#just remembered this has been languishing in my drafts for so long. i wonder if godfreys doing well i heard the season was bad

[iphigeniacomplex]

[ID:

A screenshot of a Tumblr post on dark mode. It reads "To the sorry sad-sack responsible for this, I would like to announce that Neil Gaiman is coming for your kneecaps, the ghost of Terry Pratchett will haunt you for eternity, and guess what, bitch? You just pissed off the GODDAMN INEFFABLE FANDOM, who will no doubt (at least in spirit) wage a full-on Armageddon-scale WAR on your ass!! I'll bring the flaming sword.

Your move, motherfucker.

~ Godfrey.

P.S. @/neil-gaiman I feel your pain, sir. As a writer myself, I don't think I could live with something like this. You're not alone. 'Writer' rhymes with 'fighter' for a reason."

]

[essaysbyciara]

It’s Been A Long Time | Nebraska Williams x Black!PlusSize Reader [Part 1/?]

Warnings: language, smut thoughts (my ministry!)

So this has been in my drafts for a *HOT MINUTE* but that photo of Trevante in high school triggered a release. If people dig where it could be going, I will add it to my list of stuff to finish and open up a taglist. I’ll try my best to do so, I promise! lol

“God, I played this album out…” Lil’ Wayne’s seminal album, The Carter, didn’t age at all. Back in 2004, Wayne was a secret about to bubble over to superstardom, just years shy of lollipops and Static Major (rest in peace). Wayne represented the teenage angst of your time, even though you toiled in the suburbs while he wrestled with the streets. But as “On My Own” damn near explodes your factory speakers, a high pitch ping from your phone pauses your trip down memory lane. 

Message from Sheena: Let’s catch up before the babies wake up. 

You hit the call button on your dash once you stop at a red light. 

“Girl, hey. You on your way to work?”

“Ain’t I always, Shi Shi? Damn near almost overslept. Thought I missed my flight.” 

Sheena, or Shi Shi, is the epitome of a best-friend-forever. You two met in Ms. Grayson’s civics class, 11th grade. On the first day of school, you rolled into third period wearing a Scream Tour II t-shirt and if you were to describe Sheena in that moment, jealous wasn’t even the word.  She stanned hard for Lil’ Bow Wow but her mom wouldn’t let her go to the concert because she got caught with a boy in her room. That boy is now the husband half-way responsible for the twin girls she’s hoping will give her some grace by sleeping a little bit longer. 

“Damn. You wanna gift some of that sleep to these twins, God mommy?”

“Only if you gift me some of those post-pregnancy boobs, Mommy Dearest,”

“Can’t do that. Jarell been having too much fun with those!” 

“Girl, eww. I don’t need to know all that.”

You kinda did. Sheena’s stories were always live, wild and uncut. And the only fireworks you’ve been adjacent to in months since you broke up with that lame stockbroker, Keith. You curve around the airport parking lot as Sheena starts digging deep into her latest soft-core episode with her husband since the six weeks ain’t up yet. In between interjections of how nasty Jarrell could be and watching planes taxi in the distance, you cruise through Instagram to take inventory of what your day might be like. 

Managing social media for the biggest sports publication in the country was not the fulfillment of a dream after high school because, shit,  social media didn’t exist when you were in high school. But it’s what has you just hours away from a flight to the NFL Combine in Indianapolis, sitting in a parking lot, listening to your BFF’s slow burn sexcapades. You break up the audio immersion experience once your timeline displays something else to ruminate over.

“Sheena! Shi -- shut up! I can’t believe - you remember Lisa from high school? She got married ...and it ain’t to Brasco.” 

“Whaaaa… you can finally stop making u-turns in the hallway and snag your man!”

You didn’t appreciate the lowly dig from your friend about Nebraska “Brasco” Williams, star running back, track champion and boy so fine he made both Omarion and J-Boog look like ogres. Your high school crush had you shook to your pubescent core; pretty teeth, deep skin tone and two tattoos before the age of eighteen. You’d see him in the student parking lot with the rest of the football team and you’d rush to your car as if it would go home without you. He was too hot to handle. You were beyond envious that Lisa could. 

“Lisa ain’t do too bad. Her man is crazy fine. I mean, not Brasco fine but still…” 

“Man,  he had high school going crazy. I wonder what happened to him after that fight? I should stalk him on Facebook while I pump.” You laugh so hard, the couple walking past your car stops their argument to stare at you. 

Your laughs break once you realize you might actually miss that flight. You relegate Shi Shi to kiss the twins for you and to send his Facebook profile if she can actually find it. You tried years ago and failed. 

“Aight, fave. I will.  Love you. Text me when you touch down in Indy.” 

As you weave through the terminal, your mind thinks back to the days at New Birth High School. While it brought you joy in a forever friend and the launching point for your forever career in sports journalism, it did bring you one of the most hurtful days of your life that took years to shake. 

It was the summer going into your senior year. Lisa’s sweet sixteen pool party. No way in Hell you thought you’d be there but your Mom and Lisa’s stepmom sat on the same deacon board at church and somehow thought you two were friends; Lisa paid you dust in those hallways. You fretted over every part of your outfit, especially the swim shoes you didn’t want but your Dad picked up at Sports Authority. But you were fretting the most over your swimsuit, a red one-piece with a deep open back. It was sexy for a 16-year-old, to be honest, but you secretly tried it on at the mall and fell in love with it -- especially how it made you feel. 

You fell in deep love with your body that day. The way the swimsuit clenched your waist, giving your almost-pear shape some definition you’d never seen before. Your hips sat wide, your breast placed taunt, just peeking through the sides, showing off a crescent shaped birthmark right below your collarbone. It was Jet Beauty of the Week-esque and it made you feel on top of the world. Something that society kept telling you a plus-size teenage girl was not to feel. You used the last of your paper route money to buy it and hid your secret weapon in the back of your closet until the day arrived. You were hoping to get some boy’s attention -- especially Brasco. But you’d take anybody’s glare if you could get it. 

You were in the clear once your Mom dropped you and Sheena both off at Lisa’s back gate. As you walked into the party, the sounds of the local hip-hop and R&B radio station blasted throughout her huge backyard. So much fun was had -- so much splash and dash -- that the faint sounds of “Knuck If You Buck” failed to erupt a party full of teenagers it was made for. The pool seemed tempting in 90-plus heat but most of the temptation came from the jacuzzi next to it. There inside sat Brasco, his lanky on-field wide receiver sidekick Kenny and Jarell, Sheena’s partner-in-bedroom-bust crime looking delicious in their highlighter-color swim trunks. You were still figuring out your body and the reactions conjured up from the sight of water droplets chasing down their backs confused you even more. But the heat of the sun -- and the heat from your body -- got too much to bear. That pool called your name. 

You stripped off your t-shirt and denim shorts, leaving your swim shoes back by the picnic table. They clashed. Your nerves splashed together like the water you couldn’t wait to feel, battering against your heart. Were you ready for all this attention? Amongst the rest of the classmates, you disappeared. You weren’t popular. People knew of you but didn’t know you, only associating you with Sheena by proxy of Jarell. “My Goodies” came on the radio, providing you a soundtrack and a sign from God. Before you could answer the call, Sheena jumped into the pool. You tossed your glasses on top of your clothes and did the same. 

The water felt golden. Sheena smacked your face with sheets of chlorinated goodness. Too much fun was had by all, even Lisa joined in the fun. Suddenly the entire football team did too except Brasco and Jarell, languishing on the edge of the jacuzzi because like most boys from their side of town, they didn’t know how to swim. Lisa saw her boo in isolation and tapped Sheena on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Shi Shi. Let’s get in the jacuzzi.” Sheena grabbed your hand to guide you out of the pool. You weren’t expecting to see your Mom at the other end. Sheena didn’t grab you to join her in the warm bubbles, she got you out at the angry-faced-behest of your mother. You both were going home. The party silenced and stares followed as everyone watched your walk-of-shame to grab your clothes. You got what you wanted in the worst way possible. 

Your unholy exodus commenced when Lisa’s mom called yours to report what she saw: this red bathing suit too revealing for a little girl to wear. It wasn’t the green ruffled mess-of-a-bathing-suit from last year. She claimed to witness stares and whispers and “boobs hanging out, butt all out.” Your mom got over there quicker than a church shout. She waited to scold you after she dropped off Sheena. 

It was a Sunday School scolding like no other. Tears pooled deep like the one you were just having fun in. You tossed the bathing suit into the trash bin. You were never going to see it again. 

The announcement of your flight breaks you out of your day nightmare. Grabbing the handle on your suitcase, you see a text with an attachment from Sheena. 

Girllllllllllll. I found Brasco and babyyyyyyyyyyy… 

You gasp. Time did a wonder on him in all the right ways. He packed on even more muscle, chiseling out the navy thermal dressing his upper body. Teeth still bright, Moonlight-bright. His Omarion-Pandemonium-era braids were gone, now donning a clean fade with perfect waves. His stance meant business, a lot of it risky. You bite your lower lip to mask the “damn!” urging a release from you, staring at his picture so intensely that you damn near walk into the stewardess checking your boarding pass. 

