem

[joana-de-artes]

Ephemer in his 20s i think

Even though he probably lived a full and happy life, I don't think anyone can ever really recover from losing everything at such a young age

[8harvest-gold8]

“Merry had a little lamb~♫!”

[estelle-ephem]

ZOOLOGY— crayfish dissection for a zoology lab- very cool

They almost remind me of tiny little robots with how armor like they are built

And then we got the pad insects out from hydration and pinned— ready for a shadow box when I find one!!

[corishadowfang]

Ephemer Week Day 2

Prompt: Curiosity | Adventure | Something you wish had happened, or something you wish had been shown in canon, or an AU you like

My favorite AU is the one where all the Union Leaders get to stay together after the fall of Daybreak Town and get to just be happy. ...Eventually.

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

            “You look busy, Leader.”

            The stack of papers wobbled, and Ephemer had to shuffle around a bit to try and keep them from falling.  A glance around them showed Brain, arms folded, a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.

            Ephemer gave him a wobbly sort of smile.  “Someone’s gotta do it, right?  The town’s not going to run itself.”

            Brain’s eyebrow raised, which Ephemer could admit was…probably fair.  The “town,” so to speak, was still just a couple of restored houses and the few people who had been taken in enough by their stories to move into the…slightly-less-soggy ruins with the gaggle of kids who called them home.  It was a far cry from what Daybreak Town had been, once, even years after its fall.

            Ephemer stumbled back a little as Brain approached, swiping a paper from the top of his pile.  He scrutinized it, if possible, gave him an even less impressed look.  “Ephemer.”

            “…Yeah?”

            “This is just a letter from a kid.”

            “They wanted to send one home!”

            “Are they all letters?”

            “…Some?”

            Brain grumbled something he couldn’t decipher, then promptly took half the pile.  “Come on.  We’re recruiting Skuld and Ven to help us with this.”

            “‘We’?”

            Brain shot him a look and didn’t bother answering.

            Ephemer’s grin turned a little more genuine.  “No Lauriam?”

            “Last I knew, he was already thinking about using a Sleep spell on all of us and trying to lock us in our rooms.  Trust me, it’s better.”

            Ephemer laughed, but trotted after him.  His eyes caught on the window as he did, and he slowed for a moment, pausing to breathe in the fresh morning breeze.

            The sea lapped right up against the edges of some of the buildings, now.  He couldn’t see the remains of buildings sticking up from the waves anymore—all of them had taken care to try and clear them away, for their own sake—and it meant he could see far, far across the waves, to the distant land beyond.  The sun was bright, and it spread across what was still there—the houses they’d been reconstructing, the docks they’d been working to put into place, the monument they’d built, near the edge of the water.  They had a long way to go before it was really done—but one day, maybe.

            “Hey!”

            Ephemer turned, drawn from his reverie by Brain’s shout.

            His friend lifted a paper.  “Didn’t you want to get this done?”

            “Right, coming!”  His thoughts could wait for another time.  For now, there was always more to do.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 37

Dogs

        Ford opened his eyes.

     He was sitting at a desk, arms crossed over his chest as though he’d nodded off there. He sat above an open notebook. The words on the page swam, rearranging themselves, curling in on each other like living things. He blinked. They slithered back into place, but not quite. He looked up. The desk was in front of a window, the afternoon light cutting through the glass in thick, golden ribbons. Outside, the landscape was familiar, startlingly so—he knew that line of trees, the curve of the path that led down toward the library, the pale stucco buildings beyond.

     He turned his head, slowly. The movement made the air ripple, as if the whole room were underwater. It was his old dorm—unmistakable. The same twin beds, the same sagging bookshelves, the same cheap desk lamp that cast its weak yellow light over the same clutter. It even smelled the same—dust, old paper, the faint bitterness of long-dried coffee stains. But the walls shuddered imperceptibly, their edges indistinct, as though they were breathing. The hum of the fluorescent light in the ceiling wavered unpredictably, rising and falling in pitch like a distant siren. The wallpaper—had there been wallpaper?—twitched in his periphery, its faded pattern writhing as if trying to peel itself free.

     He lifted his hand. The motion left a tracery of afterimages, like he had more fingers than he should—and he already had plenty to begin with. He turned his palm over, watching the skin ripple, the veins beneath it flex and contract as if something was moving under the surface. He exhaled, blinking harder, colors behind his lids exploded into fractals each time he did so.

        “Man,” he muttered. “I’m bombed.”

     From the corner of the room, a voice, lazy and amused: “You’re tellin’ me.”

        Ford turned.

     Bill was sprawled across his bed—or, his old bed—lounging casually over the rumpled sheets, looking as if he had always belonged there. He was dressed loosely—an old band tee, haphazardly cropped, along with a green pair of shorts that were far too big for him—Ford recognized them, they were his. At least they were about ten years ago. 

     Bill had an almost feline contentment in the way he stretched out over the twin sized mattress. He grinned at Ford, bright and sharp, like he knew something Ford didn’t. Like he was waiting for Ford to figure it out.

        “Hiya, Fordsy,” he said.

     Ford rubbed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into his sockets with a quiet, almost desperate force. His vision bloomed in waves of color—violets bled into reds, electric greens spiraling through the darkness, swirling and merging together. But when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. The room still wavered at the edges, its walls trembling, jittering with some hidden life beneath the surface. And Bill—

        Bill was still there, laying on that bed. wearing those old clothes.

     “Oh, man,” Ford muttered, his voice distant. He dropped his hands, letting them hang limply at his sides, fingers twitching with a strange, uncoordinated energy. He let out a shaky, breathless laugh, tipping his head back, staring up at the ceiling. It pulsed above him, a slow, rhythmic throb.

        “I’m really, really bombed—”

     Bill snorted, leaning back, propped on his elbows, his gaze flicking around the room. His eye darted from object to object, lips parting slightly as he took it all in.