You couldn’t wait to get to your first-class seat. You needed a safe space to drown in your own splash waterfalls. You beg Sheena to send you his profile, looking to make some more of that mess and she obliges. Scrolling through his Facebook, you see nothing. You needed him to match your uncleanliness. Another text from Sheena breaks you out of your spell. 

Ain’t shit on here though. I can’t find an Instagram or anything. That’s where the dirt is at lol 

You put your social media skills to work. Ain’t an Instagram profile that you can’t find. Nebraska Williams brings up nothing. Such a unique name and nothing to show for it. 

Maybe Jarell can follow him, Shi. 

Jarell ain’t on this thing. He hates all this stuff. You want me to follow him? 

Girl, yes! I need more pictures! I’m trying to find his ‘gram and no diceeeeeee. Ughhhh. 

Damn the “no cell phone until after lift off” announcement. You then try “Brasco”, too many names -- rappers, really--  and a dog company to boot. “Brasco Williams” yields no results. You couldn’t wait what could be hours, days,  weeks, maybe never, for a response from Brasco to Sheena’s friend request. 

You pull up Google as a last ditch effort. The results bring up what only seems to be archives from your now-defunct city newspaper covering one of Nebraska’s record-setting games from 2005. You know to quit while you’re ahead until you see a Youtube video: “Nebraska Williams (RB) New Birth High School (MD). uploaded by Donyell Williams. You remember Donyell as this boy who played too damn much in Geometry class but right now, he’s Brasco’s cousin who's Instagram profile came up on the first search. Thank God his profile wasn’t private. You scroll back far enough to hit the jackpot. 

I found it! @donniebrascowill is his Instagram. 

Sheena was right about the dirt. His posts were bare but his stories carried enough. Enough shirtless, weightlifting, fresh-out-the-barbershop-got-to-show-you-the-fade dirt. You hit the follow button before the stewardess asked for your drink selection. 

End of Part I

[nitewrighter]

Now i cant wait to see Genji confense to Zenyatta about overwatch and Angela !

Gooooddd this has been languishing in my drafts since... god I don’t want to think about it. Forever. But tonight I get it out!!

-----

Steam puffed up over the food stand, the warmth in the air intermingling with the crackling sound of fryers. Genji watched as the Omnic vendor skillfully scooped several chicken momos up from the fryers and set them in a paper-lined cardboard tray, holding it out to him. Even well into the night, Kolkata was thrumming, vibrant, noisy and alive--Delivery drones buzzed overhead, hover-mopeds weaved between packed buses, hovercars honked their horns, and omnics in Shambali garb were attempting to start up conversations with irritated Vishkar representatives on the sidewalks. Zenyatta watched all the bustle with his usual patience-with-underlying-shrewdness. They had been traveling together for nearly a month now, but Zenyatta had been called back to the Shambali monastery in Nepal earlier than he would have liked and, as he explained it, Kolkata was the easiest place for them to drag their feet without Zenyatta’s brother sending more reminders their way. Zenyatta didn’t seem particularly resentful of Mondatta, but there was a definite hesitance in his return to Nepal that spoke to some complexities in his and Mondatta’s relationship.

They were able to find an isolated enough alley for Genji to keep his hood up and head down as he quickly stuffed down his dinner before clicking his faceplate back on and heading back out to the main street. Genji watched as a bright blue hovertram streamed by, so packed there were a handful of humans and omnics virtually hanging off it as they rejoined the crowd on the street. The press of human and omnic bodies here was different than Numbani--with Numbani there seemed to be a careful cultivation of the ‘City of Harmony’ image, with clean-scrubbed streets and gleaming buildings, and carefully outlined street and foot traffic for optimum efficiency, but here felt closer to reality--the clamor of voices and the natural messiness of shared spaces, the streaming of bodies moving in different directions, pooling and spiraling around each other like water. He didn’t feel like he stood out here--the crowd was so mixed between humans and omnics that the eye glazed right past him. He and Zenyatta fell behind a group of pilgrims, a mix of about two thirds omnic and one third humans. Genji studied the organics. He recognized the look of some of them--those searching for truth and identity, like he had been, like he still was. They were dressed in bright colors and their conversations were peppered with aphorisms from all the Shambali’s best-selling books and Mondatta’s holovid speeches. At least one of them had dabbed on a bit too much patchouli oil. Genji gave a glance back at Zenyatta.

“So what is your hesitance in returning, Master?” asked Genji, looking back at the group ahead of them. He had only been calling Zenyatta ‘Master’ for a little over two weeks now, but it felt easy. Felt natural.

“The journey is just as important as the destination, my student,” said Zenyatta as they walked.

Genji gave him a slight, ‘Come on’ head tilt, and Zenyatta tented his fingers, composing his thoughts.

“As machines, the Shambali have been able to adapt our--their message, to human agendas. And this is well and good--there is no reason why the Shambali’s message of peace should be incompatible with already present human social constructs.”

“I see...” said Genji, a little wary that Zenyatta was going to launch into another pondering monologue where the words ‘Pedagogy’ and ‘commercialization’ swam in and out and Zenyatta would ultimately end with a hand wave and ‘But I suppose it depends on the individual,’ or something like that.

“Omnics do not need to sleep, so the Shambali can travel as much as they need--But I do have concerns about treating our ideals as a machinated export when ultimately we strive for unity between the organic and the--” Zenyatta cut himself off and perked up at the odd ripple that seemed to be going through the crowd.

“Master?” said Genji. He looked around the crowd, trying to see what Zenyatta was seeing. People were stopping mid-step and pulling out their phones, some bumping into each other but barely glancing up. Couples and groups that were walking together stopped and exchanged concerned murmurs in Bengali and Hindu and english. Genji suddenly felt a seed of anxiety growing and spreading from the pit of his stomach, phantom limb pain prickling throughout all of his prosthetics. Something was wrong. Something felt wrong. The group of pilgrims had all but dropped to a standstill, several of them crowding around a human’s phone. She had her hand over her mouth. Two or three of the pilgrims were speaking English.

“The Headquarters?”

“It couldn’t be an aerial attack could it?”

“Do they know who did it?”

“God I hope it wasn’t Null Sector... If Omnics get blamed for this--”

“What about Talon?”

“They beat Talon--”

“They beat Doomfist. Doomfist isn’t all of Talon.”

That prickling anxiety that manifested as phantom limb pain now was rushing hot along the skin of his neck and cybernetic jaw as he looked around. His armor felt claustrophobic around him but his head was jerking around this way and that, looking desperately now. Headquarters? Talon? Newsfeed. He had to find a newsfeed.

“Genji...” Zenyatta said his name as if trying to pull him back to the present, but this fear was the present, it was pressing in on him like the crowd. His head swiveled to see people accumulating around a pawn shop window where multiple holoscreen projectors of various ages were displayed. He rushed through, ninja training guiding his feet and the angle of his shoulders, sliding through the crowd like a knife until he reached the front of it. The holoscreens of the shop window were displaying the news in numerous channels and Genji’s eyes fixed on the familiar face of the news reporter Olympia Shaw. The television was muted, of course, but there was captioning. Before his brain could make out the words, his eyes fell on a helicopter or drone shot hovering over a massive building semi-obscured by multiple columns of smoke.  The complex cluster of plaftorms at the building’s western side were blackened. There was a recognizable patch of green at the building’s heart--a courtyard, that soon was obscured by smoke as the wind shifted.

Zurich. Zurich Headquarters.

The explosions took place only minutes apart. Both Strike Commander Morrison and Reyes were in the building when the explosions occurred--- Olympia Shaw’s mouth moved along soundlessly to the captioning on the screen. Something chilled in Genji’s stomach. Zurich headquarters itself had been many things over the years with Overwatch, during his long stints in physical therapy and during Blackwatch’s suspension, it had felt like a prison-like box, but there were a few nights...

Eyewitnesses have told Atlas News that Doctor Angela Ziegler, formerly known as the Overwatch agent ‘Mercy,’ who was reportedly resigning from Overwatch, is apparently inside the headquarters attempting to rescue personnel. There has been no--

Genji suddenly had the physical sensation of dropping rapidly through a dark, cold space. 

He wasn’t there. She was in trouble and he wasn’t there.

Genji...

The tone of her voice was distant. His entire body tensed as the memory of late nights in the lab arose. He remembered her snorting laugh in the small hours of the morning, her shoes kicked off and her legs tucked close to herself in her swivel chair. 

Genji--!

He remembered their elbows interlocked in Havana, the burn of rum flushing across her nose and cheekbones and shining in her eyes. 

Genji?!

He remembered her stooping over him, wet lab coat hanging off of her, her glasses fogged with the steam of the therapy pool. 

“GENJI!” Zenyatta was gripping both his shoulders and he found himself standing in that crowded street in Kolkata, the televisions still glowing behind him. 

“I’m okay,” Genji said, “This is fine--it’s not fine--I’m going to fix it--I just need to go--”

“Go--?” Zenyatta started.

“I need to go,” Genji was breaking away from Zenyatta, already walking. He would have broken into a sprint if it weren’t so crowded. “I need to go--She can’t--I left her but I can---” Breath didn’t seem to be coming to form the words. Maybe if he just kept walking...

“Genji, you’re having a panic attack,” said Zenyatta.

“I don’t get panic attacks!” Genji snapped.

But he did get panic attacks--he just thought he left them behind in Zurich. Burning Zurich. Burning Zurich where Angela was and she was in trouble and he wasn’t there and he hadn’t even said goodbye when he left like the fucking heartless self-absorbed piece of shit he always knew he was. He was still talking. He wasn’t sure if he was talking because it kept the shortness of breath away as he moved but Zenyatta was floating after him as closely as he could in the crowd.

Zenyatta suddenly seized Genji’s shoulders again. “Genji!” he spoke clearly and a small orb of harmony suddenly alighted next to him.

“You have to let me--” Genji felt his own hands gripping Zenyatta’s wrists. He had fought Null sector Omnics before. He wondered how much physical force he needed to get Zenyatta off of him but Zenyatta’s fingers tightened into his shoulders with a furious grip.

“YOU. CAN’T. CONTROL THIS.” Zenyatta’s voice was deeper than usual, startlingly commanding. Enough to shock Genji into a space of neutral confusion.

“Wh--but...” Genji’s breath was still short.

“...you can’t control this,” Zenyatta’s grip on his shoulders loosened, “It is not your fault you can’t control this. It does not make you a bad person that you can’t control this. It is an event happening 7,430 kilometers away, and you can’t control it. It doesn’t mean that it is irrational that it is affecting you deeply. It doesn’t mean that it is nonsensical that it is hurting you deeply. But the only thing you can control, right now, is your own reaction. Can you even breathe right now, Genji?” 

“I--I--”

“Start with that. Start with breathing.”

The respirators of Genji’s cybernetics were audible as he drew in a breath.

“Again,” said Zenyatta.

Genji drew in another breath, held it for the same amount of time as it took to draw it in, exhaled with that same slowness. Drew in another, held it, exhaled. 

“You are here. You are in Kolkata. There is cement beneath your feet. There are green and growing things springing up from the cracks in the cement--” Zenyatta’s voice was short, but not unkind.

“But Zurich--” Genji started.

“You are not there. You are here. And you are breathing.”

Genji consciously drew in another breath. “But I have to--”

“We are still learning what is happening over there,” said Zenyatta, “How long do you think it will take you to get there?”

“I--I don’t know...”

Zenyatta paused, calculations running through that Omnic mind. “The fastest flying vehicle available would get you there in four hours, but you do not have the resources for that. Commercially... it would take at least 8 hours. What do you think the situation will look like in 8 hours? 6, even?”

Genji wasn’t really sure what to say to that. The consciousness of his own breath seemed to slow things down though.

“You don’t know that either,” said Zenyatta, answering the question for him, “...we’re going to get away from the crowds and find somewhere to sit down.”

“I can’t do nothing...” Genji said quietly, as Zenyatta was already leading him away.

“I know. It is a very admirable trait,” said Zenyatta, “But you are doing this.”

“Which is nothing!”

“It’s not nothing. Right now, there are only two people you can help--”

“Two--?”

“You can help yourself, or you can help me,” said Zenyatta.

“Help you??”

“Help me help you.”

Genji was quiet for a few seconds but it was more of an incredulous processing of Zenyatta’s words than anything.

“I think we should walk,” said Zenyatta, “Will you walk with me?”

Genji just dumbly nodded and let Zenyatta lead him away. They walked several city blocks in relative slience, Genji trying to return to his breath. 

“This world... it can be full of... unbearable cruelties. All we know can be wrenched out from underneath us in only a few moments,” Zenyatta spoke as they walked, “I cannot pretend to know how to fix it. I suppose... that is why I left the Shambali. I cannot stand to be around those who will happily claim they can fix your problems when they don’t actually know that it will. I... am utterly petrified of disappointing people... all the time. So I disappointed the people who meant more to me than anything, and now I am here with you. Hope is one of the most painful and terrifying things you can let into your life. It is all I can do to try and instill hope in other people as a resilient and living thing. You call me master when I am constantly questioning whether I am worthy of such an address.”

“Are... are you all right?” Genji’s voice was quiet.

“No,” said Zenyatta, plainly, “And neither are you.”

A long silence passed between them as they kept walking. The world seemed too upended to call the motion comforting, yet at the same time, staying still would have made things feel like they were curling and collapsing all around them. Movement as grounding seemed like an oxymoron, and yet that was the space Genji and Zenyatta found themselves in. They were in a more residential area now, cigarette, weed, and hashish smoke sinking down on them from the balconies above.

“When you were watching that newscast, you kept saying things like, ‘I left her.’ Back when we were in the Banu Tufayl tribe’s encampment, you said there was someone who made you believe in your work... someone who you clung to like a ship’s mast in a storm,” Zenyatta said after a while, “Is she in Zurich?”

“Yes,” the word came out of Genji more choked than he intended, his words felt tight, “I can’t leave her--she saved me, so I have to--I have to...” Genji pressed his fingers to his forehead plate.

Zenyatta tented his fingers thoughtfully. “It has been said, one of our greatest means of dealing with grief, is confronting the reality that we may lose the ones we love. Confronting the eventuality of that loss.”

“I can’t do it now--” Genji said , his voice tight, “I can’t-- I didn’t even say goodbye to her... I wasn’t sure if I could say goodbye---”

“...still reeling from the Zurich attacks---” a crackly voice sounded overhead and Genji stopped in his tracks, his head jutting upward. 

“Genji?” said Zenyatta.

“You there! With the radio!” Genji shouted at one of the apartment balconies overhead. A portly middle-aged man with a receding hairline leaned out over the balcony.

“Can you turn it up?” Genji called.

The man shrugged and disappeared back behind the balcony.

“Genji,” Zenyatta spoke gently, “I’m not sure if harassing random people can really--”

The crackle of the radio audibly got louder.

“--Angela Ziegler is unconscious but stable at Zurich hospital--” the radio sounded. 

A shuddering breath of relief fell out of Genji. “She’s... she’s alive,” he said, looking at Zenyatta. 

Zenyatta gave a nod and a noise that was midway between laugh and sob fell out of Genji.

“As I said,” said Zenyatta, “There is much we can’t control but--” 

Zenyatta was cut off as Genji suddenly caught him in a tight hug, his cybernetically armored shoulders shuddering with those not-laugh, not-sob sounds. “She’s alive... she’s alive,” he kept saying.

Zenyatta patted his shoulder with some unsureness, “And so are you.”

[pseudofaux]

Author (!) Interview

Thank you for the tags, @alloveroliver and @otonymous!

Name: pseu (I lowercase it on purpose, but it doesn’t bug me if you treat it as a proper name/capitalize!)

Fandoms: Now: SLBP (lingering-- I love some of the characters too much to quit!), Cybird’s Ikémen series, FE3H. I’m also reading STUPID amounts of BTS stories lately, those writers are amazing! Looking forward to: Hopefully getting back into The Arcana when some of the routes conclude. I started TAISHO x ALICE recently and I’d love to write stories for that and some of the other otome I’ve enjoyed. And like so many other writers, some original projects. :)

Where You Post: pseu slings and gift stories are here on tumblr, and everything pre-dumblr. Longer/refined pieces on Ao3. Many, many things languish in my google docs or emails I’ve sent myself and don’t get posted. 🤦🏻‍♀️

Most Popular One-Shot:  Not what I thought it would be! Here it is Venture (Kanetsugu/MC). On Ao3 it’s Something Blue, IkéSen Masamune/MC. I tried really hard last year to edit Something Blue to bring it up to where my writing is now, but couldn’t get through it. Learned my lesson in letting things be. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Real (ao3 / tumblr), which is Shigezane/[named] MC. Another one I feel compelled to edit, because I would change a lot about it if I were writing it today. But I also cherish it for what it is.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Oooooh! Hard! I think from last year that is Frost-Edged Fire, a “what happened” story for Sansa post-GoT. I like the way it reads, it felt good to make, and the response has been positive somewhere where I didn’t have my name to stand on, so I feel very satisfied with that one. I also really like one of the pieces I wrote for an Arcana zine coming out this year. :)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: I swing back and forth between “what happens, happens, I’ve written what I felt l needed to” and “PLEASE LET PEOPLE NOT HATE THIS sob sob sob”. I remember when I was working on Real I was trying to let go of some of my own standards for MAKE IT MAKE SENSE BACK FIVE GENERATIONS, so I was scared people would pick it apart even though it was such a soft, smooshy story and such a soft, smooshy thing to write. It still makes me feel vulnerable! I had my first run in with an anti in 2018 and for a while that shook me. I didn’t change what I wrote after that, but the experience was so jarring and gross I was tense.

How You Choose Your Titles: I like sideways titles, in the way of allusions and references. I usually choose single words that are either meant to encapsulate the tone or primary action of a story, or a word or short snip from a phrase, which I hope a reader will read in full in their head even though part of it isn’t there. But I understand that once something is out there, it’s really up to the reader to make of text and title what they will! That or phrases in French I try to make myself but often have to run by a native speaker to make sure they mean what I think they do (often: not quite).

Completed: I have no idea. The pseu slings bump the number way up, it’s probably around 150 total? For non-snippets, around 50? (Ao3 has 53 works, some of which have multiple sections)

Incomplete: I have an idea, and it is mortifying. There are some things I’ve written a little bit for but I know I won’t go back to and sometimes I think about putting them up as free prompts for others. Things I’m really trying on? 7. Given up but not ready to say so... 15ish? More I’m forgetting?