     “This is wild,” he said, almost to himself. His head tilted, transfixed by the way the bookshelf seemed to bend, the way the lamp cast shadows that didn’t quite align with its light. He reached a hand out toward the air between them, as if testing the density of it. “Everything is so…wiggly.”

     For a moment, Ford allowed the ceiling’s ebb and flow to hold his attention, transfixed on a surreal dance of color and shadow swelling along the patterns of texture stamped into the paint. Yet amid that ephemeral trance, a familiar presence beckoned—an anchor to reality. The worn edges of the notebook on his desk, a silent reminder of the work he’d left unfinished, tugged him back.

     Ford’s hands closed around the edges of the notebook like he just remembered it sitting there. The pages curled slightly under his grip, the ink shimmering, shifting, the words moving as if caught mid-thought. He watched them rearrange themselves, letters and numbers bleeding into new configurations—he recognized them now, the equations, the same he’d been working on just before knocking out. His pulse kicked up. The excitement hit him like a surge of static, buzzing through his fingertips.

     He stood from his desk, turning toward Bill and thrusting the notebook between them.

     “This—wow, this—what a revelation,” Ford said, his voice thin with excitement. “Majorana particles—you are a genius, Bill. And here—” He jabbed a finger at a line of scribbled lines of text. “Recursive logic loops that rebuild themselves—God, it’s—it’s brilliant. Brilliant!”

        Bill hummed. “Glad to be of service.”

     Ford was already flipping through the pages, his thoughts unraveling in a rush of connections, each one more thrilling than the last. Words tumbled out shortly behind, gushing and theorizing. He could see it all—the whole shape of the problem, the elegant symmetry of its solution, the way the universe folded in on itself like a perfect, seamless equation—

        And then—

     Something tugged at him, sharp and insistent. A presence, a weight in the air, an absence where more should have been.

        He faltered.

     His gaze lifted, his trembling hands stilling on the notebook’s pages.

        Bill wasn’t looking at the notebook.

     He wasn’t looking at the shifting, writhing walls or the equations on the page.

        He was looking at Ford.

     Staring at him, his expression balanced between amusement and something quieter, something heavier, something that made Ford’s skin prickle a bit. His golden eye was fixed on Ford’s face, unblinking, unwavering—like Bill was trying to capture something, commit it to memory before it was gone.

        Ford swallowed. His mouth was dry. “What?”

     Bill reached out, took the notebook from Ford’s hands, and—without so much as a glance at its contents—tossed it onto the floor.

     Ford barely had time to process the loss of it before Bill’s fingers curled into the waistband of his pants, hooking in, tugging forward.

     The pull was effortless. Ford barely had time to steady himself before Bill reeled him in, bringing him down onto the mattress beside him.

    Bill shifted, rolling onto his side with the sort of ease that made it seem like he had all the time in the world. His hand drifted up again, fingers threading through Ford’s hair, combing through the tangled strands in long, deliberate strokes. There was something grounding about the motion, something steady in the way his fingers moved—methodical, warm. It smoothed over the static hum in Ford’s skull, dulled the sharp edges of the world around them, settled the air between them just enough to make Ford stay still.

     Bill’s gaze never wavered. That same quiet intensity, something unreadable lurking beneath it, something patient and considerate. His hand traced lower, curling at the nape of Ford’s neck, winding a loose strand of hair around his finger.

     Ford’s breath caught, his pulse skipping, his body betraying him before he could think too much about why.

     “What are you looking at?” The words tumbled out, a half-attempt at humor.

     Bill’s lips twitched at the corners. His thumb brushed absently against the back of Ford’s neck.

        “Your eyes.”

           Ford blinked.

     Bill sat up a little, reaching toward him, fingers grazing the frames of his glasses before carefully sliding them off. He held them for a moment, as if weighing something, as if seeing Ford properly for the first time. “Such a warm shade of blue…”

     Ford felt the heat rise before he could stop it, creeping up his neck, pooling at the tips of his ears. It was ridiculous—he was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. He let out a short, breathless snicker, somewhere between flustered and exasperated, caught between the sheer absurdity of the moment and the unmistakable weight of it. The way he looked at Ford, the way the light fractured and bent around them like a prism, the way the room seemed to shudder with each breath, that it was this room at all—it was too much.

        And yet, neither of them looked away.

     They just sat there, staring at each other, grinning like idiots, then began laughing—light, breathless, genuine. Neither of them knew why. There was no joke, no real reason—none of it was funny—but everything felt like it was.

     “Are we gonna die?” Bill finally asked, giggling between the words.

     Ford’s snort broke into something close to a wheeze. He glanced around the room. Every time he focused on one spot too long, it twisted, curling at the edges like burnt paper.

     “I have no idea…” Ford admitted. “I don’t think so.” He swallowed, rubbing his hands over his face. “But, whatever this stuff is, it’s fucking strong.”

     Bill hummed in agreement, still grinning. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, and tilted his head closer to Ford’s, like he was about to share some great revelation.

     “I think I’d be okay with it if we did,” he said, light, easy. His smile widened as he looked straight at Ford. “This would be one hell of a last view.”

     Ford felt the flush creep back up his neck. He scoffed, shaking his head. “What’s gotten into you?”

     Bill laughed, bright and careless. “Very potent neurotoxin.”

     Ford let out another chuckle, finally glancing down at his hands, watching the way his fingers seemed to stretch and bend at odd angles. “Right—”

     Ford’s gaze drifted, catching on the hem of Bill’s shirt—the unmistakable frayed edge of an at-home cut job. He pinched it between two fingers, tugging lightly, feeling the roughness of the fabric between his fingertips.

        “You cut it?”

     Bill glanced down, then shrugged, as if the thought barely warranted acknowledgment. “I thought it looked better this way.”

     Ford hummed, letting go, but something else was already pulling at his focus—a sound, a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch in the record playing softly in the background. A distortion, a defect, buried beneath the steady hum of the music.

     The moment he tuned in, he recognized it—Pink Floyd’s Animals. Of course. The quintessential band to trip to.