Do You Outline? Sorta! I start with the scene or scenes that motivate me to write in the first place, and then I have to outline to connect them. They are not usually the beginning or end because life is not fair and those parts are really hard.

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: More IkéVamp! More parts in at last (MLQC). More FE3H! Maybe this will be the year I finally write the Isshiki-sempai story I’ve had floating in my head for Shokugeki no Soma. WHO KNOWS?! (I do. I won’t.)

Do You Accept Prompts? Sometimes! I love doing pseu slings twice a year (once in March and the other later in the year for a follower milestone or something). tbh it can be incredibly freeing, motivating, and feel-goody to write what I know someone has asked for-- connecting to requests and filling them feels wonderful and I have less time to dither or gather rosebuds or whatever, so it’s productive. I think some of my best work is writing that others have requested. 

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: 

More of aesthetes, belligerents, contortionists (IkéSen Yoshimoto/MC).

♥️ ASH EXTRAS! ♥️

What do you use to edit?: Just me! I’m not flawless, but I trust myself more than any automatic service. I consciously choose to ignore several best practices when writing anyway. When I’m not as confident as I would like to be about something new, I may ask someone I trust in fandom to look it over as a one-time thing.

Writing setup: This is my desk right now! That’s a draft of this post on my laptop screen.

I need silence and steady lighting to write, so I set up my ~space~ in our basement. When I get a better desk chair and my cozy chair in here for brainstorming, it will be heaven! 🥰 Need: better record storage, more bookshelves, to paint, a rug instead of one of those Barnes & Noble quote blankets on the floor...

Do you use a beta reader? No. I love the just-right feeling of a good collaboration with (or being!) a beta reader, I’ve had it and it is magic! But it has proven incredibly difficult to find anyone who can be trustworthy long term + available. + interested. adflkjsf

Where do you get your writing inspiration?: Nature, conflict, and consuming other media. Museum trips. New foods. Sometimes dreams!

Can we get a quote from an upcoming WIP?:

Every lord of Kasugayama (even the lord of Kasugayama) had given her fine thread and cloth. It was Yoshimoto who made a quiet gift of needles before she could attempt to find them herself. They were in a slender little canister, painted blue and cream and gold, and when he placed it in her palm goosebumps bloomed over her arms and legs. One of his hands held hers from below and the other lingered on the other side of the needlecase, close enough for warmth, close enough that she felt like a carefully-captured butterfly. A part of her soul waited to be appraised and wished she had wings.

If you see this and you wanna do it, please do, and please tag me so I can see! I’d love to know more about your process.

[izzy-b-hands]

Aten Pt. 3

How much longer will this fic be? Idk, but I’m having fun, so here we go again!

Went ahead and just uh...sort of created my own canon re: the tablet. Look, if the movie writers could do whatever they wanted with it, so can I lol. No rules, no right, just me doing whatever I want with canon. 

We get nsfw at the end because I couldn’t help myself lol. Definitely gonna be a part four and maybe more?? Because I’m not done with these two yet. 

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

He was bored. Horribly bored. It was silly, he knew that. After all, they’d only had two dates. To be so attached this much already was ridiculous, foolhardy.

Yet he lay on the couch in the employee lounge, doing nothing except feeling lonely and trying to get his sandals off his feet, using only his feet to kick and tug at them. 

Larry walked in, and sighed. “Important business, huh? You ever lose your hands, you’ll be set.” 

They shared a brief look, and Ahk broke.

“I miss him,” he grumbled. “And it isn’t his fault; he needs to keep up his studies, and I’m being childish and silly and stupid and-” 

“And you still miss him despite all that, and that’s okay,” Larry interrupted, lifting Ahk’s legs so he could sit on the end of the couch, letting Ahk’s legs sit on his lap. “It isn’t a bad thing. Just means you really like each other, and that’s what you wanted, right?” 

“It is,” Ahk replied. “But this is...fast. Too fast? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had anything like this. Flings, sure, but nothing concrete. Nothing where we both wanted...” 

“More?” 

He nodded, and covered his face with his hands. “I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“You aren’t going to mess anything up,” Larry soothed. “You two have barely gotten started, so don’t go worrying about an end that you might not even have.” 

“I suppose you’d know,” Ahk said. “I mean, you’ve been in a...well.” 

“You mean my divorce? Yeah, that’s a sort of ending for a relationship. But a whole different level than where you two are. Don’t worry so much; you and...what have you been calling him? He told me, but I won’t want to get it wrong.” 

“Aten,” Ahk replied. “Because he warms me like the sun used to.” 

Larry smiled. “You really are falling hard, aren’t you?” 

“I am,” Ahk admitted softly, blushing as he pondered what Aten was up to with the group project. Was he tired, frustrated, stressed? “I’d rather learn to fly beside him though, instead of falling until I hit bottom, you know?” 

Larry nodded. “I get it. And I think you two will be just fine. Physically, at least, we know for sure you’re good together. I mean, I presume, from accidentally walking in, and-” 

“I’m so sorry about that,” Ahk said, blushing even more. “We really will start locking the door, I promise.” 

“It’s okay,” Larry laughed. “No harm done. And if you needed anyone else to have uh...proof that you two are getting along, well, I saw it. You have anything planned for tomorrow night with him? On the couch or off of it, I mean.” 

“Stop!” Ahk found himself giggling. Giggling! When had his afterlife ever held so much joy? It was wonderful. “A movie, maybe. I do want to get to know him, not just his body. I figure that might be an okay time to sit and relax, talk some.” 

“I can try and get you some movies,” Larry said. “Unless you both really want to watch the movie on whales playing in the theater here. But he likes classic older movies, I know that much, so if you want me to...” 

“You wouldn’t mind?” 

“Of course not. I’ll find some DVDs for you, make sure the player in here is up to snuff. Not sure it’s ever been used, if I’m honest,” Larry replied. “We’ll get it all set up, and you two can have a movie night for the next few nights. Sound good?” 

Ahk nodded. “Thank you, Larry. For all of this.” 

“Not a problem. I like helping you two out; you’re good, sweet kids.” 

“We’re both adults,” Ahk laughed. “We do act a bit like love-sick teenagers though, I suppose.” 

“If anyone has a right to moments like that, it’s you,” Larry said. “You deserve a chance to just relax, have fun with someone. I know you don’t really ever stop being royalty, but...some time off, maybe. Or time where you don’t have to think about it, or act like it. He knows and likes you for you, not the pharaoh he read about on your informational plaque.” 

He lifted Ahk’s legs and stood, setting them gently back on the couch. “I’ve got some other chores to look after, but I’ll try and check back in on you, okay? You good alone in here? Not gonna pine too much?” 

“No promises,” Ahk snickered, but inside his heart was heavy. How quickly he’d gotten used to Aten’s attention and presence, to something that was too new to be love, but tasted sweetly of it, and that he couldn’t get enough of. 

He was glad he hadn’t promised as the night progressed. He languished alone in the lounge, trying to think of anything other than Aten, his voice, his smile, his hands, his lips. 

Finally, he broke down and retrieved the pen and paper from his things in Larry’s locker. He hadn’t written love poetry as others his age had for their lovers, though he’d thought about it once or twice. He couldn’t match the beauty of the tablets displayed in the hall near his exhibit, bearing love poetry that took one’s breath away. 

But he had to try, or his heart would burst. And hopefully, Aten would be as kind and receptive to it as Ahk expected. 

He hid the final draft with him in his sarcophagus. He knew Larry wouldn’t judge him for it, but for now, it was for his and Aten’s eyes only.

***

He nearly fell out of his sarcophagus in his rush to leave it the next night. He was ready for it, to show Aten the poem, to have movie night with him, to sit and snuggle and talk. It was all terribly romantic, and he loved every bit of it.

But Larry was the only one that greeted him at the main desk. 

“It’s okay,” Larry reassured. “He’s just got a bad cold, and he was very worried you could somehow get sick, so he didn’t want to come in-” 

“I’ll go to him then,” Ahk interrupted. 

“Ah,” Larry mumbled. “You’d have to ch-” 

Before Larry could finish his sentence, Ahk dashed to the lounge, changing into his sweatshirt and pants at the speed of light, leaving his royal garb tossed on the couch.

He panted as he arrived back at the desk, feeling to ensure the poem was still safe in the bag of his things that he’d taken from Larry’s locker. He wasn’t sure he’d need any of it, but better safe than sorry. “I’m changed.” 

“So I see,” Larry laughed. “I told him I was sending over a surprise. He misses you too, so this will cheer him up. All he could talk about when he called me earlier, actually. He hated the idea of not making it in tonight. I doubt you can get sick though. Anyway, I called you a cab, and you’ll have to be back-” 

“I could spend the day with him,” Ahk interrupted. “There’s a...how to word it. A setting? On the tablet. Only I can change it, as the guardian of it. It leaves the magic...on? I don’t know how else to explain it, and I know it has something to do with running on the power of the moon and the sun then, but-” 

He waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter right now. What it means, is I could spend the night and day with him, and I promise to be careful and safe and-” 

“Slow down!” Larry held up his hands. “I’m not arguing! Though I am curious...you never wanted to change the setting ever before? To see what would happen if you left everyone alive all day?” I know it won’t affect everyone else now, but...” 

“I wanted to save it for emergencies,” Ahk replied. “And this is one!” 

“Okay,” Larry smiled. “Tell you what. You go change it, and I’ll get the DVDs I brought in your bag. I’m sure he’s got some way to play them. Go on, get it done!” 

He ran again, nearly sliding past the open door to his exhibit in his haste. The changing of it was easy enough. An incantation and the flip of a square on the tablet, and a moment later he could feel it was done as the tablet glowed briefly. He felt more energized, more alive. It was wonderful. 

Now, he had a boyfriend (or something close to one, since they hadn’t said that word yet) to go look after. 

He browsed the DVDs as he rode in the cab. The Clock, Funny Face, An American In Paris, The King and I...movies he knew, and had seen once or twice, but only while on display near the theaters in other museums, the times they had displays on famous films and plays. 

The selection only sort of mattered anyway, and Larry had done fine enough. Ideally, they’d be able to sit and talk while the movies played in the background, though he couldn’t fault Aten if he fell asleep. He remembered sickness like that, in a vague way, that left the body weary and weak. So long as they were together, he’d be happy. 

Aten’s apartment building was plain, but he remembered other students at other museums speaking of living in such conditions. When school was the priority, any roof (particularly a cheap one) would do. 

He used the buzzer in the front hall, and hoped Aten was still awake enough to hear it. 

“Larry?” Aten sounded utterly miserable.

“Not Larry,” Ahk replied, and smiled at the happy if tired laugh that answered him. 

“No way! Come on up...oh god, I’ll be dressed decent by the time you get up here, I promise.” 

“Decent or indecent, you’re perfect either way,” Ahk said before charging up the first two flights of stairs. By the third, he had slowed down. By the fourth, Aten’s floor, he was cursing the invention of stairs. 

He leaned against the door, trying to look like he didn’t feel horribly out of breath and exhausted from only four flights of stairs, and knocked. 

“Hey! Ah, the stairs got ya. Happens to everyone; they take getting used to,” Aten said as he ushered him in. 

“Do they punish you by not putting in an elevator? Are they unaware that the technology exists?” 

Aten laughed, then coughed hard. 

“Go sit,” Ahk instructed, setting his bag on the small table in between the kitchen and the living room (really just one room, though the table wasn’t a horrible line of demarcation.) “I’m here to take care of you.” 

“You might get-” 

“I don’t think I can get sick,” Ahk interrupted softly. “And even if I do, you can just return the favor later and take care of me.” 

“Deal,” Aten sighed as he flopped onto the couch, looking absolutely adorably cuddly in his own sweater and sweatpants. “Sorry I’m not great company tonight. I feel like shit. Do you have an ancient Egyptian cure for that?” 

“No, but Larry apparently bought you cough syrup,” he said, pulling a bottle out of the bag. He hadn’t seen Larry sneak it in, but it was certainly a sweet gesture. “That’s as close to a cure as you’ll get.” 

“You don’t know any magic cures for colds?” 

“Sorry, my love,” Ahk said as he brought the bottle and DVDs over to the coffee table by the couch, and sat by Aten. “Even we didn’t figure that out. Not with or without magic.” 

“Love?” Aten smiled.

The blush left him feeling overly warm, and he looked away. “Sorry, that’s-” 

“Really sweet, and just fine,” Aten interrupted, and grabbed his hand. “My DVD player is really out, and kind of shitty, but why don’t we throw something on and you can cuddle with me. I think that’s a cure for a cold, I read it somewhere.” 

“Did you now?” Ahk teased as he went to put a DVD on, grabbing one at random. “And where was that? What journal?” 

“Very highly respected one,” Aten replied with a grin. “Love-based medicine journal. I think you’d like it.” 

He sat at the DVD player for a moment more, and giggled. “Sounds reputable. You’ll have to read it to me sometime.” 

“To you?” 

“Sure. I can spend the days and nights here now, if I want, and I might need a bedtime story,” Ahk said as he moved back to the couch, the beginning of the movie flashing on the screen of Aten’s TV. “I mean, I said just tonight and tomorrow to Larry. But I think, even after the tablet is fixed, there’s a way for me to arrange it so the magic continuing into the day only affects me.” 

There was, and he knew it for sure, but that was his secret to hang onto for now. Larry might not go for it right away, and he wanted to give him time to warm up to it. 

“You...so there’s a way to use it so you can stay alive during the day too? You get to spend the night?” 

“If you’ll have me,” Ahk replied, wrapping an arm around him. “I don’t want to impose.” 

“No, not at all. I want you to stay,” Aten said, then sniffled. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, you can’t help it. Relax, rest. You need it.” 

They sat for a bit then as the King and I played, Aten eventually laying so his head was in Ahk’s lap, and he could run his hands through that reddish-blonde hair, watch the light from the one small lamp hear them catch it. 

Aten sighed softly, and stretched carefully, not unlike a cat. 

“You like that?” 

He nodded. “You’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep playing with it like that though.” 

“You need the sleep,” Ahk replied. “I’ll be here when you wake up, don’t worry.” 

Aten buried his face in Ahk’s stomach and his heart leapt. It was so cute it hurt.

“This is way too early to say this, but-” 

“Why?” he interrupted. “Why is it too early?” 

Aten moved his face back, and looked up at him. “Because in other relationships, it was. I scared them off, I think. I don’t mean anything by it, like we don’t need to run to get married right now or anything, but I mean...okay, I do mean something by it, and that’s that I love you and I love that you seem to love me and I really hope we keep loving each other like this, even though I know nothing’s perfect all the time.” 

He took a breath, but Aten coughed and kept going. 

“And I know that means we might fight over stupid shit, or have days where we’re both too tired to do anything other than sit near each other, and I know that this has to be a certain way because of who you are and what you have to do, and I’m more than ready to do whatever I have to so that all works out. I’m ready to work to preserve something that feels like it’s gonna be so good, even better than it already is.” 

His breath was gone then, as he gently moved Aten up close to him and kissed him. Aten’s arms were around his neck, and he could feel how warm the sickness had made him. 

“Dizzy?” he smiled as he let Aten lay back.

“In a good way,” he replied. “I take it that meant...” 

“That I love you too, and whatever and however we make this work. If I had my way, I’d never switch the tablet back, and we’d do this right. Staying together, not having to worry about my getting back to the museum at any point.” 

His statement hung in the air for a moment as Aten’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. That’s...for me? Really?” 

“Really,” Ahk said. “...you’re actually dizzy right now, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed, and closed his eyes. “But that’s just the cold or whatever this is fucking up my inner ear, not you, I promise.” 

“I know, don’t worry. Maybe I should put you to bed though. We could save the movies for another night.” 

“No, I’m good,” Aten said, his eyes still closed, and immediately yawned. “Ignore that, that’s uh...a weird cough.” 

“Sure it is,” Ahk said, and started to play with his hair again. 

By the time the movie was over, Aten was snoring softly in his lap, turned slightly on his side. He need to be in bed, properly, that much Ahk knew for sure. 

Moving him, however, was a less than easy task. He didn’t wake so much as opened and then promptly closed his eyes again as Ahk worked to sit him up, then to drag him off the couch and down the hall to the bedroom, passing the alarmingly small bathroom as they went. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute, and I’m so strong,” Ahk teased as he attempted to drop Aten gently on his bed. 

“You are so strong,” Aten mumbled, half-muffled by the part of the comforter smashed against his face. “I love it. C’mere, I wanna feel your muscles. Lemme feel.” 

“You can do that tomorrow; you need sleep now,” Ahk said as he pondered if trying to move Aten so he was laying in the bed, not just flopped onto one side of it would be worth the trouble. He was at least on the bed, after all, and apparently comfortable enough. 

“Nah. Gotta feel ‘em, right now,” Aten rolled over, his eyes barely open as he reached his hands out for Ahk. 

“You’re too tired, it’s making you silly.” 

Aten grumbled something, and rolled back over, sighing into the comforter. 

He bit back a laugh. It was adorably pathetic, the poor thing. “Shall I help you actually get into the bed? I bet you’d be more comfortable than you are now.” 

“Eh.” 

“I’ll let you snuggle with me if you properly get in the bed.” 

Aten scrabbled forward and then up and over so he was finally at one of the pillows on the bed. “I did it.” 

“Yes, you did. I should go get you the medicine-” 

“No. Just want you,” Aten interrupted. “That’s good medicine.” 

“You and that love-based medicine journal. Dangerous reading, it seems,” Ahk joked as he lay down beside Aten. 

The way Aten immediately leaned over to kiss him, hard, then moving to lay on top of him was no joke however. It was good, the best, though he knew he needed to stop him. As much as they both might want it, what Aten really needed was rest. 

But he let it go for a few moments, finding it impossible to stop from moaning and whimpering under Aten’s kisses and touch. 

“Fuck,” he murmured after a particularly searing kiss, that left him grinding his hips as hard as he could against Aten’s. They were both hard, and he wanted desperately to get both of their clothes off, to be as close as possible. 