     But this wasn’t just any copy. The warble at the end of each rotation, the slight, familiar stutter in the track—it was distinct, specific.

     It was his record, the one Fiddleford had accidentally dropped years ago. The one that had never played quite right since. They’d listened to it thousands of times, the flaw etched into his memory as clearly as the music itself. It wasn’t something you could fake.

     His eyes flicked back up to Bill, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Have you been listening to my records?”

     Bill stretched out further, all lazy indifference, then lifted his hands. “What can I say? I’m curious.”

     Ford twirled a finger in the air, gesturing loosely at the room around them. “And this? Why my college dorm?”

     Bill just leaned back further, sinking deeper into the pillow propped against the wall. “It seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

      Ford scoffed, “What are you playing at, Cipher?”

     Bill’s expression didn’t shift, but there was something distinctly smug about the way he regarded him, head tilted just slightly, “What?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Maybe I’m just…interested in better acquainting myself with human experiences,”

     His gaze flickered over Ford, sharp and assessing, like he was peeling back layers. “You seem nervous. Surely I’m not the first special friend you’ve had here.”

     Ford let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down at the sheets, fingers idly worrying at the fabric. “I never brought anyone over.”

     Bill sucked in a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to his chest like he’d just heard something truly scandalous before bubbling into laughter. “Didn’t have much luck takin’r home back then, aye, professor?”

     Ford rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I had plenty of opportunities—I just…never really wanted to, I guess.”

     Bill’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eye sharpening into something quieter, more curious. He lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

     Ford exhaled, shaking his head like he was trying to untangle the right words. “Not a lot of people struck me as worth the trouble, that’s all.” A pause. “Plus, I was taking 8 classes per semester—I didn’t have time for it anyway.”

     Bill hummed, tilting his head like he wasn’t quite sure whether to be impressed or disappointed. “Tragic,” he mused, reaching out to toy with the cuff of Ford’s sleeve. “All that big, juicy potential—and you wasted it on studying.”

     Ford’s eyes followed the gentle choreography of Bill’s fingers before replying, “All that studying helped me get your attention,” the words laden with pride, yet undeniably vulnerable.

        Bill’s fingers stilled.

     Ford let the words settle, allowing himself a slight, wry smile. “Well worth it, I’d say.”

     Bill met Ford’s gaze as the world came apart around them. The sheets beneath him stretched and melted, shifting like liquid, rippling in ways that defied logic. The walls swayed with a slow, unnatural rhythm, folding in on themselves only to unfurl again, like something alive. And yet—

     Bill remained still, unwavering, a steady anchor amidst it all. A glow clung to his skin—something soft, diffuse, like the last spill of sun before dusk, blurring the edges of him—he looked like a fucking angel.

     Ford couldn’t hold Bill’s stare any longer. He broke first, tipping his head back, pressing a hand over his face as if that could hide him, as if that could shield him from the weight of it all. A laugh slipped out.

        “What?” Bill asked.

     Ford peeked out from between his fingers, the motion slow, uncertain. His lips quirked up at the corner, lopsided and sheepish.

     “Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You’re just…I don’t know.”

     Before Ford could retreat further into himself, Bill’s hand reached out and gently seized his wrist, reclaiming that stray fragment that Ford had been trying to hide. Another breathy laugh escaped Ford—a sound that danced between amusement and wistful resignation. “You got that look on your face,” he said.

     Bill’s lips twitched in a teasing, uncertain reply. “What look?”

     Ford tilted his head, his own smile deepening, half-lidded eyes heavy with something knowing, something devoted. “Like you’ve got this joke,” he said, “and you’re keeping it all to yourself.”

     And before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it, he was reaching forward, fingers brushing against the warmth of Bill’s skin. His thumb traced the dip of his cheek, slow and thoughtful, following the curve.

     Ford hummed, his touch feather-light. “It’s these dimples,” he mused, voice just above a whisper. His thumb pressed a little firmer, coaxing the shape from beneath Bill’s skin, waiting for the exact moment his grin threatened to deepen. “They always give you away.”

     For a long moment, Bill simply looked at him—no words, no gestures, just a silent, searching gaze. The room swayed, caught in a slow undulation. The floor stretched further away before reeling back in, the walls inhaling and exhaling with every breath. The entire world had been set adrift, melting at the seams—yet Bill remained the one constant—a fixed point in Ford’s uncertain universe. The only thing he could touch without feeling it slip through his fingers.

     Ford felt the grin before he saw it—the way it shifted under his fingertip, the way the shape of Bill’s face changed as it took over, spreading, curling, sharpening.

        “I like the way you look at me,” Bill said.

     He leaned into the touch, pressing gently against Ford’s palm, the motion intimate in its simplicity. His gaze flicked over Ford’s face, watching the minute changes in his expression, like he was reading every fleeting thought, every tremor of emotion. 

        “I like to look at you,” Ford replied simply.

     Bill shifted, his body moving closer to Ford’s, just slightly. His voice came lower, almost daring. “What else do you like?”

     Ford laughed, shaking his head, something incredulous but amused in the sound. “Oh, come on, Bill, you already—”

     “I want to hear it,” Bill interrupted, his voice softer now, but insistent.

     For a moment, Ford hesitated, his smile flickering at the edges, something bashful creeping in again despite the haze of warmth. But then, after a beat, he gave in, his voice softer this time.

        “The way you smell.”

     Bill raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “The way I smell?”

        “Yeah…”

     A deep sound, a mix of delight and intrigue, rumbled in Bill’s throat. “And how do I smell?” he pressed, his tone invitingly earnest.

     Ford paused, lost in the quiet intensity of the moment. Then, he slowly leaned forward, shifting until his nose lightly brushed the side of Bill’s face, near the curve of his ear. It wasn’t a fragrance that could be named—nothing sharp or confined to a label. It was just him—the scent that had embedded itself in Ford’s mind, coloring the spaces between encounters like this one. 

     Ford breathed him in again, slower this time, absorbing every nuance. The scent was quiet yet electric. Soft and calming, but there was still this sharpness to it, something spicy and unexpected.

     “Like heat lightning,” Ford said, thoughtful, lingering. He let his nose follow the curve of Bill’s jaw—feeling the subtle hitch in Bill’s breath and the way the world seemed to pause with it.

     “Province, toward the end of summer,” Ford continued, his voice low. “And pepper.”

     Ford lingered there, his breath skimming over the curve where Bill’s neck met his shoulder, his eyes tracing the plane of skin—the secret that belonged only to them.

     He couldn’t help himself. The scent, the warmth, the way Bill fit so easily beneath his touch—it all pulled him in, irresistible. His lips ghosted over Bill’s skin, pressing soft, aimless kisses along the curve of his throat, savoring the taste, the quiet give of flesh beneath his mouth.

     Bill hummed, tilting his head back just enough to bare his throat—an offering, an invitation. Then, his voice softened, taking on a more meditative lilt. “You think I would’ve been an exception?” he asked.

     Ford stilled, his breath still warm against Bill’s skin.

     “If we’d met back then,” Bill continued, unhurried, letting the words settle, “would you have found me worth the trouble?”

     Ford chuckled, the sound warm, indulgent, his lips skimming over the pulse thrumming beneath Bill’s skin. “This hypothetical is contingent on so many variables—”

     “Answer the question,” Bill drawled, playful, insistent.

     Ford grinned against him, unable to help it. He let the bridge of his nose trail along the hollow beneath Bill’s jaw, breathing him in again—like he was afraid of ever forgetting it.

     “I think,” he murmured, “you would have made yourself the exception.” 

     At that, Ford’s lips connected to Bill’s skin again in a gentle kiss—a soft press that elicited a quiet, breathy response from Bill. “You do something to me that…I don’t understand.” Ford continued. “Something I didn’t know was even possible, so—yes, if the stars had aligned that way, and I’d known you there—then…I don’t think I would’ve been able to help myself.”

     Bill let out a low, pleased hum, his fingers winding lazily through Ford’s hair as if drawing comfort from their closeness. Ford could feel it—this moment, adrift in the dream’s strange, weightless haze, as though it might stretch on forever if they let it.

        And yet—

           A new question lingered.

     A few beats passed. Then, Ford shifted, just enough to lift his head, his gaze dropping to his own hand as it traced absentmindedly over the bare skin of Bill’s abdomen in slow, idle patterns.

        “Bill?” 

           “Hm?”

     Ford hesitated. His lips parted, then pressed together again. He chewed the inside of his cheek, as if working through the shape of the words before finally letting them spill out.

     “If we achieve what we’ve set out to do…” He ventured, his touch stilling against Bill’s skin. “If we bridge the gap—bring you into my world…”

        Something caught in his throat. He swallowed.

           “Will it still… be like this?”

     Bill looked up at him, a million things flickering behind his eyes—thoughts Ford would never be able to fully grasp, not even if he spent a lifetime trying. There was something knowing in his expression, something amused, something unbearably fond, something—

     But Ford never got the chance to parse it.

        Because Bill didn’t answer—just closed the space between them.

     The kiss landed firmly—intensely, irrevocably. But it wasn’t hurried—it wasn’t the kind of thing that burned fast and left nothing behind. No, it was something else entirely. Intentional. Certain. Like Bill had decided something, forged it in silence—sealing it between them.

     Ford exhaled sharply, the breath stolen from him as Bill’s grip tightened, pulling him down into the mattress.

     The record on the turntable crackled, the warbled rotation looping over itself, but Ford barely heard it now. Everything had narrowed to this—way Bills fingers pulled through his hair, the way their bodies fit together without hesitation, how uncertainty dissolved between shared breath. 

     He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, suspended in the dream’s strange, weightless haze—lips moving, tongues dragging, hands searching—parting only to find each other again,

and again,

again.   

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[twilighttowntormentnexus]

Ephemer + 13 :)

im so fuckin sorry dude, suddenly my art abilities have disappeared, so. i have the basic sketch

the song is the house is alive and the house is hungry by the paper chase btw. please know i feel immense shame and guilt for being unable to do your boy justice 🙏 one day i will make up for my sins

[lazy-cat13]

day 7: Future (finale)

There will be a few time skips, journal entries, and a few more things that you'll see!

Ash also knows the union leaders a bit more.

And this is also in first person POV (unfinished accidentally posted? Idk)

Black= Ash

Red= Brain

Green=Ventus

Blue= Ephemer

Orange= Chir

Pink= Lauriam

Purple= Skuld

~After the Keyblade war, about a month before Daybreak Towns destruction~

Things have been strange lately, I keep hearing static noises and it gives me a headache, I keep having nightmares about something that seems in the past but I don't remember. . . I sometimes see glitches in the sky, but I think that's from my lack of sleep lately. Maybe I'll talk about it to Brain at some point.

I walk into fountain square to see two familiar faces .

A young boy with blonde hair, he's around 10 it seems like, his name is Ven.

And someone a few years older, around me and Brains age, he has fluffy hair that looks like a dandelion. And his name is Ephemer.

"Ash! Nice to see you!" Ephemer waves, sitting on the fountain.

"Ash!" The young blonde runs up to me in excitement.

"Hi Eph! Heya Ven!" I ruffle Vens hair while he pouts in embarrassment. "Have either of you seen Brain?"

"He's reading right now in the meeting room. He's been reading that for a few weeks now, it's almost impossible to get him away! We have to convince him by giving him food!"

"Sounds like Brain to me."

He chuckles "Why? You wanna talk to him?"

"yeah, but he's busy right now, so when you see him next would you mind giving him this? Please don't read it." I walk up to Ephemer handing him a small paper with Ven following me.

"Sure! I'll get it to him as soon as possible!" He tucks the note away.

"Thanks."

"What does it say?"

"dude. What did I just say?"

"But I wanna know!"

"No, I'm not telling you."

"why not?" Great he's starting to pout more now.

"Cause it's private! Brains eyes only!" I put my hand on my hips.