But that wasn’t what they should be doing, and he tried again to speak up, only for it to turn from a “I know you’re tired, why don’t we pick this up in the morning” to a “fuck, please don’t stop” as Aten moaned against his neck, bit down just so on his shoulder, whining and sighing as one of his hands moved to pull Ahk’s legs around him. 

Finally, he managed it. “Love...hang on.” 

Aten stopped immediately, eyes open wide. “I’m sorry; are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. But you aren’t. You’re sick, and you should be asleep right now. I can see you’ve got your second wind, but we can always finish this in the morning.” 

“But you’re close, aren’t you?” that was a wonderfully wicked smile that broke only to kiss him again as Aten’s hips moved against his. “So am I.” 

“This isn’t up for debate,” he tried to say, but it turned into a gasping sigh. “You...fucking hell. You really want to finish this, now?” 

Aten was wide awake now, he could tell that, those deep, dark gorgeous brown eyes looking into his in such a way he couldn’t break the connection of the gaze. 

“I want this. As much as I want all of it. To be with you all through tomorrow, to sit and talk and do whatever else we want. To keep seeing you whenever I can, to keep doing this whenever we both want to and can. As much as I want you, for you. The man behind the crown that plays with my hair and drags me into bed when I don’t feel well, that loves me.” 

The tears that fell were happy ones as he let himself rock against Aten again, kissing him softly, sweetly. They came within moments of each other, limbs intertwined, his legs pulling Aten as close as he could possibly be. 

“You...fuck, sorry, I....” he could hardly catch his breath as they calmed, hips still jerking every now and again against each other. “You need to sleep now.” 

“You’re right,” Aten sighed, and kissed him. “So do you. You get to sleep, actually sleep for once. You remember how?” 

“Funny,” Ahk smirked as he untangled himself from Aten, to try and find a towel to clean them up. But the bathroom only had room for the toilet, bath, and a medicine cabinet. “You don’t have towels?” 

“They’re in here. I don’t have anywhere else to put them, so they’re in my dresser.” 

Ahk came back into the bedroom, and frowned as he retrieved one from the third dresser drawer. “I don’t even want to know how much you pay for this little space.” 

“Man, even I don’t wanna know that. I try to forget about it until I have to pay it each month. I mean, I budget and shit so I’m never short, not yet at least, but at the same time...it’s nice pretending I don’t know that number,” Aten chuckled, and reached for the towel. 

“Let me,” Ahk swatted away his hand, moving the waistband of Aten’s sweatpants so he could clean him. “You sit there and rest.” 

“Tired of resting.” 

“You’ve been sick what, one day? And you’re sick of resting already?” he teased as he used the same towel to clean himself, enjoying the way Aten’s eyes trailed down as he slipped his sweatpants nearly off his hips. 

“Sick of being sick, sick of resting. And we should change, pants at least, or we’ll both feel gross in the morning. Fourth drawer has all my lazy clothes in it.” 

The hamper for towels was set right by the hamper for clothes, just before the door of the bedroom, and Ahk tossed the towel in before searching the drawer. 

“Oh...my darling,” he giggled as he pulled one of the few Ahkmenrah-branded items from the drawer. A pair of sweatpants bearing a tablet pattern, to be specific. “This is adorable.” 

“Hey, they said that money from the sale of those goes to maintaining your exhibit. I couldn’t not get them,” Aten replied. “And I bet you’d look cute in them.” 

He changed with a smirk while Aten watched, then tossed a pair of clean grey sweatpants over to him.

The dirty ones didn’t quite make it to the hamper, but neither of them cared. He actually felt tired, of all things, and it was all the more wonderful a feeling because it came with falling asleep beside Aten, in the dark of his tiny bedroom. 

He hadn’t even thought of tomorrow’s plans, and he didn’t want to. It might come too soon then, and before he knew it he’d have to be back at the museum. 

For now, it was just them, the dark, and the softness and warmth of the sheets and comforter, as he slept, truly slept, for the first time in thousands of years. 

[iamthechocobabe]

Moving On

.....why did I do this to myself. 

Just why

There are two versions of this-this is what I was writing yesterday and where it went when I thought of the complications that would come when falling in love with a ghost. I feel like if I could flesh this out a bit, this could actually be a thing. And then there’s a different version that’s not NEARLY as intense and was pretty much pure smut like my previous one.  

That accidentally got deleted. 

Son of a bitch. 

So, I’m going to post this instead, the rough draft of this so it’s pretty raw, because I’m probably going to try and recreate my smutty version instead. But if you’re expecting pure smut like my Prompto Ghost AU, then I suggest you look elsewhere, because this shit is nothing but angst. Angst and just...why the fuck, man, just why the actual fuck. 

Moving On

Gladiolus AmicitiaxFemale Reader

NSFW

Word Count: 3,621

"Did you bring the food?" 

You look at Gladiolus Amacitia with a raised eyebrow as you brought the chairs over to the tent you two would share that weekend. You had set it up by the bank of the river, as something you two always loved to do was eat and watch the moonlight ripple over the water softly. 

You put the chairs down and hold up the food bag that had some Cup Noodles, clean water and the stuff for s'mores. Sweat was starting to build on your sides from the humidity and you were greatful you were one skinny dip away from a sweat-free body. 

"You don't eat," you point out. 

Gladiolus leans towards you and licks his lip slightly when he notices the food bag, his gaze traveling from your head to your toe. He always did have this weird thing about watching you eat Cup Noodles...

It was your strangest relationship, but by far your best. You had a feeling that it would never get any worse, no matter what happened. 

You had met Gladiolus when you were camping with some friends out by Lastallum, and he immediately caught your eye. He hadn't been wearing a shirt that day and was laying on the docks, sun bathing, with no real care in the world. When he sat up to pull the ponytail on the back of his head out, you suddenly forgot how to breathe. His dark brown, almost black hair tumbled down his shoulders and in front of his face, over his scar and amber eyes, casting a spell on you without you realizing it. 

You had approached him and tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he had looked at you with absolute shock. It was like he couldn't believe you were there and even reached out to touch you at one point while you talked, jumping back when you reacted when he touched you. 

When your friend came up and asked you who you were talking to, you realized that you had done goofed. 

You had been able to see ghosts for as long as you could remember, but ghosts were tricky. They were just like humans, only intangible when they chose to be, so sometimes it was hard for you to tell the difference between someone who was alive and someone who was...well, dead. 

But that didn't stop you from sneaking out after your friends had gone to bed and finding him still sitting on the docks, under the moonlight. You two sat there and talked until the sun rose up, where you talked about each other and Gladiolus seemed happy to have the social interaction. 

You found out how he was one of the fighters during The Day of Light and how he had passed away during battle. You found out that while his other friends had moved on, he spent most of his time wandering around, not sure where he was supposed to be and the thought of him being alone for so long broke your heart. 

You had developed the biggest crush on him that night, but never acted on it because, hello, he was dead. But you had a great friendship with him and you were happy with just talking about your favorite books and having him pop in occasionally to see what you were up to. 

Somewhere along the line of your friendship, anything with a door would start slamming whenever someone of the opposite sex would walk in the room. Cupboards, fridge doors, window shades. You had to figure stuff out when Gladiolus accidentally shattered the front window of a coffee shop when the cashier tried to flirt with you. 

Fed up, you sat Gladiolus down in your apartment that night, ready to figure out both of your feelings and what the hell was going on with you two. When you found out he was pretty much in love with you, it was the happiest you had ever been, despite the circumstances. 

And you may or may not have had the best sex of your life that night. 

...Okay, you definitely did. 

Now, you two would spend pretty much every other weekend camping in the woods, with no one to judge you for walking by yourself in the city or neighbors thinking you were having a bit too much fun by yourself at night. 

You both were sitting by the river, Gladio watching silently as you ate your Cup Noodles. Ghosts actually could eat, as they were much like people who were alive, Gladio just chose not to. But he loved watching you eat Cup Noodles, the way you would slurp the noodles with your chopsticks, your lips pouting slightly as the last bit of noodle went into your mouth. 

"You're staring," you mention as you take another bite. 

Gladio grinned, watching the way your throat moved when you swallowed, swallowing on his own as he noticed a drop of sweat from your hairline moving down your neck. When you face him, he looks into your eyes with a combination of emotions; lust, happiness...love. 

You fan yourself as the flames from the fire grow a bit hotter, a reaction from his emotions. "Can you not?" 

"Can't exactly control it," Gladio whispers, his husky voice now even deeper as he leaves his chair to reach over and catch another bead of sweat with his tongue. 

You can't help but shudder, feeling good but also feeling a bit weird at him licking your own sweat. "That is just gross," 

Gladio winks at you, his grin never fading as he repeats the action. "Not my fault you taste good," 

"Gods," you giggle as he nibbles on a ticklish spot at the space between your neck and collarbone. He takes the Cup Noodles from your hand, placing it down on the ground before reaching up and cupping your breat with one hand, kneading it gently as he continues leaving soft bruises on your neck. You were gonna have to explain to your best friend again how that whether or not you had a secret boyfriend was none of her business. 

Gladio hums, his deep voice resonating against your skin as your breathing gets more shallow. You lean forward to comb your fingers through his hair, but are instantly distracted by your shirt sticking to your back from the combination of humidity and sweat. Ick. 