"awwww , does somebody have a crush?" Ephemer chimed in

"What? No. What makes you think that?" I glare at Eph

"nuthin. Well, the way you're acting I guess." He shrugs

"I- dude! We're just friends!"

"alright, calm down! I was just joking! I'll be sure to get it to him."

"Thanks."

"Well, we'll be on our way, see ya! C'mon Ven!" He starts walking away

"Coming! See ya Ash!" The blonde catches up to Ephemer, waving goodbye

I start walking back to my apartment, putting on my headphones and music. Walking through the town sun setting, other keyblade weilders running by, laughing, enjoying life. things I wish I can do, constant stress isn't helping, well, there are a few times that I let loose, like earlier with Eph and Ven. And times with Brain.

I make it to my apartment and unlock the door.

"Chir! I'm home!"

Chiri appears and brings me into a hug.

"Ash! Hoi! What's for dinner?!"

"well I didn't really think about that. . . Ramen sound good?"

"Yeah!!"

I start to get a pot of water boiling and a sharp static sound strikes my ears and I instantly grab around my ears losing my balance a bit.

"woah! Are you okay?!"

"Yeah! I'm fine chir! don't worry about it!"

"Uhhh huhh. . ."

I finish making the ramen and they set two bowls on the table.

"Eennjoy!"

"thank you!!"

"no problem!"

I hand Chir a spoon, and we both cheers, but a knock interrupts us.

"op- one moment! 'Scuse me Chir."

I run to answer the door and it's Brain.

"Oh, hi."

"hi. . . You wanted to talk to me?"

"yeah, wanna come in? We got some ramen I just made." I point inside

"Why not."

"cool, come on in, sit at the table while I get you a bowl."

They walk in guiding Brain.

"Feel free to hang your hat."

"damn, I don't think I've been here before, it's nice."

"Thanks, sorry for the mess. . ."

"don't worry about it. . ..hey chiri" he takes a seat

"Hiya Brain!"

"here. Enjoy" I put a bowl in front of him

"thanks"

"Don't mention it." I sit down too taking a bite of my food

"are. . . You alright, you seem more tired. . ."

"uh? Yeah, I'm fine!" I wave my hand

"why do you always do this?"

"do what?"

"whenever I notice something is wrong, you brush it off. Why do you wanna keep things from me?!"

"cause I think you're already stressed enough!!"

"that doesn't mean you just can't tell me! You're also a main priority! You're my best friend! Please, just. . . Tell me. . ."

". . ." I'm at a loss of words, I know what to say, but I can't say it.

"I've. . .been having strange thoughts and occurrences lately, static noises keep giving me a headache and I swear I keep seeing these glitches! And I've been having a dream that's constant, a war between unions."

Now Brains at a loss for words

"and it's been months since I've last saw you! I get it because of the leader stuff you have to do! But still take a break!"

"*sigh* you're right. . . I'll take the day off some point. . . Sorry."

I just nod, unsure what to talk about now we finish our food.

"when was the last time you got some sleep?"

"I could say the same to you."

"hm, seriously though, you have bags under your eyes, and it sounds like you've been struggling sleeping due to those nightmares."

"and why do you have bags under your eyes? Reading too much?" I put my hands on my hips

"you know it."

". . .do you have anything going on tonight?"

"Don't think so, why?"

"well, since we have the chance. . . Maybe we could do a sleepover? been a while since we've done that."

"we're going to actually sleep this time, right?"

"yeah, I've got spare pajamas you can use since we're about the same size."

"sure, appreciate it."

"yup, be right back!"

~We both get changed quickly.~

I gather a lot of fluffy blankets, gotta be comfy

"why. . . Do you have like 20 blankets?"

"3 reasons, one, I get cold easily, two, it's comfortable, three, enough for the two of us."

"alright then."

" I wanted to ask, was there another reason you wanted to talk?"

"hm. Oh, right, one moment." I finish setting up the blankets and pillows.

"so. . . This may be kinda awkward but. . . This is kinda difficult to put into words. . . I want to be in a more Queer Platonic Relationship, be there for each other more often than usual, something like a romantic relationship, but without the romance!"

"I'm keen to that! We could be there for each other more often, well, we can try. . . And you gotta be more open alright?"

"fine, I'll try my best."

"just know we'll be here for you if you have another nightmare."

"Alright. . ."

Little did we know whats to come next. . .

~1 month later~

Log entry-

Everything has gone to hell it seems like, the town is being destroyed, I'm not sure why, but I'm off to help Brain and the others, turns out that Ven wasn't supposed to be a union leader, it was Strelitzia, the girl I remember writing about, lost that journal though.

Something tells me. . . That this will be the last time I write in hear, not sure why, gut feeling I guess. Let's hope it's not though..

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

"Brain! What's happening?!" I barge into a large room to my horror, Lauriam and Ven are knocked out on the ground, while Eph, Skuld and Brain are fighting darkness, struggling.

"crap!" I run in summoning my Keyblade "Fira!"

Everyone moves aside while I run and jump for an attack.

"raaaahhhh!!!"

"woaholy crap!"

"ack!"

"Ahhh! Where did-?!"

I jump back catching myself, "got room for one more?"

"Ash!"

"sup! Stay sharp!" Everyone nods

We keep fighting for 10, 15, 20 minutes until Skuld is knocked down.

"Skuld- gah!" I was next, left on the floor lightheaded. For the next two minutes it was just Brain and Ephemer.

"nnng" brain falls down while ephemer is completely exhausted. oh this isn't good. . . I get up, legs shaking, summoning my Keyblade again and throw it at the darkness, failing to catch it when it comes back, and I collapse from exhaustion, still being able to hear what's going on .

-its over.-

"yeah. . ." He breathes in shakingly "but I can't take you down alone, I'm not even sure we can wear you down."

"fair point ."

-shall we call it done then?-

"oh? So you surrender?"

Brain chuckles "you claimed you aren't after anything, but I'm not buying it."

-what?-

"you seem pretty desperate to get in our way like this, I don't know whether its pride or fear, but there's a reason you're still here."

-....... Infection -

"infection?" I push myself off the ground.

"meaning?"

-data transfer requires a signal -

If teleports in front of Ephemer

-the same goes for the hearts and minds of you humans-

Eph tries attacking but it goes away

- you underestimate how easily the darkness rides on those signals. . . And spreads though this place-

"is that why you wormed your way into the data world?"

Data world...?

"but why hide inside of Ven?"

Could that be why vens unconscious?

-i told you, cause it was decided.-

"that's enough." Skuld gets back up again

"Skuld! You're alright!"

"jeez, is all you ever do rant?"

"welcome back Ash!"

"you're saying because it was written in the book of prophecies, it was meant to be? Well I don't care! You hijacked Ven and attacked lariams sister!" She summons her keyblade "and now you're gonna pay for it!"

"that's right!" Now brain summons his Keyblade

"man, I'm just hearing this now? I would've gone way harder on ya!"I summon my Keyblade again.

-we are many and we are one, but to be one requires will,- it teleports behind Ven and Lauriam -through him we can divide darkness and light. . . Willful and distincted, it was a sacrifice needed to be made-

"so, Ven didn't attack Strelitzia, you did. . ."

"lariam!"

"Laur!"

Then, I hear an ear ringing that blocks everything out , I can't focus and the next thing I know we're in combat again, but with someone I've never met before . . . But now, my side is in the most pain. . . And. . . I'm using brain for support, Ven is glowing and I don't know what's going on, then I think I blacked out. . .

I woke up on a bed that isn't mine, unsure of what happened after Lauriam was awake again. I sat up to just see brain and a dark room

"nng... What happened ?"

"you were hit pretty badly. . ."

"what about Ven and the others?"

"Eph and Skuld are talking to ___(whatever you're Ux character name is) vens unconscious, and Lauriam is talking to his friend. We're gonna head to the arcs, you should come."

"...''

" do you need help walking?"

"yes please"

We both walk to where the arcs are. And everyone discusses what they're doing

"I'll stay behind. . . I'll help Eph and Skuld. . ."

"what? No! You're injured!"

"I'll be fine brain, you, Ven, Lauriam and Elrena are already taking enough."

He pulls me into a hug

"see you soon?"

"see you soon. . ."

Everything went hazy again , but I remember hearing Eph and Skuld cry, and a talk about the darkness. . .

"Ash! Ash!"

Chiri?

"Ash!" Chiri brings me into a hug, crying.

What happened?

"you perished, struck by the darkness. . ."

Oh, is it just you and me?

"well for now. . ."

Ah, ok. . . Man I'm tired. And I drift off. . .

-------------epilogue---------------

I woke up at a beach of scala as caelum, unsure on what was happening, there's this boy, his name is brain, he seems to taken an interest in me. . . I don't know why. He seems familiar, I'm not sure why, whenever i would hang out by Ephemers fountain, he would bring croissants, I'm not sure why, but it's a nice gesture. He's the only person I've really talked to here. . .

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

Hello there! Just popping in to say how much you and your KH art and fanfics are an inspiration to me!

The care and passion you put in your stories is, again, incredibly inspiring, and I can feel the love overflowing from them. Your art and fanfics never fails to impress me. The attention to detail, the characterization of every character, original or not, they come alive with every bit you put to paper!

Seeing your work pushes me to keep working on my own KH OCs and stories because I also want to pouring my ideas out and shape them into something beautiful and that I can be proud of!

I really hope this incredible spark of creativity and obviously profound love you feel for the KH universe and Ephemer never fades, and I hope you'll continue to share these amazing stories with us!

AAAAAAAA THIS IS SO SWEET? 😭💕💕💕 Thank you for this! It’s so crazy for me to hear that my work inspires others bc on my side I’m kinda just…here playing with toys in my sandbox. It’s nice to know that you like what I’ve made!!

Definitely definitely do stuff with your kh ocs!!! It’s so much fun. Do it for yourself first and foremost and love them with your heart and soul 💖

Anyway thanks again! So long as I’ve got passion, I’ll keep on creating!

[semi-imaginary-place]

khux nonsense 2

665: ava's right why bother starting new unions. for that matter why have a war wipe out daybeak town and the unions, have only a small group of survivors where only the 5 new unions heads have knowledge of events. i remember when this dropped, fandom lost their heads over ven being one of the 5. I really do need a book club but a have have is this tumblr to keep track of questions. Which dandelion union leader gets the book of prophecies copy.

675: just had the realization that khux is just a game of pvp enabled amongus. What the hell does that mean. Scenes are all at different points in time and cutting out into one another and i cant tell what is the chronological order or what are dreams. Love kh and is ay that both earnestly and sarcastically. There's the new union leader talking, pc breaks up a union fight that leopard? Bear? encourages (lux isnt power, victory is power, something the union on top) which is actually a dream??, There's pc helping at the warehouse fighting heartless business as usual, there's ephemer talking with ava about the future (flashback?), and then the scenes of pc laying in the keyblade graveyard and then skuld and ephemer talk to them. Well the "war" has begun and the main take away is that it happened because the mom made everyone distrust everyone else.

By modern standard malificent is exactly the sort of character a certain subset of the internet would go bonkers for. Crying screaming throwing up over the dommy mommy goth milf. Kinda like that one woman... Uh the tv show tumblr is obsessed over... Morticia adams yeah except maleficent is like the drag queen version

725: there's strelitzia. I'm surprised the concept of years even exist this whole game feels pretty fairytale-esque and timeless between the paper doll aesthetic and this supposedly being the ancient past but mickey is there and its also all a dream. 2 years have passed since the player character met ephemer. wait is strelitzia saying they saw the player character around before the day they waited for ephemer, what day is she referring to?

730. She's dead?? (Or well as dead as anyone gets in kh). ok so strelitzia got murked and she book of prophecy stolen. Ah so this is why ppl were losing it over lauriam. He's structurally implied here to have murdered strelitzia and replaced her as new union leader although technically it could be ventus or brain we didn't see them get recruited.