"Gladio, I'm soaked," you argue, pushing him away gently to get him to move. 

Rather than move, Gladio quirks an eyebrow and grins micheviously as he reaches for your center, trying to decide for himself whether or not your words were actually true. You grab his hand before it reaches there, laughing as you realize your error. 

"Okay, bad choice of words," you nudge him away and stand up, peeling the stuck shirt away from your sweaty skin. "Seriously, I'm gross-I think it's time for a little dip, wouldn't you say?" 

Gladio's grin faltered, but he tried to cover it up by standing up and pulling you to him, reaching a hand under your shirt so he could trail his fingers lightly down your back. It might have been nice if you weren't so sweaty. "Maybe later..." 

You hug him gently, knowing why he doesn't want to get in the water with you, but also knowing that you were horrifically sweaty and didn't want to start the weekend off feeling gross. "Just give me two minutes," you whisper, kissing his cheek and walking towards the edge of the river. 

"Fine, guess I'll just wander around," Gladio called after you. You knew him well enough to know that he was upset about being in the river, and you had an idea why. 

But you also had an idea on how to help him out.  

"Whatever you want, Gladdy," you call as you strip out of your shirt, the slowly dying fire making your skin glow. The moon and fire gives you plenty of light as you slowly and deliberately take your time peeling away the shorts you wore to the trip, bending over to step out of them, making Gladio gulp at the sight. 

Now, in your plain black bra and cotton underwear (you're camping, you were gonna keep it simple) you slowly make your way to the edge of the water, loving the way the damp sand squished against your feet. You slowly walk into the water until you're waist deep, then swim towards the center, the water now up to your shoulders. 

You languish in your time, enjoying making Gladio feel antsy as you hold your breath and float on your back, tracing the constellations with your eyes as your hair floats in the water. Taking a deep breath, you dip under for a few minutes before resurfacing, your hair slicked back and you eye Gladio from the bank, who has gone to try and busy himself with tending the fire. 

You pout and swim closer, trying and failing to splash him and the fire. "What?" he asked, careful to avoid looking at you. "I thought you said you were only gonna be a few minutes," 

Shrugging, you manage to get some sprinkles of water into the fire. He finally looks at you and rolls his eyes. "Alright, you have my attention," he glowered, standing at his full height. 

The glow from the fire made the shadows around him dance as you take in his tall form, his glowing amber eyes and his muscles that bulged from his tank top. But his gaze is what holds you, because beneath the strong and tough exterior, you know that he's in pain. You want to show him that no matter what, you were with him until the very end.  

But he was going to need some convincing. 

You dip under the water and resurface slowly again, some river water falling from your mouth. You look back, wondering what Gladio was doing and see him now doing one armed push-ups, facing away from you. 

Damn it. 

But you weren't going to give up. Unhooking your bra, you take it off and toss the wet piece of clothing up on the sandy bank, landing just a few feet away from Gladio's right foot. "Hang that up for me, would you?" you ask slyly and start moving back in the center of the river, careful to keep your naked self under the water, trying your damnest to entice this guy in the only way you knew how. 

You grin when you hear scrambling and clothes being discarded-guess ghost's need to worry about getting their clothes wet as well. 

Turning around, you watch Gladio as slowly swims closer, stopping a few feet away from you, still in the shadows of the riverbank. His body and face are completely hidden from you and you know why he's hiding. When you try and swim closer, he swims back, still hidden in shadows. 

You smile with encouragement and grab onto his hand gently. "Gladdy-come on," you say softly and pull him with you into the moonlight. 

Ghosts were much like humans, but they were still ghosts. One way to tell a ghost from a human was water-for some reason, whenever a ghost would get wet, their skin would start to become transparent. They wouldn't be invisible, but they would be see through-you could still see, hear and touch them, but their skin was almost like looking through a piece of warped glass. 

You could see the trees of the other side of the river through Gladio's head, but you were still able to look into his amber eyes, which were now containing so much sadness that you noticed a dip in temperature in the water around you. Grabbing his hand, you bring it up to your cheek, but he just looks at his own hand sadly. 

Transparent and solid. 

Human and dead. 

Knowing that he could never be...normal again. 

"Gladio?" you ask softly, reaching your other hand behind his neck. 

He looks at you, still sad, but smiles because he knows you're trying. "Hmm?" 

"You know I love you, right?" 

He brings his forehead to yours and looks at your combined hands, still comparing the solid and transparency. Every second he stared at your hands, he just looked more and more miserable. "I know...it's just-" 

"I'm not going away," you reassured him, wrapping both arms around his neck and pressing yourself up against him to hug him as tight as you could, even though to him you probably just felt like a noodle being wrapped around his finger. 

He wraps his arms around you as well and you instinctively wrap your legs around his middle, pleased to find that unlike you, he had stripped down completely before getting in the river. 

"I know," he whispers and kisses you once, so gently that you wondered for a second who this guy was and what he did with the rough and kinky Gladio you knew. "I love you, too," 

You bring your lips to his, gently touching your tongue against his bottom lip. He opens his mouth and you dip your tongue in, taking control as you ran your hand through his hair, loving the way the damp hair felt against your finger tips, transparent or not. 

After a few minutes of control, you start to feel Gladio tensing up and holding you tighter as he began to get a little more forceful, sucking on your bottom lip and gripping your hips tightly. 

"I love you," he whispers against your lips again and you reach down to stroke him gently, his member standing at full attention by now. 

He breaks away from you and grabs at your breast with his mouth, more rough, like the Gladiolus you're used to. He sucks your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue and you grip onto his hair, trying to get as closer as possible as you start to move your hand faster over his length. 

His breathing is now about as shallow as yours is and he looks up at you with a smirk. "Was this your plan?" 

"Maybe," you admit and trail your other hand that was in his hair down his back, tracing the wings of his tatoos with your fingertips. 

"Hmph," Gladio grunts and reaches down to cup your sex, outside the underwear because he knew that drove you wild. He tries to take off your underwear, but the cotton combined with the river was not cooperating with your skin. 

After a minute, you feel a sharp tug on your panties, the pressure from the wet clothing now gone, but you knew it wasn't removed conventionally. Grimacing, Gladio brings the now torn fabric out of the river by the tip of his finger. 

"Seriously, Gladdy?" You pout a little, slightly frustrated. "Again?" 

Gladio is actually blushing as he tosses the fabric onto the river bank and pulls you closer. "I, uh, don't know my own strength?" 

"Yeah-huh," you sigh as you feel his member gently rubbing against your center, seeking entrance. "I think I'm gonna ignore that for now," 

"Damn straight," Gladio bites down hard on your neck, smoothing the spot with his tongue as he pushes into you, not too forcefully, but not too softly either. The water from the river makes it much easier to maneuver as Gladio starts to thrust into you, making you cry out softly, your cries echoing off the water. 

Gladio buries his face into your neck as he continues to thrust. After a few minutes, you feel his shoulders shaking gently and you feel your heart breaking as the water gets even colder. 

"Gladdy," you pull his head back, forcing him to look at you as you stare into his amber eyes, making sure to focus on his eyes and not the water that you could see through him. He stops thrusting when he focuses on you, the heartbreak reading on his face. It was the first time you'd ever seen Gladiolus so raw and...hurt. 

"I'm here," you whisper, brushing his hair away from his face. "I'm here," 

Gladio shakes his head and buries his face again into your neck. You have a suspicion that he doesn't want you to see his face scrunch up from the pain of accepting his mortality and your heart is breaking piece by piece. 

Gladio starts to move you onto the river bank with the intention of continuing your love making in the tent, but doesn't make it that far. Instead, you both collapse into the sand, your body feeling a bit awkward as bits of sand stick to your body. 

Gladio sits up and moves to enter you once again but stops, staring at you with every bit of heartbreak now openly displayed on his face. But there's something different, like he's...realized something. 

"I'm...I'm dead," Gladio whispers the words so softly that you almost don't hear them. 

"Gladio-"

"I'm dead," he pounds one of his fists into the sand a few feet away from your side and rakes his hands through his hair, gripping the back as if trying to force horrible thoughts out of his head. 

Now it was your turn to cry and you felt tears well up as you reached up to hold him. "Gladdy-" 

"I-I've finally met someone who...who..." Gladio grips his hair tighter as he stutters his words. "Who understands me, who is there for me always, who I love with every bit of my soul," 

You now see the tears in his eyes as he screams to the world, his shouts forever unheard of by anyone except you. "I finally find you and I'm FUCKING. DEAD!" 

You grip onto his shoulders and pull him so he's lying down in the sand on top of you and you hug him with every bit of strength your body can offer. He buries his face into your chest and you hear dry sobbing, the first and probably only time you would ever witness Gladiolus Amacitia cry. 

"Why-why didn't I meet you before I-" 

"Stop, Gladdy," you whisper, having a hard time containing your own tears. "I'm here now-I'm here now and I'll never let you go," 

"But-" 

"But nothing," You pull his head off of your chest and force him to look into your eyes. "I love you. I love you so much. I'm not leaving, I'll never leave you as long as I sit here and breathe. Please believe that," 

Gladio covers his face with one of his hands, unable to hide his tears from you. "It'll never work," 

You pause, not sure how it would work between you two. 