I feel like i need a book club to get through this game like just to discuss what literally happened surface level plot.

[mealvaan]

Fuse

“The Heavens bless us, and so we keep their hearth as it were. We don’t dare disturb the holy balance: as above, so below.”

For cycles, Vahri’a had endeavoured to keep his grimoire a sanctum.

On the tail end of his picatrix, there hides a secret commonplace book. Sketches that would be filed away in throwaway journals he’d purchase by the bulk have been smuggled in through the temple’s backdoor. Still never held to even dim light, nor shown to the curious, but they are equal to the immaculate spreads he had sheltered from their spidery scrawl years ago. These refractions of his innermost self, the reflections of his eyes onto paper — they are as good as God. 

This stamps the signature of his soul to the page. Within each margin note of a brilliant thought, each arrow drawn with conviction between two ideas, from bow unto paper, he devotes a little bit of himself. He feels closer to his arcane focus now more than ever before, and all it took was to treat it like the back of a napkin.

Look hither and take heed, says his grimoire. The taste of this teaching would pair nicely with your charcuterie on ephemancy, no?

Truthfully, the book had become equal parts himself and the clan he’d stepped one foot into. These sketches and soliloquies are his attempts to understand his family better, in the way he’s best learned how. Who knew such a vital pillar to his life could be learned at twenty-six! Nothing goes without being captured and dissected, each thought subjected to entomology. Following his grimoire’s call, he navigates the thumb index to a tab left blank, but he knows it from memory to be the beginning of his notes on ephemancy. 

Ephemancy, they called it. Never had he dreamt arcanima could be wielded so religiously, both parts of the phrase “ritual worship”. The arcanima of Limsa Lominsa is a relatively new art compared to its fellow schools, and juxtaposed to its rigid structure comes the informality of being the youngest. Despite its roots in Allag and Nym, no one treats it as an ancient, sacred art — it is a precise science to be practised in the here and now, and from its predecessors it can borrow, but never revere. Limsan arcanima is a tool, not a rite.

Limsan arcanima never borrowed from the Heavens, however. Ephemancy is a blend of two arts — the precise methodology of turning one’s aether into something entirely of the imagination, with the vulnerable act of appeasing the ambient, celestial aether to borrow its lifeblood. Ephemancy is both a mundane implement of use in the sun-to-sun and a sacred ritual guarded by its keepers. Ephemancy is an alchemy of two opposing ideologies. This is far from incidental — this is the magic’s true purpose. The clan is built around these parallel towers. The sun shines right through their windows, twice a day. 

How Vahri’a longs to carve the sigils into his skin. Ironic that he once challenged Savarah’s belief in the resurrection of the arcane tattoo, and now he yearns to adorn himself with one. And not for the matriarch’s convictions, or even that which lay close — for the mere curiosity of it! Damn him to the Hells for the blasphemies he entertains, but who would want for further reason than to feel the Mother Moon’s presence glowing upon them, every single day—?

“You write too much,” remarks the venator, and he glances up from his archive. He hadn’t even procured his quill. No, her eyes bore into ink long dry. 

“Do you think so?”

“I wonder if you’ve ever lived.”

She draws her hunting knife from her constellation rune. She wields it like it’s an old friend, in that it wouldn’t care what she did.

“Let’s move, wanderer.”

[masterfuldoodler]

He's doing a jig

[calicocollage]

New printable collage sheets, this time in a world travels themes. - https://www.etsy.com/calicocollage/listing/841641107

[psianabel-writes]

Player2 (& Ephemer) - a little secret

(Consider this a small Valentine's Day fic uwu, because who doesn't like it when you're reincarnated and your heart still pins for the one person you were close to in your previous life)

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

The sun wasn't even touching the shores yet, but Player was already up and about walking determined in one direction. 

They would never forgive themselves if they forgot about it - in between their busy schedule one couldn't blame them if they did, and yet - 

Player slowed their pace when they were only a street away from the Fountain, their eyes dropping down to the ground. 

It was stupid, really. 

Why am I doing this? I don't even know him other than from stories!

They gripped their head as they stopped, a sharp pain running through their head which was gone as quickly as it came. Yet the nebulous pictures the pain brought to the surface from their dreams stayed a little while longer than that.

Never could they make anything out of it. Never could they remember those dreams, except for the lasting emptiness that stayed in their heart after they woke up.

An emptiness that found filling whenever they looked up to that statue.

Player let out a deep breath.

If those dreams confirmed one thing, it was their connection to him. Whatever that was, though, they weren’t sure right now. But that didn't really matter - their heart told what was right. And this one right now was right.

They picked up their pace again, glad that no one else occupied these streets right now. They weren’t sure how to explain themselves anyways.

Arriving at the Fountain Square, Player rose their head up high to have the statue of him in all their sight. 

Again and again they had looked at him, never really sure why this emptiness seemed to be forgotten every single time. And yet -

And yet this time they were sure why.

Standing right at the edge, Player took out a small piece of paper, folded into a little boat with another, way smaller piece of paper placed it. Whatever was written on that one, would be between them and him - 

A little secret they wanted to share.

"I promised you to come." Player signed, lifting themselves up to the edge to sit down to it, legs dangling off to the side while they faced the statue. With care they placed down the paper boat and gave it a little push for it to swim forward. "So, here I am now, waiting for you."

They would wait for the boat to swim a while before it filled up with water and eventually sank, the ink from the small letter dissolving in the water. But that was okay, what was written on there was between them and him anyways, and if those words now swam around him forever like this, then their purpose was fulfilled.

A smile caught their face. 

Content and full, Player hopped off the edge of the Fountain and slowly walked away, the early rays of the sun tickling their face.

[corishadowfang]

Dark Road writing prompt: Xehanort asks Master Odin about Daybreak Town and the age of fairytales?

(For this)

Oooh, man, this is such an interesting one!