"I...I feel like I'm holding you back," Gladio whispers, his breath tickling your face. "What kind of life can you possibly have with me?" 

You bite your lip. 

"A life with you," You finally answer. 

Gladio shakes his head. "You-you really want to-" 

"I'm here, aren't I?" You kiss his lips and pull him into you, joining you two together once again. You sigh as he fills every single inch of you up, feeling like you two were made for each other. You're also fighting tears as you begin to feel that life was especially cruel as well. 

"You're here," Gladio agrees, still whispering and begins to thrust gently. 

"I'm here," You whisper back. "I'm not going to leave," 

Gladio nods, seeming to finally understand. He kisses you, tangling your tongue with his as he begins thrusting into you. It's so gentle, so quiet, but the intensity is like nothing you had experienced before. Being with someone you truly loved felt like the ultimate high and you both never broke lips as he thrust lazily into you and you both eventually tumbled together. 

You wake up in the tent and stretch lazily, feeling refreshed and just...in love. Gladio repeated his love making process to you three times after the first, each time being equally as lazy and drawn out. He pleased you over and over again and you did the same to him. It was the most wonderful thing in the world. 

But as you reached over to hold Gladio closer to you as the sun rose, you felt nothing but air. 

You sit up and stretch, wanting Gladio to be here with you as you leave the tent and tell him to come back and try to sleep in for once. 

When you leave the tent, though, there's no one there. 

"Gladio?" You call and look around, wondering where he could have gone. It wasn't like he went hunting or anything, daemon's and animals were very violent towards ghosts. Then why...

You walk towards the fire that was still crackling after being forgotten in the hazy passion of last night. When you hear Styrofoam crunch beneath your feet, you look down and notice a lone Cup Noodle container that was completely empty. 

You had thrown yours away in the trash bag you two had brought. 

Grabbing the cup and looking around, you suddenly feel more alone than you ever had before. You run towards the bank of the river, some minor hope in you that he was swimming in the river. 

He wasn't. 

He was gone. 

The heartbreak you feel is immense and fierce, forcing you on your knees as you can't hold back the sobs ripping from your chest. You knew, you knew it was only a matter of time but you had hoped...

You had hoped you were enough. 

As you continue to sob, you almost don't notice the sound of scratching in the sand near your knees. When you feel something poke at you, you look down and see four gentle words, a promise, etched into the sand. 

I'll always love you

And even though you’re sobbing, you’re smiling. Because you know that wherever he is, he’s finally at peace. 

[auburnfamilynews]

It wasn’t so long ago that many Auburn fans were ready to see Jay Jacobs hit the old dusty trail. One of the few barbs Alabama fans can still throw at Auburn is the perceived “good ole boy” environment that has supposedly surrounded Auburn sports. Some people  even believed the decisions being made at the Athletic Director’s level weren’t being made by the director himself, nor were they being made in the best interest of Auburn sports. At least, that was the perception that seemed to linger about the athletic department. Sometimes I even caught myself wondering if Jay Jacobs really wanted what was best for Auburn and Auburn’s fans. 

But that seemed far-fetched, considering Jacobs’ pedigree as a former Auburn player. Yet, some of the hires and fires, the buyouts and the extensions, didn’t make much sense. While Jacobs did bring a Heisman trophy and a National Football Championship to Auburn, it seemed at times that he didn’t give much attention to the other major sports. And it was likely the scandal involving the Myers’ coaching family and softball program ultimately cost him his job and hastened the hiring of Allen Greene. While the way things ended for Jacobs weren’t optimal, Jacob’s fingerprints were all over the programs that Greene inherited and the success that Auburn enjoyed across all three major sports should at least be half attributed to Jacobs as they are to Greene.

The hiring of Allen Greene truly shook up Auburn sports in a way that extends before my time. He has been described as a “trailblazer” for Auburn sports due to his age and diversity, something Auburn hasn’t experienced. He comes to Auburn as one of the youngest directors in the country and is only the third African-American director in the SEC’s storied history. Greene has zero ties to Auburn. In fact, other than working for Ole Miss for a few years, Greene really has no ties to the SEC. Money hasn’t been an issue for Auburn Athletics and Jacobs never had a problem coming up with cash to get things done. However, some fans felt like only the needs of the big money donors were considered where amenities concerned. Greene’s background as an effective fundraiser may be the best thing to happen to change that perception. 

The two men couldn’t be more different, in almost every respect. Jacob’s legacy isn’t quite written yet, but the hires he made and the direction that Auburn sports took this past year could ultimately shine a favorable light on what seemed like a negative ending just months ago. Meanwhile, how Greene handles the coaches and the department he inherited in his first months will likely chart the direction of his own career. Greene has already shown that he isn’t above shaking things up, as he fired six top level administrators including executive associate director Meredith Jenkins, who mismanaged the softball scandal. However, in a throwback to Auburn’s past, Greene hired former teammate and coworker from Notre Dame, Brant Ust. 

Regardless of their differences, the two share the 2017-2018 sports year, which was fantastic despite not winning at the highest level. Let’s take a look back at what was a banner year for the big three in Auburn’s sports.

2017 was an extremely pivotal season for Gus Malzahn and the football team. Outside of the 2013 season, Malzahn had no statement wins, a polar image in fans’ minds for the compensation package he receives. Truly, Auburn fans could live with languishing programs elsewhere if Malzahn could live up to the top-ten coaching job for which he is being paid.

After beating Auburn’s two rivals, winning the 2013 SEC Title, and coming a play or two away from a National Championship, Malzahn’s squads simply didn’t live up to any sort of championship expectations. The football program embarrassingly failed to achieve anything of substance. That included going 0-6 against Alabama and Georgia. It looked like Malzahn’s career would never recover from the 2015 season as the 2016 season limped along on life support. After Sean White’s second injury riddled season, Auburn had no answers on offense in Amen Corner. The offensive genius looked anything but. 

Following that football season, Auburn basketball turned in a lackluster season, despite fielding the most talented team Auburn had seen in 20 years. Just a year removed from a deep SEC Tournament run with a rag-tag team, Auburn missed the Big Dance again. Bruce Pearl is regarded as one of the very best coaches in America and it began to feel like if Pearl couldn’t get it done, then the job couldn’t be done with anyone. 

Baseball is a special sport for Auburn fans. There’s Bo and the Big Hurt. There’s Tim Hudson and MVP Josh Donaldson. And there’s been a lot of nothing else for a very long time for the sport. While Pearl’s hire at least led to some hope when the Tigers took down Kentucky in 2016 and made a run in the SEC tourney, the hire of Sonny Golloway to head the baseball program seemed on the outside to be the same caliber hire.

Golloway’s stay in Auburn was short and plagued with controversy that narrowly avoided major litigation. The average fan read Golloway’s resume and it seemed like the perfect hire. Underneath that shiny facade was a troubled coach who brought his problems to Auburn. After being fired for operating outside of NCAA guidelines, Golloway did his best to smear the department while the keys were handed off to Butch Thompson a hire, at the time, that was anything but exciting. 

So, in typical Auburn fashion, not much was expected for major Auburn sports entering the 2017-2018 year. Auburn began the year dropping critical games early in the football season in a method that was just like what fans came to expect from a Malzahn team the last couple of years: an offense that looked lost. Pearl’s team seemed like the best chance for Auburn to make a statement, but that was derailed before the first tip as Chuck Person was arrested in the FBI probe into NCAA basketball. The federal sting operation managed to also ensnare Auburn’s two best players. Butch Thompson had a solid season his first year, despite not really inheriting a loaded roster. However when he lost several key players it appeared another average season was on the brink in 2018. 

But then Malzahn delivered a November to be remembered as he and the Auburn Tigers destroyed Georgia and Alabama inside Jordan-Hare. The 26-14 beating the Tigers delivered to Nick Saban is the worst margin of defeat he’s suffered. Even though the season couldn’t have ended worse for Auburn fans, with the Tigers being dominated twice in the last two games and the two hated rivals square off for a National Championship, Malzahn showed that he can out-coach anyone.

In basketball, Bruce Pearl’s squad may have been missing Daniel Purifoy and Austin Wiley, but that didn’t stop them from winning an SEC crown. Great basketball returned to the Plains for the first time in 15 years and the fan base was dying for it. Again, the season didn’t end the way fans had hoped, but the injuries to Bryce Brown and Anfernee McLemore couldn’t be helped.

Perhaps the most exciting thing was Butch Thompson elevating Auburn baseball to a team that made Super Regionals and boasted the number one overall draft pick in pitcher Casey Mize. Ultimately, the Tigers fell to Florida, the prohibitive favorites to win it all, but the 43-23 mark and the post-season play were something few expected in such a loaded conference. 

Just as Malzahn did what he had to do in beating the two big rivals, Pearl did what he had to do in getting Auburn to the NCAA tournament. Still, nothing has been as surprising as the coaching job by Butch Thompson. None of these teams truly accomplished the over-all goal of every team: winning a national championships. Yet, Auburn played at the top level in all of these major sports, something no other school can claim.

While 2017-2018 was a year of change at Auburn that saw an Auburn Man find the door and an outsider find a seat at the head of the sports program, both men share the accomplishment of putting Auburn on the big stage. And at this juncture, the future looks bright for all three big sports.

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