--

            It wasn’t that strange, really, to find Xehanort still in the classroom long after the others had left.  It was a little strange to find him there without Eraqus, a textbook open in his lap, chessboard completely absent.  The boy leaned against the window, staring at the slowly darkening world outside, and Odin hesitated, wondering if he should ask or if he should leave him be.  In the end, his concern won out, and he cleared his throat, approaching quietly.  “What are you still doing here, Xehanort?”

            Xehanort barely reacted; his shoulder twitched a little, but for the most part he remained remarkably still.

            “Wouldn’t you prefer to be spending time with your friends?”  Odin peered down at the textbook curiously.  Xehanort had opened the book to a section near the front; his hands and arms were mostly covering the pages, fingers curled tightly, but Odin thought he could make out the faint sketch of a building.

            “Just…thinking,” Xehanort answered finally, voice distant.  “I was reading ahead.”

            “I see,” Odin said, even though he wasn’t really sure he did.  He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say, though, and so after a beat of silence he went back to his desk—returning to collect tests, which he was embarrassed to admit he’d forgotten earlier.  “I wouldn’t stay here too much longer; good study habits are important, but so is rest.”

            “Right.”

            The silence was filled for a moment with rustling papers, Odin carefully sticking the tests into his bag, then double-checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.  Xehanort broke it after a moment with a tentative question: “Hey.  What do you know about the Age of Fairytales?”

            It was a question Odin got often, so he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Xehanort asked.  Still, it gave him pause, because the boy had asked so quietly, like his mind was somewhere else.

            Xehanort half-glanced back towards him, and his voice was a little more present as he added, “It’s what I was reading about.”

            That didn’t feel like the whole truth—but it didn’t feel like something Odin could really call out as a lie, either.  “The Age of Fairytales was a time before the worlds as we know them existed.  Much of it is shrouded in myth; we know very little factual information about this time, with most of what we’ve obtained passed down as legends.  Scholars have been trying to pick them apart for years, to separate fact from fiction, but the unfortunate truth is there’s very little solid information about that time.”

            “But we know some things, right?”

            Odin moved closer; Xehanort’s arms had shifted enough so that he could finally see the drawing.  “You’re reading about Daybreak Town.”

            Xehanort was quiet.

            Odin hummed quietly, studying the sketch.  “It is true that we’ve been able to put certain ideas together.  Daybreak Town, for instance, is a place we’re sure once existed—we’ve found some of the ruins, underneath Scala ad Caelum itself.  We know that a great Keyblade War occurred, and suspect that it was what split the world, based on remnants we’ve found in other locations.  We know that the first recorded Master is Master Ephemer, the founder of our world—but that there were Masters before him, their names lost to time.  It is a very…tricky thing, to try to unravel, but can also be quite fascinating.  I’m glad you’re taking an interest.”

            “Master Ephemer wasn’t the only one.”

            The statement caught Odin off guard, and he studied Xehanort curiously.  “Have you studied this before?”  He was pretty sure that Xehanort came from off-world—but then again, he’d found his way here on his own.  It wasn’t impossible that a Keyblade wielder had raised him.

            “No.  Not exactly.  But I heard…stories.  From my mentor.”

            Definitely another wielder, then.  “He wasn’t,” Odin agreed quietly, “but he was the only one who made it through the fall.  The others were scattered—to where, we don’t know.”

            Xehanort nodded, but there was something pinched in his expression, a grief there that seemed much older than him.

            “Are you doing alright, Xehanort?”

            Xehanort’s fingers traced across the sketch.  “Yeah,” he whispered, and if Odin listened carefully, he thought his voice sounded strained.  “It just…reminded me of home.”

[rosie-kairi]

I know I'm basicly couple days late on this, but ignore it lmao. You wanted khdr headcanons and I have one, I also have one for khux!

The khdr one:

Idk why but Hermod is literally the mom friend of the group. Like seriously that dude is always worrying over stuff and trying to keep them on right track. He is the mom, lol.

The khux one:

Do you remember that some time ago people were confused what was actually Ephemer's name? (Or could be just me, idk) Because in the game it's written Ephemer, but some people still called him Ephemera for some reason. I remember it making me so confused. So I come up with this headcanon were Ephemer's name is actually Ephemera. But when he was a kid (or younger) some mean kids bullied him for it. They made mean remarks about his name sounding too 'feminine' to be a boys name. Which ofc made kid Ephemer sad, and he decided to cut the A letter out of his name, when introducing himself to new people. So, in official papers he would still be Ephemera, but he always says his name is just Ephemer bc he doesn't want to get picked on anymore. Exception being ofc Skuld, who were his childhood bestie and couldn't get used to it. So she got a free pass on it, and can call Ephemer by name Ephemera. Also when Skuld and Ephemer became dandelions, Skuld still kept doing it. She wanted to prove to Ephemer that not everyone cared about his name, and that he wouldn't be bullied about it. And if that happened Skuld would kick their ass, lmao.

She also kinda teached the habit to other dandeloins. Who later insisted Ephemer that his name is super pretty and they too wanted to call him Ephemera. First it made him really uncomfortable, but over time he got used to it. His confident about his name did go up because of the others, and now he let people who are close to him use the name instead of denying it's existense.

Whoops, sorry. The last one is pretty long, hope you don't mind it's also kinda sad )::

I also have many other headcanons on stock so. I might come back later lmao.

asdfgfds I take any and all headcanons lol. I have permanent brainrot about these guys and you can just drop them in my inbox at any time!!!

Totally agree!! Hermod gives off total mom friend vibes. He's the stickler for rules and is always the one keeping the others out of trouble. They all would've been dead much earlier without Hermod.

Oooh that's an interesting take. Kinda goes hand in hand with "Brain is just a nickname that he's had since he was a kid bc he couldn't pronounce "Blaine" properly." lol. Except it's Ephemer getting teased over the fact that his name isn't even a name, it's a noun that means something is temporary or something.

[sweet-beezus]

My favorite KH boys.